All Are Wounded

It is only possible to live happily-ever-after on a day-to-day basis. . ~Margaret Bonnano

Gone. They were all gone. Everyone he'd ever loved, or been able to confide in about the truly important things; all gone. They had fought right along side of him; fought bravely, but that hadn't been enough to save them.

Ron had been struck down by a curse in the back from Dolohov. Hermione had not been killed by a curse, or any magic at all, but by a having a heavy rock dropped on her head. Dumbldore, Lupin, Tonks... all dead. The Weasleys, all but Percy and Charlie, the two of that wonderful family that he was least acquainted with. It was like a horrible joke, he thought, that out of the nine of them, only those two had made it. It seemed like a stroke of fate; not that he believed in fate. Not anymore. He'd stopped believing in things like fate after the event that had brought his world to an end. He'd stopped, because believing in fate would mean that he had never been meant to be in love; that his life was even more meaningless than he had thought.

Now he sat alone in the cold living room that had just a few short years ago, though austere and gray, been filled with the happiness of close friends and family. He stared into the hearth before him, the golden flames reflected in his green eyes, and wished that he could turn back the clock, if only just for a moment...

He wanted to go back to that day; the last carefree afternoon before it had all gone haywire. The last they had spent on the grounds of Hogwarts, just he and his friends enjoying the sunlight and the spring breezes that blew through their hair.

The group that had once been just him, Ron and Hermione had grown through the past two years, after that terrible night in the Department of Mysteries. Neville and Luna had been there; they were an obvious addition, but there had been others with whom they had become friends through the DA. They'd kept the organization up, even though their Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher (a friend of Charlie's from Romania) was decent; they knew that they'd need more training than he could give them if the war escalated.

They had sat in a cluster on the grounds that day: Ernie Macmillan, Hannah Abbott, the Creevey brothers, Zacharias Smith, Dean and Seamus along with Lavender and Parvarti (their steady girlfriends), Mark Evans- a second year who had only recently joined the DA. Even Michael Corner had been there; shooting angry looks at Harry because of the girl who sat next to Harry smiling at a joke that had just been told. Harry had always found himself staring at her, in spite of the activity and chatter around them. He remembered it all with perfect clarity. Her flaming red hair had hung free down to her waist, and her face had glowed with laughter, her eyes had sparkled with life, her red lips that he had always felt the urge to kiss; all of this held his undivided attention.

He wasn't exactly sure when he'd started having these feelings for Virginia Weasley, but the summer after his fifth year, something had happened. He had found his eyes meeting hers, more and more often, when something funny or just plain absurd happened. Even in the dark times that had begun there had been those moments; Fred and George's new pranks and Ron's blundering attempts to court Hermione were always amusing.

Despite this, however, Harry's melancholy had increased. Then, on one particularly bad day, he had been thinking about Sirius, and she'd come into his and Ron's room. He had looked up at her from where he'd sat on the end of the bed. "Ginny? Is it time for lunch already, because if it is I'm not hungry anyway."

Ginny had shaken her head and she'd sat on the bed next to him. "Tell me about Sirius; how you knew him. Tell me what you're feeling."

"What? Ginny I-" She'd looked at him in that piercing way she'd had that told that she would not go away until he confided in her. "What's there to tell? He's gone," he'd said gruffly.

"Harry just talk, okay? My mum made me talk to her after... what happened in my first year. Please."

Unsure of what would happen, he'd obeyed, nonetheless. He'd talked. He'd felt the words flow from him, until they were fighting to get out; memories and feelings had drained from his soul, and all the while Ginny had listened quietly. She hadn't judged the things he'd told her, like he was sure Hermione would have done: "Oh Harry, are you sure you feel that way? That is awfully harsh." Nor had she just waved his feelings off like Ron might have, "I know mate, but that's how it is eh? When somebody dies, I mean."

Ginny had been different. She'd listened without interruption, hadn't murmured sympathetically, but had just listened. That had been more than he'd ever asked of, or received from, anyone. Then, when he had talked himself out, feeling like he'd just babbled on about everything, she'd looked at him as if examining him from the inside out. He'd looked into her deep eyes and found himself unable to hold back his tears.

He'd tried to hold in his grief, as he had done for months, but then she put an arm around him and told him that it was okay to cry. That's what he'd done; he'd cried on Ginny's shoulder until all of his tears were spent. They'd been together from that day on. He hadn't been uncomfortable with her as he had with Cho. With Ginny, he could talk about what really mattered, about the war and Sirius, and also about Quidditch and schoolwork.

