Nineteen Years Later

Ron looked dubiously out the window, as though it was very possible the sky was merely imitating sunlight and it was, in fact, still night. But the sun did not change positions and the blue sky continued to shine beautifully. He wiped his tired eyes and collapsed into a chair. Had it really only been last night when Ron had wandered into Malfoy Manor and actually witnessed his sister and wife forgive him? Ron looked up at a calendar, nodding glumly.

Hermione whirled into a kitchen in a flurry of brown hair and pastel colors. She was the foil to Ron, who looked at his wife with a bemused expression. "All right, you Polyjuice impersonator, where is Hermione?"

Hermione glowered at Ron before charming a few pots and pans. "Is it a crime to be in a good mood, Ronald?"

"No," he answered tiredly.

"I think you're letting this whole thing get to you too much," Hermione stated plainly, her back turned to him as she flourished her wand some more and more pans sprang to life. When no answer came, Hermione turned back around, worry wreaking havoc on her usually pleasant features. She walked over and pulled a chair so that she was next to Ron. Taking his own hand in hers, she surveyed his blue eyes softly. "Listen to me; everything's going to be fine. You can't assume everyone's bad."

"So you want me to assume everyone's good?" he asked in an almost accusatory tone of voice. The anger that had momentarily built up in his face crumbled as quickly as it had come.

Hermione scrambled for words. It was a challenge convincing Ron to put it behind him when the truth was, she had been up half the night replaying the dinner and its aftermath in her head. Maybe it was her Hogwarts training, not the ones pertaining to lessons but more towards the D.A., that had taught her to always be the least bit wary but she had managed to not let it domineer her thoughts the next day. Yet she seemed to know how much it was plaguing Ron. Malfoy had, for the greater part of a year, wanted both of them along with Harry dead. Malfoy had tried to kill Dumbledore and had been a Death Eater... nineteen years ago. She, for one, was eager to put it behind her. She wasn't about to start inviting Draco and family over for tea but she saw no point in harboring resentments. But she wasn't about to pass rash judgment on Ron. She knew he wasn't keen on forgiving. "No, that's not what I meant... you know, you could have said some of this last night instead of letting me and Ginny do all the talking...."

"I'm sorry, 'Mione okay.... I just..."

"Aw, aren't you two a match made in Heaven?" a familiar voice sounded from the doorway. Both Ron and Hermione jumped.

"Hey, George," Ron sort of panted, as if trying to slow his heart rate down.

"Hey there brother, wife of brother," George laughed, walking over and conjuring a chair so that within seconds, he was sitting leisurely at the table. "Breakfast ready?"

"Working on it," Hermione chirped, motioning to the eggs that were now scrambling themselves.

"Too good to do it the old-fashioned way, then?" George teased. Hermione frowned at him.

"MUM! THE BROOM WON'T STOP!" Hugo howled from his bedroom. Hermione vanished so quickly, Ron wondered if she had apparated.

"So Ronniekins, how did your meeting with Malfoy go last night?"
Ron concentrated on breathing for a moment, trying to cut off the excess anger that would no doubt pour out of his mouth if he didn't attempt to relax. "Well, he skirted around an apology for the longest time and then finally said something along the lines of 'I regret what happened during that war,'" Ron finished.

"I was sure he was going to give you loads of Galleons to shush you up. After all, it wouldn't be good for a Minister of Magic candidate to have walking, talking witnesses to his past life as a Death Eater," George explained.

Ron's jaw dropped. "What? How can he even think about running for Minister of Magic? Everyone, everyone, knows what he and his family have done!" Ron ranted.

"It's all in print, little brother," George said, whipping out a Daily Prophet from his back pocket and spreading it out on the table.

Ron looked at the words printed in big, bold print incredulously: DRACO MALFOY TO RUN FOR MINISTER OF MAGIC. He scanned the article below.

Though a well-known figure in the Wizarding Community who has given money to towards research to St. Mungo's and volunteered time towards Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and the Ministry of Magic, Draco Malfoy will encounter more than a few challenges on his campaign to become Minister. For one, it is common knowledge that parents, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, are convicted Death Eaters who are currently serving life sentences in Azkaban. There are also rumors that the youngest Malfoy himself was once a Death Eater. So are wizards and witches prepared to forgive and forget.....?

