---

“She’s dead,” whispered Hermione hoarsely. Tears streamed silently down her face as she clutched at Merinah’s limp, smooth wrist. “Harry…she’s dead.”

The words seemed to echo ominously in his head: she’s dead, Harry, she’s dead. Dead. Dead dead deaddeaddeaddead…

Harry stood abruptly, brusquely wiping at a stray tear, and staggered over to where Voldemort sprawled out over his throne, eyes wide and staring wondrously at the ceiling: dead and lifeless. His chest was still and his slits didn’t dilate with breath.

Yet Harry was cautious to approach his body, hardly daring to believe the one man who’d cheated death so many times could really have died. He reached out and carefully took his wrist, feeling for a pulse. It felt like a stick in his hand, cold and hard like a statue, and though he held it for over two minutes, nothing beat against his skin.

“Is—is he dead?” asked Hermione softly, her voice cracking. She still held tight to Merinah’s lifeless body. “Did he really—die?”

Harry nodded silently, staring piously at Voldemort’s unmoving body, at his lifeless red eyes that no longer glittered with hatred.

“How—?” But her voice broke off and she had to clear her throat before she could continue. “I thought he—couldn’t die?”

Harry took a deep, shuddering breath and threw down Voldemort’s arm with utter repugnance. He turned to Hermione, face stone against the warring emotions within him. “Apparently he could.” His voice was rougher than usual, not the smooth baritone Hermione had grown accustom to.

“But how, Harry?” she croaked. She hastily brushed away the huge tears rolling down her face. “How?”

“What, do I look like an expert?” he snapped harshly.

Hermione’s face fell drastically and she choked down more tears.

Harry instantly felt awful and knelt next to Hermione. She turned her face away. Lifting her chin so that she looked up at him, he gently wiped away her tears with his thumb. “I don’t know for certain how this happened,” he said slowly, thoughtfully, green eyes staring intently into hers, “I can only give my theory. Mer—” his voice cracked here, “—Merinah was his daughter, Hermione. It’s—”

“—old magic,” she whispered, eyes widening in realization. “I read about it somewhere. Like how Lily sacrificed herself for you, so you held her protection.”

There was a flicker of remorse in Harry’s eyes as Hermione continued.

“He couldn’t kill his daughter. It’s an awful sin, even worst than killing a unicorn. So the curse rebounded on him…” She paused. “But wouldn’t the same thing that happened between you and him when Lily sacrificed herself happen?”

Harry shook his head slowly. “No.”

“Why—why not?”

“Her powers, Hermione. She’s powerful.”

“But so aren’t you! He said you were like a replica—”

Still, he shook his head. “No. My powers hadn’t been developed. They were still dormant inside me. Merinah’s were at their peek. This gave that curse enough power so that it could kill even Voldemort.”

Hermione’s opened her mouth in confusion, but then quickly closed it as she grasped what he meant. “Oh.” She pulled her face out of his grip and turned to Merinah’s body, which she still clutched tightly in her hand. “She told me…‘the innocent that dies…’” She closed her eyes against the tears, but they squeezed out anyway. “She sacrificed herself, Harry. She died for us.”

Harry stared fixedly at Merinah for a moment. Then he looked back at Hermione, who was sobbing silently. Pulling her gently into his arms, he said softly, “I know. I know, Hermione.”

Tears broke free from his eyes and coursed silently down his face as he stroked Hermione’s hair soothingly. He turned his head upward, towards Heaven, and silently asked, What am I supposed to do now?

He didn’t expect an answer.

Neither of them knew what to do. They sat there for hours it seemed, crying over Merinah and reveling over Voldemort. In reality it had only been a few minutes.

Hermione pulled away from Harry, mopping away the tears with her shirt. Sniffling, she said, “We have to contact the Ministry.”

His brow furrowing, Harry opened his mouth to ask how exactly they were to do that and get away with it, but Hermione broke him off by softly kissing him. “We have to, Harry. But don’t worry, I’m not going to let them touch you.”