Nearly two years after that sad afternoon, he hadn't even been thinking about that, but about how beautiful she was, and how much he loved her as they sat gathered on the school grounds with their friends. Ginny had apparently felt him staring at her, and had turned to see the look of longing in his eyes. Grinning devilishly she had leaned over and kissed him; their kisses had always been filled with passion, with burning young love that hadn't seemed to have enough outlets. That one kiss had been no different from any other that they had shared for almost two years. It hadn't been a bad kiss, nor had it been in any way special at the time. He hadn't known it would be the last kiss that they would ever share.

The whole group had been laughing at a story that Ron had told about Fred and George's latest prank, when a dark cloud had suddenly hung over them. Almost in unison they had all looked up; most of the girls and a few boys (the Creevey brothers) screamed. Harry had jumped to his feet, the wand that he had kept constantly within a seconds reach, in his hand. The others had reacted almost as quickly as Harry had; their training with him had kept them always on the alert.

Once, not long ago, he would have told them to run, but now he knew that they would all fight with him, and fight well. They had been trained almost as well as he had, and every last one of them could hold their own; even Mark Evans, though his training was far less adequate.

Soon curses had been raining down on them, but they had shot them back at the same speed, if not faster. Colored jets of light had hit each other in mid air, and ricocheted around the circle of students. The Death Eaters had landed and thrown their brooms aside. In the eyes of those cloaked figures nearest to him, Harry had seen the looks of surprise. Seemingly, they had not expected this group of students on the grounds to be so well trained; but they had been resolute that the children would not get away with out a fight. Harry had positioned himself determinedly, so that he could not easily be thrown off guard. Curses had streamed from his mouth almost faster than his wand had been able to cast them.

Harry had looked around at his friends and classmates, and had swelled with pride to see that despite the circumstances, they had fought off the Death Eaters well. Then all hell had broken loose. A new group of Death Eaters had swarmed down in the same way that the first had. Though they had held their own with the first group, he had known that they might not be able to do the saw with the new flock. They would be out numbered four to one at least, he'd thought, as the new Death Eaters had landed; not even grown wizards could easily take care of that number.

He had looked around, fighting panic, hoping to see some way out, and his heart had jumped when he'd seen that Ginny no longer stood next to him. He'd looked again; hoping that her position had changed in the heat of the battle, and that she'd only been jostled to one side or another, but a quick glance had dashed his hope. There had been no mane of flaming red hair in the group. His eyes had darted over to Ron; at the same time he'd cast a jelly-legs jinx at a nearby Death Eater. Ron had been firing out an Impediment jinx from his wand, while even more Death Eaters had been overpowering any opponents as they had neared the castle.

"Ron!" Harry had yelled. Ron had looked over at him for a split second to acknowledge that he had heard. "Where's Ginny?" he'd asked, trying not to seem alarmed - a hopeless task. Ron had glanced around and shrugged, his concentration bent on the Death Eater he'd been dueling.

Then suddenly a voice in Harry's ear had said, "Looking for something?"

He'd looked towards the voice only to glimpse a mask-less Lucius Malfoy with Ginny on his broom, swooping into the sky. She'd struggled with her captor, kicking and squirming, but Harry had seen her struggling stop as the broom rose higher. Even his brave Ginny would not risk falling from that height.

Without a second thought, he'd run from the fray. Someone had to get help; the others could hold the invaders off for just a bit without him. His mind had not been working properly, he now knew, adrenaline and fear had been pumping through his brain as he'd run to the castle, and to the stone gargoyle that stood guard over the entrance to the Headmaster's office. He had always been kept informed of the password, due to Dumbledore's increased worry over some kind of attack. Surely he had never imagined something of such a magnitude as the one that had raged outside

"Blood pops!" he'd panted, and then had taken the stairs five at a time. He had burst through the door, and to his relief McGonagall, Snape and Dumbledore had all been sitting in the office. They had jumped to their feet when they'd seen Harry. "Death Eaters, on the grounds!" he'd gasped. Then pain had pulsed through his head, which hadn't happened since Dumbledore had begun his Occlumency lessons a year and a half earlier. He had clutched at his searing scar and fell to his knees in agony. McGonagall had rushed to him, and he'd felt a rush of wind, and heard the swish of a cloak, next to him that told him Snape was going past.