"What?" Hermione screeched, scuttling over to the newspaper Ron was no longer reading. "Malfoy running for Minister?!" she demanded, reading the article quickly. "This is unbelievable."

George, who seemed pleased with himself for knowing something Hermione didn't, pocketed the newspaper as soon as Hermione was done.

"What's happening?" Hugo asked curiously. There was a bruise near his chin from where the broomstick handle had hit him.

"Nothing, Hugo," George answered, scooping his nephew into his arms and swinging him around wildly. Hugo screamed in laughter.

"So that's why he wanted to apologize. He wanted to make sure he had personally addressed the few people who could be witnesses to everything that had happened," Hermione whispered, leaning towards Ron so that he could hear amid Hugo's howling laughs.

"And you wanted to trust him," Ron scoffed.

"Well, just because he did it for another reason doesn't mean he's not changed..." Hermione said hopefully.

"So you wouldn't mind having Malfoy as Minister of Magic?"

Hermione seemed to consider it for a moment but then answered, indignantly, "Of course I would mind. I doubt he's going to win, anyway. Too many people don't trust him."

Ron knew Hermione well enough that she wasn't stating a fact, but more a hope. Hopefully a large majority of people didn't trust him.... hopefully he wouldn't win. "You're probably right," Ron added unconvincingly.

"We'll drop in on Harry and Ginny later and see what they make of it," Hermione muttered thoughtfully.

"Right. Well, let's go get breakfast. I'll bet anything George and Hugo are hungry."

"So, George, how are Katie and Kate?" Hermione asked interestedly.

"They're good. Went shopping in Diagon Alley today. Katie's sister is getting married and the women of the house decided it would be beneficial if they had new dress robes.

"You didn't go?"

"Evidently not," George said, furrowing his brow in mock thought. "Curious. I was sure I would have gone. Ah well," he sighed, wandering over to the table and helping himself to the toast and egg Ron and Hermione had just set out.

"Where'd Hugo go off to?"

"MUM! I OPENED THE HALL CLOSET!" Hugo screamed and a moment later, his red hair struck by, followed closely by a broom.

"I told you to leave it closed until I had time to figure out what was wrong with it!" Hermione cried, freezing the broom in midair.

"You had frozen it before so I thought it would be okay to open it..." Hugo sighed, hanging his head sadly.

"Yes well I guess the charm wore off," Hermione observed.

George, who had been stifling his laughter, let out a stream of chuckles.

Hermione shot him an angry glare. "Did you do this to Hugo's broom?!" she demanded.

"No," George choked out between laughs. "No, that isn't Hugo's broom. I'd recognize it anywhere. It was Fred's idea. That, Hermione, is one of our high quality assault brooms."

"Assault brooms?!" Hermione demanded, sounding positively aghast.

"Yes. Obviously someone in this house bought one and Hugo stumbled upon it by mistake. Ron blushed crimson.

Hermione, who seemed to angry to form coherent sentences, simply sat down and began picking at her sausage. Hugo, on the other hand, looked positively thrilled to be privy to one of Uncle Fred's ideas.

"So that broom... it was Uncle Fred's idea?" Hugo asked reverently.

It was only momentary and subtle, at best, but a look of indescribable pain flickered across the normally jolly look in George's eyes. For a moment in time, there was no answer or words spoken. Hugo, in his innocence, seemed oblivious to it all.

"Yeah," George answered nonchalantly. "Your Uncle Fred had the best ideas."

This knowledge, for some reason, proved exciting to Hugo, who tucked into his eggs with a huge grin on his face.

George stood up abruptly, deserting a plate full of food. "Thanks for having me. I best be going. Have some business with Percy about some of the financing for the shop," George lied easily.

Ron and Hermione both watched him leave, a familiar sadness creeping into them.

"Look it, Mum and Dad! Look what I can do with my sausages!" Hugo cheered.