“And how are you going to do that?” he wondered, more softly than he usually would have if she hadn’t just kissed him.

She smiled slightly, taking his hand. “Harry…Voldemort’s dead. There’s only one person—who’s known—who could accomplish such a feat.” Holding his fingers to her lips, she told him, her voice slightly muffled, “And that’s you.”

Harry gritted his teeth against the guilt inside him. “I couldn’t take that away from Merinah, Hermione. You know that.”

“She would have wanted you to, Harry,” Hermione insisted, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “She would have known that to be the only way.”

“But I couldn’t—”

“You have to and you will.”

He lowered his eyes to the stone floor. “I don’t deserve it…”

A small smile quirked the corners of her lips. “No one does, Harry, no one except Merinah. But you have to face the facts: it’s the only way you can be accepted again. The only way to prove you’ve come back, to show that you are Harry Potter and not some cold-hearted, black-garbed, evil man.” She swallowed hard, looking away at Merinah’s limp body. “It’s the only way,” she repeated sadly.

“Maybe…maybe I should just go to Azkaban and take the kiss,” said Harry morosely. “I deserve that.”

“No!” Hermione cried heatedly.

His head shot up, eyes surprised. “Why not?”

“Because…” Another gulp as she blinked back tears. “I love you, Harry. I don’t want you to leave me. You’re all I’ve got. I want to stay with you forever, even if forever isn’t very long… Merinah gave us that chance, Harry. God did. Can’t you see it? It’s the opportunity to begin anew. He’s giving you a second chance. Merinah’s giving you a second chance.”

Well, he thought, when she put it that way…

“I’ll do it,” he said hoarsely, hoping he had made the right choice.

And when he saw the smile that stretched across Hermione’s face, when she grabbed his head and kissed him exuberantly…he knew he had.

It was all over the newspapers. Harry Potter was again the hero, again the savior. He was back on their side, and Voldemort was dead and gone for good. Honestly this time.

Reporters badgered him, begged for answers, wondered on why he looked so despondent. He replied he’d only done what he’d had to to be accepted again, so he would be trusted again, and that he didn’t deserve any more credit than that.

He and Hermione rented a two-bed hotel for the time being, planning on buying an apartment or little home soon. Harry planned on proposing, but was waiting for just the right time. Hermione seemed to accept this, and they had a slightly platonic relationship for a while. Plenty of kisses, some deeper than others, but nothing more.

They wanted their “first time” to be special, they said.

One night, after a walk around Hogsmeade eating ice cream (though the weather hardly called for any) they came back to their hotel room to find a note stuck to the door.

A quizzical look on his face, Harry reached out and plucked it off. It was immaculately clean, all but for a messy scrawl on the front in blue pen that said “Harry.”

Opening the door with Hermione behind him looking curiously over his shoulder, he slit open the note with his finger and read:

Hey, Harry:

Heaven’s great. Much better than Earth. Weather’s pleasant, after-life’s good, and let’s kick all the pleasantries:

It’s okay. Get over it. You did the right thing. What do I need with recognition? I get enough by the happiness within you two, but, frankly, you could use a little more. Get over me. I’m glad you care, but this is ridiculous. Can’t a girl have some peace without all that guilt inside you pressing against me? I feel guilty myself then. So, Harry, get on with your life. Enjoy every second of it. Just don’t hurt Hermione, or I’m gonna sic some fallen angels on you.

And, as a final sentence:

It was meant to be.

P.S. Don’t believe it’s me? Look out the window, Harry. Just look out the window.

He looked up from the note to find Hermione cocking her head inquisitively at him. “What?” she asked. “What is it?”

He would have told her but he found himself unable to speak. He walked curiously over to the window and pulled the curtains back. His grip tightened on the note.

Merinah was standing there, dim and clear like a hologram, leaning against the railing. She wore a robe of pure white, her hair contrasting against it greatly. Sapphire eyes smiled along with her mouth.