In his head, he'd heard a voice; a voice that he hated and that had haunted his nightmares since he was thirteen, "Am I causing you pain Harry Potter? Or do you hurt from the loss of your Mudblood loving girlfriend?" the voice of Voldemort had hissed.

Then, despite the pain, Harry had scrambled to his feet. McGonagall tried to hold him back. Though she was old and had had her share of destructive curses sent her way, her grasp had been strong, and he'd had a tough time freeing himself from it. He had managed it, though; after all, he had been seventeen-year-old boy with Quidditch muscles made from years of training, and she over seventy.

He'd heard her voice calling after him, with an uncharacteristic tone of desperation, but his mind hadn't been able to make words out of the sounds that issued from her mouth. He'd just run down the stairs and into the Entrance Hall. Once there, he'd held his wand high and shouted, "Accio Firebolt!" at the top of his voice.

His broom had hurtled toward him within seconds, due to the power behind the spell. He had mounted it and soared out of the doors. By the time he had reached the area of the grounds he had left earlier, he'd found the battle in full swing, with curses flying everywhere. Harry had winced when he'd seen the bodies of countless students lying on the ground below him. This sight had penetrated his blurred mind as nothing else had since he'd realized Ginny wasn't fighting next to him, but still she was the only thing he had been focused on. He'd known what he needed to do. He'd examined the fray closely, and then had swooped down on a Death Eater, grabbing him from behind, and with a strong grip, had pulled the Death Eater off of his feet as he flew upwards.

He had clumsily forced the masked man on to his Firebolt, then had put his wand to the struggling Death Eater's head and hissed, "Take me to where he is, or I swear on the graves of the people I love, I will kill you." He must have sounded as deadly serious as he felt, because he had felt the Death Eater squirm nervously.

"Alright, alright, just don't do anything rash, boy!" the captive man had muttered. Harry had smirked, he had been right; this was the Death Eater he had guessed it was. That old coward Karkaroff; he had groveled his way back in the folds of Voldemort's circle, but had not been so much of an idiot that he was going to die for the cause if he could avoid it.

Suddenly, Harry heard a beautiful song. It was a sound he knew well, and had recognized it at once as that of Fawkes, the phoenix. He had heard the beating of wings approaching behind him, and had slowed just the smallest bit, allowing the bird to land smoothly onto his shoulder. Harry had looked up to find that Fawkes had had a sword clamped in his beak. Harry had taken it with one hand and had immediately recognized it as Gryffindor's sword; but to his disappointment, the phoenix had flown away. A piece of parchment had been attached to the hilt, and Harry had carefully pulled it free with nimble fingers and read, 'This may be what he planned Harry, we can't avoid it, but he won't expect this.' He had recognized Dumbledore's narrow, loopy handwriting, and he had felt a little better with this small reassurance of support. With Karkaroff's guidance, they had flown for a little less than an hour, and when they finally landed, Harry had shoved the other man to the ground and put the Death Eater in a full body bind, then had snapped his wand to neutralize that potential threat.

They had landed in a field, in a place that Harry didn't recognize. The grassy area had seemed empty, but Harry had kept his wand in front of him, and the sword behind his back. He had wandered for a moment, and a shimmering mist had appeared before him, Harry had stepped through it, and the world had turned upside down.

This did not deter him; he had remembered another mist like this, encountered three years before this in a maze on the Quidditch pitch. He had lifted his foot resolutely, but had not ended up, as he had expected, back in the field. He had begun to fall through darkness, and he felt his heart sink; no sooner had he begun to feel a small hint at panic than the falling had stopped.

He had landed catlike on the floor of a stone chamber. He had jumped to his feet, and brushed his sweaty hair from his eyes. His heart had leapt when he had seen who else was in the chamber with him; Lord Voldemort had been standing in front of him.

"Well, well, well, what have we here? Hello there, Harry. Come for your girlfriend, eh? I'm afraid you're too late." Voldemort had spoken with no emotion; similar to the way he'd spoken about Bertha Jorkins' murder three years ago. Harry had felt himself trembling, but he had refused to let himself wallow in the fear, and the sudden nausea that had overcome him.

"What do you mean?" he'd asked semi-calmly, while he had stared into Voldemort's red, snake-like eyes. The Dark Lord's wide, thin mouth had stretched into a leer.

"Why Potter, I thought a well-educated young man like you would know what the words 'too late' meant. Your pretty little girlfriend is dead." Voldemort's high, cruel laughter had rung in Harry's ears.

