Nineteen Years Later

The only problem that there had ever risen from the marriage of Ginny and Harry was that they were both incredibly heavy sleepers and no owl could hurtle itself at the window with enough force to cause them to stir. Thus, it was no surprise, that most mornings, they had letters stuck through the mail slot, which Harry had insisted they put in for the sole reason of not missing any letters, or owls lined on their porch. This particular moment, there were two owls hooting crankily outside. Harry, who like his sons and most likely, also like his father before him, was not a morning person and so picking up his glasses and finding his way outside was more of a challenge than it should have been. He untied both letters from the owls' respective legs and let himself back inside, opening the one from Ron's owl first. It occurred to him quickly, however, that he had opened the wrong letter first. Ron's letter simply contained a single question, written in quick and sloppy penmanship:

Did you get it, too? -Ron

Harry blinked at the bizarre letter but then hastily opened the next one, which had coming from a magnificent, dark owl. Immediately, his eyebrows furrowed. Fighting his first instinct to wake Ginny, he summed quill and parchment and wrote down a reply to Ron.

Yeah. I think.... are you going? -Harry

He ducked into the living room where Ginny's owl, Sophie, awoke with a rustle of feathers. He fastened it to her leg, pushed open the nearest window and watched her flutter off towards Ron and Hermione's house. Once the owl had gone, he looked at the letter again, feeling more curious than anything else. What had wrought upon this invitation? What would happen if he and his wife, as requested, appeared at Malfoy Manner for supper that Wednesday evening?

While many things had been mended after the war, the relationships between Weasley-Potter and Malfoy had not. Never had Draco muttered a word of apology for everything that had transpired between them culminating since their first year at Hogwarts. He knew that, whether he wanted to or not, Ginny would "strongly advice he go" and come seven o'clock, he'd find himself in the house he had been in only one other time.

"What are you doing up?" Ginny asked, sounding much more intelligent than Harry did in the mornings.

"Letters, answering them," he supplied slowly, slowly regaining the power of speech.

"Hm," Ginny breathed, plucking the letter out of his hand. Her face remained placid as she read. "Looks like we have plans for the evening," she stated plainly, as though Malfoy was an old acquaintance rather than someone who had, unsuccessfully, tried to kill her husband. Sophie fluttered back in through the open window, hooting happily and sticking her leg out for Ginny to retrieve the letter. "Aren't we popular today?" she asked, unfolding the parchment. "I think this is for you.... I'll go charm something into making us breakfast," she added, walking off towards the kitchen.

Yeah, Hermione reckons we should go. I asked if she really wanted to go to the home of the man who wanted her dead but she told me to stop living the past. Right good advice I suppose but still--Malfoy and Parkinson! Well, mate, see you tonight. Mione'll bring Rose by in a bit. -Ron

Harry nodded as though the words on the paper could see him and placed the letter next to Sophie's cage. "Ron and Hermione are going, per Hermione's request," he added the last part in sarcastically and joined Ginny in the kitchen.

"Somehow I figured things would work like that," she smirked, watching the pots and pans make eggs and bacon. She hadn't inherited her mother's knack with food. While hers turned out edible, it wasn't the incredible food Mrs. Weasley was known for.

"I guess I'll have to wait and get the good stuff later," Harry observed, pointing to the food Ginny was cooking.

The grin vanished from her face.

Instantly, Harry realized it was too early for jokes. "Kidding," he said feebly and sat down next to Ginny silently, the smallest hint of laughter still bouncing in his green eyes. "Come on, let's write to our children."

**********************************

When Al arrived at the breakfast table, he wasn't surprised to see he had beaten James. He settled in next to Victoire with Dalton beside him and Rose across. After answering Victoire's polite questions about how he had slept, he dove into a tray full of bacon.

"I'm so excited! Mum's already taught me loads of stuff about History of Magic and I hope we have that today. I'd like to have a class I know a little about. It'll be a sort of confidence boost," Rose chirped merrily, buttering herself a toast.

Dalton, who still seemed unsure of what to make about his new female friend, merely grunted some sort of response and continued eating.

"Ooh," Rose cooed, pointing up at the sky. At least fifty owls were storming in, dropping packages and letters at children with bright, excited eyes. A familiar owl deposited a letter in Al, Rose and Dalton's laps.

"We almost missed the post. Nat, Abby, you will not make us late tomorrow," his brother's playfully arrogant voice echoed from a few seats down the table. The girls laughed, not so much at his joke, but more at his attempt to sound pompous.