It could have been a joke. It could have been.

But he knew it wasn’t.

He heard her voice, soft and completely like her own, flowing gently through him. “A second chance, Harry. A second chance.” It paused. “Don’t let that go.”

She gave him her flirtatious grin, flipped her hand at him in a sort of army salute, and then she was gone, leaving him with her final words, provocative as they should be, “Just do it, Harry. She’s waiting. It’s the right time, it’s the right place, and it’s the right ghost here to push you to do it.”

He was shaking. He was crying. He was smiling, too.

He let the curtain fall back into place, his hand shuddering, and turned, soldier-like, to face Hermione.

She stood behind him, eyebrows knitted together with concern.

She’s like an angel herself, he thought. Her long, slightly bushy brown hair was pulled up in a tight bun to control it, a few wisps set free to fall in her face. Though she wore jeans and a sweater, in his eyes she was attired in those sheer white robes that Merinah had worn. He could just see the halo over her head.

Go on, Merinah’s voice told him in his head. He felt something physically shove him, warming him all over.

He stumbled forward, Hermione still looking baffled, and fell clumsily to his knees before her.

I haven’t got a ring, he fretted to Merinah.

He felt something drop into his coat pocket, and, when he reached in and pulled it out, he saw it was a navy blue, silk jewelry box.

His throat felt like it was full of cotton as he reached out and took Hermione’s left hand, the ring box still clasped, hidden, in his other. He looked nervously up at her, as she stared down at him with wide, surprised eyes.

Another shove. Just say it, Harry, for Christ—excuse me, God doesn’t like me swearing—for criminy’s sake. Happy, God? Good. Say it, Harry James Potter. Just do it.

“Will you—?” He swallowed down a large portion of saliva to clear away the cotton. “Will you marry me, Hermione?” He winced, as if expecting a slap, but it didn’t come.

Open the box, you dingbat, Merinah ordered, laughing slightly.

Oh. He quickly snapped open the box, brandishing the ring like a sword.

“Ohhh,” Hermione wailed, covering her mouth with one hand while covering her heart with the other. “Ohhhhh!”

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly, reddening like a tomato. “I didn’t mean to—”

D*** it, I made her cry! he fussed

No cussing, Harry, tsk tsk, and she’s happy, you moron. My G—my goulash, you’re dense.

Hermione tried to recover, swallowing big gulps of air. “No, no, I didn’t mean ‘no,’ Harry. Yes. Yes, I’ll marry you.”

I told you so, Merinah taunted.

“I’m sorry, I take it—” Then he realized she’d said she’d marry him, and he gaped at her in shock. “You will? Really?”

Hermione gave him a watery smile. “No. I won’t.” His face fell. She laughed and slapped his shoulder. “I’m kidding, Harry.” She wiped at the edge of her eyes. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

Now what do I do? Harry asked Merinah desperately. Put the ring on her left ring finger, moron. A little feisty for being an angel, no? What? I can’t help the fact that you’re dense.

Shaking his head pityingly, he slid the ring onto Hermione’s shaking finger, getting a real glimpse of it for the first time: a moderately sized diamond with four extremely blue and perfect sapphires surrounding it.

“It’s beautiful, Harry,” gushed Hermione, hand still clasped over her mouth. “It must have cost a fortune!”

Whose is it? he asked Merinah wonderingly.

There was a slight pause, and then, Your mother’s, Harry.

His heart skipped a beat. Have you met her?

Yes, Merinah replied softly. She’s wonderful. She told me to give it to you, Harry. Another beat as Hermione stared adoringly at the ring. Well, kiss her, Harry. You should know where to go from here. I have to be off.

Merinah?

Yeah?

Er—thanks. I owe you more than you know.

Oh, I know how much you owe me, all right. She paused. But since God doesn’t allow debts in heaven…I’ll let you off.