"No," Harry had let the word slip out in spite of himself, but had added bravely. "You're lying." Voldemort had laughed even louder.

"No, I am afraid I'm not," he'd said. "In fact, I am sure that I am not." He had kept speaking, but Harry hadn't heard him. Rage had begun to pump through his veins. He had wanted to hurt the man who had killed his love, to murder him. The ancient sword had rested in his hand.

"You're lying!" Harry had cried as he had swung the sword high over his head. Lunging forward he had thrust the sword into Voldemort's chest. To his shock the white face had contorted and a scream had echoed across the chamber. A black liquid that Harry had assumed passed for blood in the body of the fiend had spurted from the wound surrounding the sword; all over the walls, the floor, and Harry himself. Then, suddenly the piercing scream had ended. Harry had known with a sickening realization that Voldemort was dead, that the one stroke of the blade was all it had taken.

Then to his surprise, a gray haze had appeared over the still body like a mist. It had taken Harry a moment to realize that the fog had been molding itself into a gray shape. Harry had blinked sweat and dark blood out of his eyes and had seen that it was the shape of a child. The figure had floated over to him, hovering just above the floor, and had put a small, cold hand on his cheek. He had recognized the child immediately as a young Tom Riddle, a Tom Riddle unblemished by evil.

"Thank you Harry Potter," the misty figure had said. "You have freed me." The figure floated up through the ceiling of the chamber and Harry had fainted.

He had woken in a familiar bed. He'd known immediately he'd been in the hospital wing of the school. He had just realized this, when a wave of nausea had washed over him, and he had vomited violently. Someone, Madame Pomfrey he supposed, had held a basin under his head, and then he had slept again. When he had woken a second time, sometime later, someone else had been sitting next to his bed; Severus Snape had been there and he had been crying. It was then that Harry knew how bad the battle had turned out. Horribly, except for the fact that he had killed Voldemort.

Now, a year after that devastating battle, when the teachers had finally decided he could be trusted on his own, he had left Hogwarts. He was sitting in the living room in Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. Sirius had left it to him, and now it was not needed for the Headquarters, now only Harry lived in the old house; Harry and the house-elf that Dumbledore had sent to keep an eye on him. Harry spent most of his time wallowing in his horrible self-pity and loathing.

He couldn't even hate Voldemort for taking Ginny from him, for now he understood that Voldemort had once been a child too; a child caught up in the rush of the realization that magic existed. But it couldn't cure everything, and thus he had been drawn into the Dark Arts, with which he had tried to gain immortality. Harry had come to accept this in the year of sadness that had passed. He had had little else to do but think.

Now Harry could only hate himself. He utterly despised himself; if only he'd told his friends to run, not that they would have, but maybe, maybe she could have gotten away. It didn't seem to matter to him that if they had run then he wouldn't have been able to handle the Death Eaters himself, and Voldemort would have won. What mattered was how many people were gone; all lost, even his beloved Ginny. For weeks after, he hadn't spoken to anyone, nor had he eaten. But then, at that time, he hadn't allowed himself the satisfaction or the release that death could give him. Now he wasn't above such tactics; why would it matter if his life ended as so many others had?

With that realization, he rose from his armchair; he walked out of the house and into the rainy winter night. He didn't have a muggle coat that fit properly, nor did he really want to make himself comfortable. The walk to the visitor's entrance of the Ministry didn't take long, as he knew the way well by now. He had thought of this before; traced the route over and over in his mind, but in his own cowardice had been unable to go through with it.

He dialed the numbers with a shaking hand; at the last two the woman's voice rang through the old phone booth. "Please state your name and business."

Harry found that his throat was dry and he swallowed several times before he choked out, "Harry Potter, personal business." A badge appeared and hesitated to look at it at first, fearing what it would say. He read the words Harry Potter: Personal Business with relief. But then it couldn't very well say what he was truly there for, could it? Had he really expected the words Harry Potter: Suicide Mission to be the words on the glowing badge? He picked the badge up, but did not bother fastening it to his cloak, after all what would be the use?

When he reached the door to the Department of Mysteries, he stretched out a shaking hand to enter, and his knees almost gave way. He steadied himself and entered, closing the door behind him and as the room began to revolve, he shouted, "Take me to the veil!" The doors stopped abruptly, and he went through the one in front of him.