Both Hermione and Ron looked. Hugo had stuck sausages into his mouth to resemble that of a walrus. "I'm a walrun, like mum showed me in that book!" he prodded, unsure if his parents had gotten the joke. Ron almost spat his juice out laughing and Hermione, who was trying to reprimand Hugo for playing with his food smiled in spite of herself.

"Want to see another trick?"

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

George had in fact lied. He had not gone to address matters with Percy. In fact, business was the last thing on his mind when he apparated into the Diagon Alley branch of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. He had gone straight to the backroom and headed outside, to a tiny patch of grass. It wasn't where Fred was buried but it was there, George had decided unceremoniously, that he had buried Fred's wand. He couldn't think of a better place to lay to the rest the creator of amazing magic than the place in which aforementioned amazing magic was sold.

It was quiet. George had made sure to put plenty of silencing charms on the door so that he couldn't hear what was happening within the walls and no one could hear what was happening outside. George sat on a hard, stony bench that had been there when he and Fred had first bought the shop. Now, looking at the tiny mark that told where Fred's wand lay, he was overwhelmed with sadness. The feeling was one that had been coming and going for almost two decades now. It was a cruel punch to the stomach and more often than not, a restricted throat in which the only sound that could escape were cries of sorrow.

George stared at the ground fixedly, thinking about the tumultuous nineteen years that had past since he had lost his brother. They had brought simultaneously too much change and not enough. He was married now, to Katie, and had a daughter poised to go to Hogwarts in three years. Ron and Ginny were also married and already had children in Hogwarts. Bill's daughter seemed on the verge of starting a beautiful relationship with Teddy Lupin, both of whom Fred had never known. Charlie, who had opted out of family life, was still doing what he loved best and checked on his nieces and nephews religiously. And Fred had never seen that. He had never seen his friends and family grow to the parents and teachers it had always been hard to imagine they would become. George smiled bitterly. If only Fred had seen how much bigger their stores had gotten, bigger than either could have ever imagined, including a branch opening in France in the spring. If only Fred could have seen James, eager to emulate everything his Uncles Fred and George had done. And if only Fred could see the loyalty that the nieces and nephews who never knew him had for their uncle.

It wasn't fair. To put it simply, it just wasn't fair. George had never really reconciled with fate, who had so rudely stripped the world of quite possibly one of the happiest and most caring people ever to have lived. He didn't give a damn that fate had taken his ear or that fate had taken so long to have Harry finally vanquish Voldemort. It was as though fate had an insatiable taste for cruelty. George, for the past almost twenty years, had been living as though someone had taken half of his soul. There was something hollow about the name George without the name Fred preceding it. Sometimes, his mind would play evil tricks on him. Once, when he looked into the mirror while getting ready for bed, he was almost convinced that his reflection was Fred and that instead of looking into a mirror, George was looking into a window. When he smiled, his brother smile back. And then reality set in like a blow to the head.

He was happy though. He had a wife and children and such a splendid life that he knew he ought not to complain. Still, as if permanently stationed there, a voice in his head was constantly reminding him of how much more splendid his life would have been with Fred there. It seemed as though George lived in a constant state of sadness and guilt, for he knew he should be adapting now, with the passing of nineteen years. George, who was now trembling slightly, kept his eyes on the spot.

He had never been mad at George for "leaving him" for he had never viewed it as that. Like Lupin and Tonks and so many others, Fred had died doing something honourable, something incredible. George could not have been prouder of his brother. But still, he wished Fred could have fought and lived. George had thought all of these thoughts before and he had experienced every emotion connected to a death there is to experience. And yet George kept returning to the spot with an almost masochistic fervor, for reasons he didn't even understand himself. Slowly, he rose.

"See ya, Fred," he muttered, his voice sounding strange after sitting in silence for almost half an hour. No answer came and George hadn't expected it to. Slowly, he shuffled towards the door. As it opened, an owl came hurtling over his shoulder and into the shop. George looked at it oddly. It stood up from where it had fallen on the ground and, as though it had known George his whole life, jumped onto his shoulders, hooting all the while.

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

"Come on, let's go sit outside. It's a pretty day," Rose pleaded to Dalton and Al, who were finishing up their Sunday morning breakfast.