Thank you so much, Merinah.

Just take good care of her, Harry. Another pause, and then, soft, Let the love hold you. Not the hate.

He felt an emptiness in his mind as Merinah left, to go wherever it was angels went. Because now there was no doubt in Harry’s mind that Merinah was an angel.

Feeling a lot happier than he’d felt before, he stood, cupped Hermione’s beaming face in his heads, and kissed her passionately.

“Mmph,” she said, pushing him back a bit. “Whoa, there, big fella.”

He grinned, softly touching her cheek. “What? I’m letting the ‘looove hold me, not the hate.’”

“Oh? Is that it?” She returned his grin, sliding her hands up her chest. “If that’s the case, then I’m only happy to oblige. We have to let the love hold us, after all.”

“Yes, of—”

And no more words were said; their lips got in the way of each other and any attempt to speak came out muffled and unintelligible, as they let the love hold them.

Not the hate.

Merinah slowly opened her eyes to find a perfect blue sky speckled the immaculate fluffy clouds spread out just right above her.

She blinked a few times, trying to remember who she was, what had happened…

She sat bolt upright as it all came back to her.

Voldemort had used the killing curse on Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, but she, Merinah Lynn Gattes, had jumped in the way. It was bit of old magic she knew, and it had worked. She had seen Voldemort die.

But she hadn’t died herself? She could remember the feeling of wiping out, the feeling of falling deep into a dreamless sleep, surrounded by blackness. She remembered the pain, the pain that slowly ebbed as the pleasant blanket of perpetual sleep fell over her.

So how had she ended up here?

She got to her feet to survey where here was, throwing her bag that lay next to her over her shoulder in the process.

Knee-deep, soft green grasses swayed against her legs as a gentle, soothing breeze rustled across the thin strip of meadow she stood in. Both sides of her had dark hardwood forests. She could hear the chirping of birds and crickets, the trickling of a pure creek, smell fresh mountain air as she gazed down through the narrow valley that peaked up into a mountain ahead of her.

She opened her mouth in surprise, ran her hand through her messy, grass-strewn hair.

This was her paradise. This was the place she’d always pictured in her mind when she’d wanted peace. The only thing that was missing would be…

She turned around slowly, the grass twisting about her legs, and there is was. A small, log and stone cabin was plopped almost perilously amidst the grasses. It had a small lawn, where the grass became short and well kept, and a gorgeous flower garden of sunflowers, poppies, lilies, and morning glories under the small, glass-paned windows. Stone steps led up to a simple brown door with a brass knocker set in the middle.

Almost without knowing it, she waded through the grass to the house, hardly daring to believe it. No, it couldn’t be…

She stumbled as she stepped out of the knee-deep sea of grasses into the manicured lawn. Walking the short distance across it to the steps, she heard a faint barking sound and turned, only to see her long-dead golden retriever, Ruffles, sprinting towards her.

“Ruffles?” she whispered as the dog leapt to her. She bent down and took the happily panting dog’s collar to see its name. “Ruffles Gattes” was embroidered into the familiar pale blue collar in silver cursive.

“Oh my God!” she cried happily, falling to her knees and hugging the jabbering dog to her. She pet her head joyfully, oblivious to the slobber that was covering her hair. “I’ve missed you, Ruffy.” She swallowed hard against the tears in her throat, for Merinah Gattes did not cry. No, she didn’t.

“I thought you were dead, Ruffles. The car?” Normally, she would have felt stupid for talking to a dog, but not now. She was too happy to see her. “Oh, who cares? I’m just happy to see you, baby Ruffy.”

She got back to her feet, brushing the dirt and grass of her knees, and turned back to the house. Trekking again to the steps, Ruffles following at her feet, she wondered what exactly had happened. Could this really be hers…?

Up the steps with heavy feet…she squinted up at the knocker, and gasped in surprise as she saw what name was carved into it: Merinah Gattes.

