Disclaimer: I Do Not, Under Any Circumstances Claim Ownership Of The Magnificent World Of Harry Potter


Epilogue

Dawn broke slowly across the green hills of Devon. The sun poked it’s creeping rays in through the small windows of the Quibbler Printhouse. Luna Lovegood sat at her desk, shuffling through the stack of papers in her In-box. There was a man in York who swore he had seen Lord Voldemort dancing in a local community show, and a woman who knew for a fact that Harry Potter was living in Buckingham Palace on special invite from the muggle Queen.

Luna sighed heavily, it seemed that Harry Potter and Voldemort sightings were all that had been incoming to the magazine lately. Ever since the final battle, three years before, everyone and their cousin wanted to relive the glory of the Boy-Who-Lived’s victory.

Luna rubbed at her eyes. She had hoped, after she took over as editor for her father, that she would be able to break a large case on the Crumple-Horned Snorcack, but, it seemed, society wasn’t willing to venture into the exploration of new creatures. Her father had told her the sightings would subside over time, but if anything, they had only grown in number.

Her musings were cut short as a soft rhythm was tapped on her office door, and Draco Malfoy poked his head in. She couldn’t help but let a giggle escape from her. The young man took that as permission to enter.

“Hey, Loony,” he said softly.

Luna didn’t mind the old nickname, coming from him, it was actually kind of sweet.

“Good morning, Draco. How are those mail in contest entry forms coming along?”

“Almost done, Chief.” he replied

The Ministry had implemented a new system during the war. It seemed that many Death Eaters did not wish to serve the Dark Lord any longer, and had asked for protection. Scrimgeour had agreed on one condition, that as soon as the war was over, said death Eaters would work off their crime in community service. Malfoy had been assigned to the Quibbler, with no small amount of complaint. As time wore on however, his working conditions improved, if only by the fact that he began to harbor a small crush on Luna. He had gathered up the courage to ask her out only a few weeks before.

“The Hogwarts celebration starts at seven tonight, make sure your ready to go,” Luna told him, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

“No problem, did you RSVP for Weasley and Granger’s wedding yet?”

“Just floo-called Molly a half-hour ago, she was all a flutter. Perhaps she was dealing with an infestation of Joyingfalcs?”

“Or maybe she was just excited about her son’s wedding,” he answered, smiling at Luna’s individual weirdness, no one in the world was like her, perhaps that was why he was falling in love.


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Neville stood up from the spot he was kneeling on. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he looked around at his greenhouse. Pride swelled in his chest as he surveyed the results of his hard work. Glancing at his watch, he swore loudly. Severus Snape was due to pick up some potion ingredients any minute. He had become so engrossed in pruning his prize winning Mimbelus Mimbeltonia, that he had lost track of the time. Brushing the dirt from his knees, he hurried into the small cottage adjoined to his greenhouse, and put on a pot of tea. He had just placed some biscuits and cups on a tray, when there came a knock at his door. He answered, and smiled at the foreboding figure of his old Potions Professor. Once upon a time, Neville would have been frightened to see the man looming in front of him, but that had all changed when he received his first compliment from the surly ex-Death Eater.

It had been soon after the Final Battle, and Neville had still had a hard time believing that Snape had only killed Dumbledore on the old man’s orders. He had recently finished construction on his greenhouse on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, when the newly reinstated teacher approached him about striking a deal. He had claimed that he wanted fresh herbs for some rare potions, and that Neville’s, was the closest greenhouse to Hogwarts. Neville had given him the desired materials, and not a week later, Snape had come back for more.

“Well Longbottom, it seems that while you possess absolutely no potion making skills, you can grow an acceptable plant or two.”

Snape had been buying his necessities exclusively from Neville ever since.

Neville invited the man in for tea, and they, made their customary exchange of gold for plants. As he headed out the door, Snape turned to him one last time.

“I have been researching some new potions, and I believe I am very close to a cure for Cruciatus inlficted insanity. Good day, Mr. Longbottom.”


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The rain lashed down unceasingly, relentlessly pelting the three, already soaked forms standing huddled together. The overcast sky seemed to somehow mirror their disposition, and the occasional clap of thunder related to their pain and grief.

The tallest of the three, a ginger haired Auror, had his arm wrapped around the figure to his left, his fiancé, the youngest unspeakable in the Ministry, her bushy hair was matted, and the raindrops mixed with the silent tears on her face. The third, and youngest of the lot, wore a melancholy smile, her cheeks flushed from the cold, and the memories.

It had been three years, three long hard years. The amount of work it took to rebuild Hogwarts castle had been unbelievable, but they did it anyway. It seemed as though all of Wizarding Britain had pitched in, the hours had been tortuous, the work, backbreaking, but they persisted, it was what he would’ve wanted.

The newly restored turrets of the castle gleamed in the flashes of lightning, their gargantuan shapes looming over the three figures gathered near the shore of the immense lake. Today was, naturally, a holiday, the anniversary of the defeat of the Dark Lord, but it was a sad day for many, especially these three. The majority of the Wizarding population had joyously celebrated the Dark Lord’s downfall, and all across the nation, they raised their glasses in toast to the Boy-Who-Conquered.

The three had joined the celebration at Hogwarts, but quickly disentangled themselves from the hordes of jubilant party-goers, to make their way down the gently sloping lawn. They had found themselves, as had happened many times before, facing the two marble tombs, perched so close to the lake. Their eyes glistened as they read the inscriptions on the resting places of two of the greatest wizards ever known.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore
1840-1997
Beloved Headmaster and Leader
Connoisseur of fine Sweets

Harry James Potter
1980-1998
Friend Hero and So Much More
We Owe You Everything

As Ginny Weasley prepared to follow her brother and his fiancé back towards the inviting lights of the castle, she took one last look towards the engraving on her beloved Harry’s tomb. The cuts were deep and smooth, and as her fingers lovingly traced the familiar design, tears leaked from the corners of her eyes. She softly kissed the smooth stone, and turned away from the etch of the famous scar.