Though he hadn't entered the room in three years it was all too familiar. As he walked carefully down the benches, scenes flashed before his eyes: Neville falling down the rows, his robes slipping from Harry's grasp, Neville's legs dancing uncontrollably, the broken prophecy sphere, and especially Sirius battling Bellatrix on the dais.

Now Harry climbed up on to the dais in front of the veil. He heard the whisperings of those behind the veil, and felt tears stinging his eyes. He blinked them back but then remembered Ginny telling him that it was okay to cry. He let the hot tears fall from his eyes freely after that.

"I'm coming," he whispered. He stepped up to the veil and put out one trembling leg, preparing to step through, to let his life end easily and painlessly with one step. He was about to do it when he heard the door to the room open.

When he heard it creak, his first thought was to step through right then, and not give anyone time to try to talk him out of it, whoever they might be. He would have done it too, in five more seconds, except that the person spoke.

"Do you really want to do that Harry?" He didn't believe that the voice was real. He thought that he was imagining it, or maybe she was calling to him from behind the veil and he couldn't decipher the words properly. But even though these thoughts were running through his head, the sound of her voice overcame him and he turned around. When he did, he felt his body go even weaker than he already felt. Trembling, he stepped down from the dais, nearly falling as he ran towards her. She ran to him as well, her arms wide open. He swooped her up in his arms, hugging her tightly, as though she might vanish in a puff of smoke if he loosened his hold.

"No," he said. "It can't be. It's too good to be true." He felt the tears coursing down his face and into her hair. He finally released her, but afraid she would disappear, kept her shoulders in his grasp. She was smiling up at him, her face was pale and gaunt, and her eyes didn't sparkle nearly as much as they once had, but she was his Ginny.

She grinned at him with the playful look that he had missed so much. "I take it you missed me?" she asked. Harry found himself laughing and crying at the same time. He stared at her and shook his head as he kissed her fiercely. When they broke apart she took his hand and led him up to the door and away from the veil's chamber. He followed her docilely into the lift, not taking his eyes off of her as they rose to the main floor. Once they reached the Atrium they rushed outside, and into the night. They didn't stop until they were several blocks away, and then she turned to him, and their eyes met and their faces drew together magnetically. This time they did not break apart for a very long time. This kiss was unlike any he had ever experienced before; this was the kiss of life for Harry, re-filling the place inside him he thought would be empty forever. When they finally stepped apart, Ginny put her hands on Harry's face.

"Oh Harry," she said. "I missed you so much."

"You stayed away too long," he chastised her gently. "Where were you?"

Her smile faltered for a moment. "Let's go back to the house, shall we?" she asked. Harry was taken aback by her sudden change of mood, but he nodded. They walked, hand in hand. Harry refused to take his eyes off of Ginny and he very nearly walked into several streetlights and letterboxes. When they reached the old house Harry sat back on his armchair, and Ginny settled herself on his knee. He gently ran his fingers through her hair, which glowed even redder in the firelight.

Quietly, he kissed her on the nape of her neck, parting her hair with his fingers. She shivered gently and leaned back against him. "Harry," she whispered looking into the dying flames. "I have something to tell you. It might change what you're feeling."

He turned her face towards him. "Ginny, I've missed you for so long and I love you so much, nothing could ever change that. What is it?"

She relaxed into him, in relief. "Well..." she said. "Malfoy didn't take me to Voldemort like I thought he would."

"I know," Harry interrupted. "Snape and I figured-"

She put a finger to his lips. "Just listen okay? It's easier that way."

He nodded; giving her the same courtesy she'd once given him.

"So he took me... he took me to Malfoy Manor. He locked me in a dungeon for days, and house elves were the only contact I had with anyone. You know how they are though, terrified, timid little things. Then one day, I'm not sure how long afterwards, he came; he spat at me and beat me. He told me that you were dead and that he would keep me as..." she gulped, "...as a trophy."

Harry gasped but didn't say anything. What could he say?

"I eventually found out that you weren't dead. A house elf who had known and admired Dobby told me that, but I couldn't figure out how to escape." Harry watched as tears came to Ginny's eyes. "But Merlin, did I want to! After a while he did worse than beat me. Some nights he brought Draco down and they both laughed when I cried as they hurt me. You see, I was proof that, though their master was dead, they could have control over someone who was at least," she took her gaze away from his. "At least close to you. They knew it was tearing you apart Harry." She met his eyes again and said firmly, "Don't you ever blame yourself for this Harry, it wasn't your fault."