Her heart thumping loudly against her chest, she reached out and turned the brass doorknob. The door creaked open with newness, as if this were the first time it had been opened, and she almost swore as she saw what met her eyes.

It was her paradise. It was her dream.

A high-ceilinged room with plastered and wooden walls, white, fluffy carpet soft against her boots. A black leather couch sat in front of a stone fireplace with a mantel running over it, stock-full of all Merinah’s favorite books. A corner table with a blue, jeweled lamp adorned with sapphires sitting on a lace cover mat was perched on the couch’s right hand side. On the left was another table covered in all the little knick-knacks Merinah had always dreamed of owing. Sitting neatly between the couch and the fireplace was a long table with a glass surface, two neat piles of magazines on either side of the candy bowl full of Reeses that sat in the middle.

She turned around, letting her backpack fall to the ground, and saw a huge entertainment system on her left. A step went down to a stone floor, which disconnected it from the cozy great room. Set neatly in the middle of this room was a woven rug of blues and whites and yellows, a corduroy, navy La-Z-Boy erected on top of it. This chair was facing a nice-size TV, which balanced atop an oak stool. A VCR was under it, littered with many movies Merinah loved.

Her hand at her throat in a fury of emotions, Merinah stepped closer to inspect this den, which also housed a huge stereo system, surrounded by those swirling towers of CDs Merinah had seen in advertisements and stores and had always wanted.

Twisting her neck to the right, she saw that the living room also ended on this side, giving way to a white tiled floor that went a step up, not down. This was the kitchen, with neat blue counters and white pine cabinets. Tall stools were placed along an island.

This place was so familiar. This was where she always went when she dreamed of a better place…

Through the kitchen, across that white-tiled floor, she came to a door. Pushing it open, she entered a hallway. The right end led to a side door with a four-paned window. The other end stretched up white-carpeted stairs. And right in front of her was another door.

She hurriedly pushed this one open, seeing that it was the study she’d always dreamed of, complete with a blue computer and daybed.

Walking hurriedly up the stairs, she saw pictures lining it, paintings of mountain sides and valleys: the places that always meant peace to her.

This upstairs was small. The stairs ended at an oak door with another brass handle. Taking a breath, she pushed it open slowly, inch by inch, revealing a bright, clean room. It had a slanted ceiling, rising to the right and then flattening. Windows that were like skylights filtered the fresh sunlight in, casting sun across the pale blue carpet that sunk dramatically under her feet. A bed layered with sheets and pillows of different color blues ranging from light sky to midnight sat neatly in the right hand corner. A white pine nightstand sat on its left, another one of the jeweled lamps upon it. There was another door on the right, and it was open, showing off the large bathroom of more blues and whites: blue was Merinah’s favorite color.

The room smelled fresh and felt well ventilated, one of the windows open to let the cool, pleasant breeze inside. To her left was a nicely polished, maple dresser, a plate of chocolate chip cookies in the center of it. She reached out, took one, and bit into it as she wandered across the room to look out the windows.

This was paradise. This wasn’t reality. It was a dream…

It was Heaven.

“So you’ve finally caught on?” said a man’s voice from behind her.

She whirled around, choking on her cookie, to find a tall, gangling red-haired man reclining in a black, leather rocking chair in the left hand corner of the room.

“Who the hell are you?” she sputtered, dropping the cookie.

He grinned, a smile that started on one side and grew large there before it even began to quirk the other end. It was kind of cute, Merinah thought.

“Ron Weasley,” he said cheerfully, hopping to his feet in a movement so swift and liquid it seemed he’d flown. He threw out his hand to shake hers. “You’re Merinah Gattes, yes, I know.”

Her brows knitting together in consternation, she shook his hand. “Who are you?”

“Haven’t I said?” His smile faltered a little at the icicles Merinah shot at him through her eyes. He decided to elaborate. “I’m your guide, Merinah. God’s assigned me to get you situated in Heaven.”

“I’m…in Heaven?” she asked, bewildered.