Dalton seemed agreeable to the idea but Al was still thinking about the request James had put into Victoire. What had Professor Longbottom been doing in that office? The need to know was burning in the pit of his stomach and remained forefront in his mind.

"I'll meet you out by the door. I just gotta ask James sometime," Al offered, jumping up and chasing after his brother, who was now leaving with a few of his friends. "James, can I talk to you?"

James whirled around, slightly confused. "What?"

"Hey, I was thinking.... about what you said about Professor Longbottom..."

"Yeah?"

"Well, I was thinking we should go talk to him ourselves..." Al continued, his confidence faltering under the scrutinizing glare he was receiving from James.

Al turned around and began to slink away, knowing full well the answer he was about to receive from his brother.

"Alright."

Al blinked a few times in slight bewilderment.

"Yeah, if Victoire won't do it, I guess we've got to do it ourselves," James elaborated, drawing himself up proudly. "Come on."

"Are we going now?"

"Of course we're going now dungbrain," James sighed, exasperated.

Al turned around and began to follow his brother as they found their way out of the Great Hall and nearly broke into a sprint on the way to the greenhouses, where Neville could be found every Sunday, planning out his lessons. Al reached the door first and knocked politely. A few moments later, Neville opened the door, his face smudged with dirt and a wriggling green plant in his hand. "Oh, it's you two! Come in," he ushered them in, placing the plant in a vat of some murky liquid and wiped his hands clean. "To what do I owe this visit?"

"What? Are we not allowed to visit our favorite Herbology professor?" James asked innocently, staring up at Neville with his big, brown eyes. "Oh and mum sends her love," he added with a tiny bit of a shudder as he hopped onto a stool and began to spin around.

"Tell your mum I said hi," Neville smiled.

"Professor Longbottom.... we have a question..." Al began.

James shot him a Don't-You-Dare-Mess-Up-My-Plan look. Al quickly looked around for a change of topic.

"Yeah? And how have you two been doing at Hogwarts? Up to any trouble making yet?" he asked, his eyes glinting playfully.

"We tried... caught by Professor Finnigan," James shrugged. "But we did come across something interesting on our wanderings through the castle and after discussing it with Al here, we decided it would be best to...." he looked at Al for an explanation.

"We decided it would be best to come and talk to you about it. After all, you know all about Hogwarts and stuff since you were probably with my dad when he did a lot of his exploring and...." Al glanced at James.

"And while glancing at the Marauder's Map two nights ago, we saw your name in Professor McGonagall's office," James spun around quickly on the swiveling stool.

Neville turned a delicate pink.

"And we, curious children we are, were wondering why exactly you were there?" Al finished, sounding a lot more like James than he had intended to.

"Hogwarts business. Had to talk about classes and things like that," Neville lied easily. After being in the D.A. for so long, lying had become second nature.

"Nothing for you two to worry about. If it were important, I think your dad would have told you," Neville reasoned with them.

Al looked at James long enough to pick up on his brother's thoughts: they weren't going to get answers out of Neville. At least not today. Al made a mental note to ask Hagrid if he knew anything when he went to tea with him on Friday.

"So you been keeping in touch with Luna?" James asked teasingly.

Neville sighed. He still hadn't fully adjusted to the fact that he was teaching Potter children and that they would in fact know a lot more of his personal life than the average student.

"Yes, I have."

James simply nodded.

"Do you need help with any of this, Nev... er, Professor Longbottom?" Al offered generously, motioning to all the plants and things of the ilk.

"No, thanks Al. But no, I'm almost done. Going to teach my fifth years about the thing in the vat," he said proudly.

Al grinned up at him.

"Now you two scurry on now, your friends will be wandering where you've gone," Neville said after a moment, turning his attention back to the plant. Al and James bade him goodbye and began the journey back to the castle.

"Do you reckon he was lying?" Al asked his brother.

"Of course," James replied matter-of-factly. "But he'll come around."

Al decided to trust his brother for the moment, and instead of asking his brother about the next installment of the plan, resigned himself to talking about Quidditch and their parents.