This thought was exactly what had been running through his head, and the self-loathing had begun creeping back.

"They were both bastards Harry, that's all, you must know that before..." She took a deep breath. "Before I tell you what happened. Harry... One night, after the raids on known Death Eater's houses, Draco came down. He was alone, and Lucius was in for questioning. Draco said I was the only thing that could... console him. He violated me that night. He raped me..."

Harry felt bile creep up his throat and he swallowed convulsively. "Oh Ginny," he breathed. Tears now flooded her face and he reached up to wipe them away.

"It was horrible Harry, to lose my virginity to something like that. Lucius got out of punishment anyway, but he never found out. I don't think he would have allowed it because..." She looked back down at her hand and said, "Because something good came of it."

Harry was shocked, "What good could come of that Ginny?" To his great surprise Ginny smiled. She stood and pulled him to his feet.

"Come with me." She led him up the stairs and Ginny stopped at an empty bedroom. Gently she cracked open the door and Harry felt all breath rush out of him. A crib was in there and in it slept a little baby with red hair, just like, he realized, its mother. The house-elf sat in a chair nearby, but when he saw Ginny he scampered past them and out the door. Harry put an arm around Ginny's waist and held her close to him.

"Oh Ginny, Merlin..."

"I know, but she was the best thing to happen to me. She brought life back into me. Before her I felt so dirty, and so useless. You understand that, though."

Harry nodded, "Yes, I most definitely do." The baby rolled over and gave a soft, sleepy sigh and Harry had a feeling he'd never known before.

"She brought a change in Draco too, I guess having the mother of his child being treated so badly opened his eyes. He helped me escape his father."

"Draco Malfoy?" Harry asked incredulously.

"Yes. He said he never wanted anyone to know, but that he didn't want me to die." They stepped back out into the hallway.

"So he has a soul after all." Ginny nodded as she closed the door softly. "Ginny, you know this doesn't change anything," he reassured her.

"Really Harry?" she asked, kissing him again.

"Of course." Harry took a breath. "I love you, Gin... will you marry me?"

Ginny gasped and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh you know I will Harry. I love you so much."

Harry hugged her tightly. "Ginny?" he asked quietly.

"Hmm?" she murmured into his shoulder.

"What's the baby's name?"

Ginny smiled up at him. "Lillian Molly. Lily," she said.

Harry felt a grin spread across his face. He kissed Ginny on the cheek then his lips drifted down her neck. She moaned in longing.

"Come on," he said slyly. "Let's go to bed."

"Well, since I don't have to worry about my virginity anymore." Ginny said in the same tone. Harry laughed, though it wasn't truly funny. Harry took her hand and pulled her to his bedroom. They lay on the bed, pulling each other's clothes off in a mad desire, resulting from a year of no contact at all.

Loving her was so easy for Harry, all though he had never done it before, and the pleasure that came to both of them was almost unbearable. In another part of the house, the house-elf's eyes widened in shock when it heard a badly muffled scream from the bedroom, and it hurried to check on the still-sleeping child.

Harry and Ginny lay in each other's arms once their lovemaking was finished; both tired and feeling happier than either of them had in over a year, if ever. Soon, the sounds of Lily's crying reached their ears and Ginny groaned, "One of the lesser aspects of motherhood."

Harry only grinned and kissed her on the nose, "Go take care of Lily, I'll be here if you promise to come back."

"I'll never leave you again, Harry," Ginny promised. They kissed again and the thoughts of the small child threatened to leave their minds, if it were not for the sound of a long-fingered fist rapping on the door.

"Master, Loopy believes that Miss Ginny's child is needing caring, sir," the elf squeaked. Harry and Ginny broke apart laughing and Ginny wrapped herself in a blanket to go to the small bedroom where her baby waited.

When she came back their passion overcame them again, resulting in a night that would live in both their memories until the end of time.

Not every day was easy, far from it. They had fights and problems as every family did. Both were first time parents, with almost no support with all of their family gone. They had rows, and days where they thought they hated each other. Their love was strong, though, and Lily had a happy life with her siblings. She always knew she was special, that she had another father somewhere that loved her.

Ginny saw Draco once, five years later when she was shopping with Lily and her son William. She passed him on the streets of Diagon Alley and he waved at her slightly and she knew his eyes followed Lily far down the street, but he didn't say a word.

This story does not end happily ever after, because there is no such thing, but it comes very close. That is, after all, all that anyone could ever hope for.

Finite.