He nodded. “Yes, you are.”

“H-how?”

His forehead wrinkled in confusion. “How? How?” He stared up at her in a way that suggested he thought she was joking. But she was serious. “Merinah…you sacrificed yourself. Not for your own personal reward, not for recognition; you sacrificed yourself for two people out of love. And you ask why you’re in Heaven?”

“But…my father…” she whispered. “My father was—”

Ron smiled gently at her. “Lineage matters not here, Merinah. It’s you that matters. Past regrets don’t bind you. This is your paradise, this is your home, and this is where you brought yourself.”

“I’m not going to be shunned for what my father was? For what I was?”

“What were you, Merinah?” he replied, a slight glint of mischief in his eyes. “You gave yourself for love. Hey, in my eyes and in many other’s eyes, you are an angel.”

She stared silently at his face for a moment, contemplating what he meant. And then she smiled. “I’m free?”

Ron nodded. “You’re free.”

“You know all about me,” said Merinah conversationally, sitting down on her couch in front of the hearth in the great room, “but all I know about you is that your name is Ron Weasley.” She passed him a cup of peppermint tea.

Taking it, he looked up at her in surprise. “You don’t know about me?”

“Um…no. Should I?”

“Funny. Hmm. Well, I suppose it’s for the best. My death was a bit of an embarrassment.” He settled back on the couch, keeping a respectful distance between them. “I was Harry Potter’s best friend, Merinah.”

Her mouth fell open and she stared at him with wide eyes. “You were? What happened? Could that have been his downfall?”

“Ah, no,” said Ron, dismissing that with a wave of his hand. But then he stopped and seemed to consider this. “Well, I s’pose it was that piled on everything. You don’t know his past?”

“Of course I do. The Boy Who Lived Who Turned Evil. What more is there to know?”

“A lot.”

She glanced up in surprise. “How so?”

“Harry and Hermione and I were like the crusaders at Hogwarts. Since Harry always attracted trouble, and Hermione and I were his best friends, we had our fair share of battles to fight at Hogwarts. Harry and I were best friends. Since the first day of school…”

“So your death would have been hard on him,” she said quietly.

“Yes.” Ron’s eyes seemed to wander to the back of his head as he looked at something Merinah couldn’t see.

“How’d it happen? How’d you die?”

“Wormtail,” said Ron simply.

“Him?” cried Merinah, appalled. “That little traitor? The one who set Black up?”

Ron nodded. “Grabbed me, shot some fire right through my head. Bet he couldn’t even do Avada Kedavra, the prat.”

“Did Harry…did he see that?” she whispered.

“Of course,” said Ron. “It was the middle of the night. He snuck right into our dormitories, we were in our sixth year. Harry woke up right when he’d entered; he always felt it with his scar. He’d gotten up, switched the light on, and reached for his wand, but Wormtail had grabbed me and held the wand right to my head.” A wry kind of smile tugged the corners of Ron’s lips. “He threatened Harry. Said if he made one move, he’d kill me. I remember those to be the scariest moments of my life… Harry, of course, moved to his wand, but Wormtail actually followed up on his threat and shot me right through the head… Pain. Horrible pain…

“I managed to live a few moments longer, managed to watch Harry’s eyes suddenly bulge, watch him… He used Avada Kedavra on Wormtail…”

“But—I thought you said he was only a sixth—?” sputtered Merinah.

Ron cut her off, nodding. “He was. He was only sixteen.” His lip twitched. “I guess it was right then that I saw what would happen to him. His face blanched… And he rushed over to my side, and picked me up. He was cold. His face was like a stone mask. The last thing I remembered was how tormented his eyes looked…”

“You saw what he’d become…” Merinah whispered.