Al hurriedly retrieved his letter from his lap and almost ripped it in half during the opening process. Reading his parents words, surveying the change in handwriting whenever his dad wrote something in the margin contradicting his mum, it all brought him confidence and a wave of warmth. He and Rose finished reading at about the same time and looked up at each other, both smiling widely. Al peered down the table and saw his brother with the same expression, though surreptitiously pocketing the letter in the event someone asked to read it.

Dalton, whose letter had been extremely long, ruffled the pages with a bit of impatience. "I sometimes think my mum has letting go issues," Dalton frowned down at the pages, though Al could see the boy was still thrilled to receive word from his parents.

"Schedules!" the familiar voice of Professor Finnegan cried out, but Al continued eating.

The passing out seemed to have gone faster than expected for soon, a piece of paper appeared in front of him as well as a, "Welcome, Al, Rose." He peered at his schedule. Herbology, Double Care of Magical Creatures, History of Magic... he felt excitement building in the pit of his stomach. He also felt Rose watching him, as though measuring the few more minutes she was going to give him to eat before dragging him off to the Greenhouses.

Someone gave him a little shove from behind and he turned in time to see James give him a smile. Al smiled back. Everything about James was carefree; from the wild messiness of his red hair to the relaxed wrinkle all his clothes seemed to sport... it was hard not to feel at least a bit careless.

"Have a good day, Al, Rose," Victoire spoke in a surprised tone, as if she had forgotten her little cousins were sitting next to her.

Al felt a twinge of guilt as he looked at Dalton, pretending to be engrossed in the last page of his letter. Everyone knew him and Rose and yet Dalton never gave any sign of annoyance for constantly being excluded by other people. He looked down at his friend pityingly and then stood up, following Rose's cue and poked him in the back. "Come on," he prodded happily.

Dalton, without a word, stood up and followed the pair of red and black hair out onto the grounds.

"It's beautiful here," Rose breathed, almost unnecessarily. The beauty of Hogwarts was in fact undeniable and went without saying. Al decided not to point this out.

"So what'd your mom and dad say?" Al asked conversationally towards Dalton, who had fallen quiet.

"Just that they hoped I had a good first day and to say hi to you," he added, with a smile. "Wait till I tell them I know you and that you're an absolute nutter," he laughed.

"Wait, why?" Al asked, offended.

"Well, you say you have an Invisibility Cloak..."

"I do! Dad gave it to me!" he said hurriedly and defensively. "It's just... somewhere in my trunk. My mum's not the best at packing and that sort of thing and she helped me so I don't know where half my stuff is. I'm not wearing socks 'cause I can't find 'em," he added, sticking his foot out to demonstrate how truthful he was being.

They reached the Greenhouse and let themselves in, smiling up at Professor Longbottom, who was positively beaming at the sight of his two most anticipated pupils. "There you are!" he greeted them, resisting the urge to hug them.

"Hi, Ne.... Professor Longbottom!" Rose beamed. She had always gotten along well with Neville. Neville ushered them to their seats and Al leaned over to whisper to Dalton.

"I reckon we can't do badly in this class or he'll tell my mum," he said slowly. Dalton stifled a laughed.

"Alright, class, let's begin."

***************************************

The day had gone in a flurry of talk and preparation for the dinner at Malfoy Manner that night. Lily and Hugo had been taken to George's house, which Harry and Ginny had done with some trepidation seeing as how they hadn't been with their daughter the night before either, hair had been coiffed, nice robes had been donned and finally, Ginny and Harry apparated to the gate of Malfoy Manor, where they had arranged to meet Ron and Hermione before going in.

Harry tried to hide his deep dislike for the place as well as Ginny was--her face was positively emotionless but Harry knew her well enough to know that she was second guessing whether this had been a good idea. A loud crack echoed off of the stately gates and Ron and Hermione arrived, mirroring the expressions Harry and Ginny wore.

"Well, let's go in," Harry muttered as they began the procession up the darkening lawn.

Hermione was clutching Ron's hand tightly. The last time she had been here, she had been put under the Cruciatus curse, an incident she didn't plan on forgetting anytime soon. Ron was thinking about how he had nearly died on that very property and Harry was thinking about how Dobby had been killed in the living room they were very shortly about to enter.

Before they reached the door, a house-elf creaked it open. "Come in. Master and guests are expecting you."

Harry stood up a little straighter as they made their way through the tiled foyer and into the dining room. Nothing about the house had changed since the last time they had been there.