Another curt nod. “I blamed myself for his downfall, as I’m sure he did for mine. But I had all the heavenly powers there to show me it wasn’t my fault.” He stared down at his hands. “He, of course, had Headmaster Dumbledore… They were close. Dumbledore was like a father to him…”

Merinah stared, eyes growing so huge they threatened to pop out of their sockets. “And Dumbledore died a year later…”

“Precisely,” said Ron softly. “And Sirius was killed a few months before that. Remus Lupin at the same time…”

“All the people who were important to him?”

“Yes.”

“But…Hermione?”

Ron gave a derisive snort. “Hermione was too caught up in her own pain to be much help to Harry. He was in love with her,” he said more quietly. “That’s why I broke off our relationship in out sixth year, right before I died—”

“You and Hermione?” Merinah asked wonderingly.

He smiled slightly, still staring at his hands as though they were the most fascinating things in the world. “Yes. For almost two years. But I wasn’t in love with her,” he added upon seeing Merinah’s confused look. “Sure, I liked her. I thought she’d turned out to be very pretty. I had fun having spats with her. But we didn’t get along well enough. We had the kind of relationship a brother and sister would have. I should know, as I’m a brother myself. Or was.

“The point is, I knew Harry and Hermione would have been different. They didn’t have a relationship that would stay just plain friendly, and I knew it. So I broke it off.”

“Harry really does have more to his past than I knew, doesn’t he?”

Ron grinned. “You could say that, yes.”

“He did it! He finally did it!” Merinah sang happily as she pushed the door to her cabin open. Ron was sitting comfortably on the couch as she walked in, holding a mirror in his hands.

“I know, it was marvelous,” said Ron, laughing. “He’s still a prat.”

“I know,” Merinah agree, plopping down next to Ron. “Did the mirror work?”

“Yes, perfectly… As a matter of fact, it’s still working…” He gave Merinah a mischievous look, his eyebrows raising so high they almost were obscured by his hair. He held out the silver mirror to her, which showed a very busy couple.

“Ron!” admonished Merinah, pushing it away. “Don’t eavesdrop!”

“Why on earth not? They’re only kissing; if they start doing more, I’ll stop watching. I don’t exactly care for a full body glimpse of Harry, mind you.”

“Hmm, I would,” Merinah said provocatively.

“Oh, I’m sure you would. You and a thousand other witches out there…”

“But I won’t get that glimpse, sadly enough…”

“Why not?”

Merinah simply smiled. “They’re too prudent, Ron.”

“They aren’t acting too prudent,” he commented, eyeing the mirror.

“Ah well, let them have their fun…” She grinned. “Now, if I were Hermione, I wouldn’t care for prudence.”

He arched an eyebrow at her. “I’m sure you wouldn’t…”

Merinah laughed and stretched. “All that angelic behavior I had down on earth wore me out…”

“I’m not leaving,” said Ron stubbornly. “I’m quite comfortable, thank you very much.”

She chuckled, leaning against him and stretching out across the couch. “I think I’ll take a nap…”

He glanced down at her, surprised at her sudden cuddling behavior. “I don’t understand you.”

“No one does, honey,” said Merinah softly, smiling. “No one ever will.”

Shifting slightly and putting his arm around her, he smiled down at her relaxed figure. “I’m going to try, you know. Always have to try.”

“Don’t come running to me if you can’t manage. As long as we have that established, feel free. Try, Ronald Weasley. Try.”

A slight beat, and then he bent his head and softly kissed her lips. Her mouth curved slightly. “You coming on to me, Weasley?”

“Nah. I’m trying to understand you…” he replied teasingly.

“Mm, I’m sure you are…”

“Who knows? I might succeed.”

“Maybe,” she replied sleepily. “Maybe you will…”

I want to thank all you nice people who encouraged me to continue. Thank you, thank you very very much for all the wonderful feedback. And I'd like some final feedback on this epilogue, too, if you don't mind too too much... (Oh, and Samantha the very nice person who reviews my fanfiction... Are you the author on ff.net? If you are...I loooved Wedding March...where's the sequel to the sequel? You know, Part 2?)