"Harry," Ginny whispered, drawing his attention to the guests. It seemed to be a table of people he had never gotten along with. There were Malfoy and Parkinson and next to them, Zabini and a girl that looked a bit like Daphne Greengrass and rounding out the group was Goyle with a girl he didn't recognize.

"Potters, Weasleys, have a seat," Draco motioned to the four empty chairs, his trademark sneer playing on his haughty features. The quartet did as told stiffly. "We were just about to start eating but we decided to wait for you."

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry could see Hermione struggling not to ask the question they were all thinking: Why had Malfoy called them there? An array of house elves began bringing out the food and soon the room was filled with the clinking of silverware and mutters of "delicious." Harry concentrated on eating more than anything else and thankfully, all three courses were finished with minimal conversation from the Potter-Weasley end of the table.

Finally, the sun had set and the only thing visible outside was darkness. "Goyle, Zabini, thank you for joining me today," he said dismissively and soon, four people stumbled out of the room. He then, at last, turned to his most confused invitees. "I suppose you are wondering why I invited you here and sat you on a table with the people not in Azkaban that you hate most," he uttered with an air of superiority.

"Yeah, that'd be the general idea," Ron shot back.

Malfoy remained unfazed. "It has been over twenty years since we've had our minor disagreements..."

"Minor disagreement doesn't begin to explain it. Joining Voldemort, I think.... and trying to kill me goes a bit beyond that," Harry countered, his voice dripping in sarcasm.

Pansy sniffed but other than that, no one reacted. "Yes, well, what is the phrase... forgive and forget," Draco continued.

"I'm afraid I don't think I can do either. Malfoy, you tried to kill me. You tried to kill my friends and the people who mattered most to me. Had you had your way, I wouldn't even be here."

Draco looked mildly amused. "Yes, well, I've learned from my mistake and I don't think we'll have to worry about me trying to kill you anymore," he stated plainly, lifting his hand to beckon a house elf. His sleeve rolled down and Harry saw the Dark Mark tattooed on his arm. He knew it was something that never went away but for Harry, it was a sign as to why he shouldn't accept the apology. "But it seems to me, that the problems you are having in moving on are directed more towards my aunts, uncles and the Dark Lord himself."

"He's dead, don't call him that. He deserves no respect," Ron spat. Harry had forgotten he was there.

"Fine, Voldemort," Draco corrected carelessly. An elf came and Draco demanded a glass of Firewhisky. "Would you all like anything?"

All four fervently shook their heads. Harry could still hear Mad-Eye's advice: "Don't drink anything offered to you by an enemy." It had helped him out his fifth year, what was to say it wouldn't help this time. The elf scampered off. He could feel the anger radiating off of Hermione somewhere behind him.

"You, above all people, Potter, should know that you can't control the families you're born into. Why you are holding me accountable for my family's actions, I cannot understand. You don't see me blaming you for landing my father and mother in Azkaban."

"Because you know as well as I that they killed innocent people!" Harry was having a difficult time keeping his temper under control.

"My mother never did anything! What am I to tell Scorpius when he realizes that he will never see his grandparents..."

"The same thing I had to tell Teddy Lupin! That they are gone, Malfoy. Except in the case of Teddy, his parents died doing something admirable...."

"Admirable, much like the term 'good', is subjective. To many other people, what the werewolf and the blood traitor died doing was stupid..."

"Shut it, Malfoy!" Harry had sprung up and drawn his wand.

"Is this how you treat your host?" Malfoy retorted without an inkling of fear in his voice.

Harry was shaking with anger. He looked at his trembling hand and turned on his feel, ducking out of the room quickly and soon, those who remained heard the echo of a closing front door.

"Harry James Potter!" roared Ginny a few seconds later, chasing him out onto the lawn.

Harry whirled around, still gripped with anger.

"I know he was being a prat but.... we need to fix things! We can't continue with the same petty problems we had. I'm sure your mum, dad, Fred, everyone, would have wanted every conflict that was a piece of the war resolved."

"He's still the same."

"Except he's not killing anyone, Harry, and that makes all the difference! He's a prat, yes. You can't change his appearance but what if he turns out to be like Snape and..."

"He won't be like Snape!" It was Harry's turn to yell. "Snape was a great man..."

"You didn't seem to think so for the longest time," Ginny said in a breathy whisper. "I'm going back inside," she said after a moment but she didn't move. She was waiting for a response.

"Fine," he finally breathed and remained stationary. He heard her footsteps canvas the length of the yard and then retreat inside. With one last angry breath, he apparated home.