Disclaimer: I own neither the wonderful world of Harry Potter nor the song ‘She’ by Charles Aznavour and Herbert Kretzmer - sang by Elvis Costello.

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He watched her, grinning, as she wound her way around the back of the table and reached down to pick up the small boy. Gently she pulled a piece of lettuce out of his pale blond hair and rested him comfortably on her hip. Her face laughed back at his. Her warm cinnamon eyes danced and her auburn hair reflected the soft lights, shining as it curled down her back. She smiled at him blissfully.

She may be the face I can't forget,
The trace of pleasure or regret,
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay…

He moved over to her and taking her arm, led her outside into the darkening garden. It had been a warm summer and her handiwork was definitely fantastic he decided as he glanced around at all the flowers.

He laughed at the antics of his little son as she placed him down upon the green grass and let him crawl happily around. The summer moths were fluttering about their heads as the little boy pulled up a plant and proceeded to chew on it. Carefully, she bent down and eased the pink flower out of his mouth and ruffled the little boy’s hair.

She may be the song that summer sings,
May be the chill that autumn brings,
May be a hundred different things,
Within the measure of a day.

She straightened up and came to stand next to him. He slipped an arm around her slim waist and she leant her copper-colored head against his shoulder. He glanced down at his beautiful wife and nuzzled her fiery hair lightly.

She may be the beauty or the beast,
May be the famine or the feast,
May turn each day into a Heaven or a Hell…

He felt a tug the bottom of his robes and glanced down to see the little blond head sitting at his feet. Ginny laughed and he lowered himself to meet his son’s face.

“You getting tired?”

Ginny swatted him playfully and scooped her young son up.

“Mummy will put you to bed.”

His smile widened as the small boy reached for a curl of her red hair and proceeded to pull it towards him and chew on it. He began to laugh as his wife wrinkled her nose at him and pulled the lock of hair from the boy’s mouth.

She may be the mirror of my dreams,
A smile reflected in a stream,
She may not be what she may seem,
Inside her shell...

They reached the patio door and she slipped inside, still clutching the baby. He closed it behind them and followed her into the living room.

“Tea?”

She nodded silently as she rested the boy’s head onto her shoulder and murmured quietly to him, lulling him to sleep.

She, who always seems so happy in a crowd,
Whose eyes can be so private and so proud,
No one's allowed to see them when they cry…

He loved her, oh yes he loves her. He loved them both more than he could say. It was a strange feeling for him. He had been taught that Malfoys couldn’t love – his father had been wrong.

If he just pictured her sitting on the sofa with their little boy asleep in her arms, his heart would rush out to them. They were his life…

She may be the love that cannot hope to last,
May come to me from shadows in the past,
That I remember 'till the day I die…

She had always been there for him. When his mother died, when his father died, when Blaise was sent to Azkaban… She was the reason he hadn’t received the ‘Dementor’s Kiss,’ she was the reason he had been accepted back into society. She was the reason why he hadn’t committed suicide; she was the reason why his tiny son now existed. She was the reason that he was alive.

She may be the reason I survive,
The why and wherefore I'm alive,
The one I care for through the rough and ready years.

After ordering some tea he wandered back into the cosy living room. He moved closer to the sofa and smiled softly. She was lying there upon the green silk cushions, her long, curly hair spread about her in a most gorgeous crimson fan. Her mouth turned up slightly at the corners in a secret smile – it looked like she was laughing in her sleep. His little child lay next to her, snuggled into her warm side breathing softly. He felt tears forming in his eyes at the sight of his family.

Me, I'll take the laughter and her tears,
And make them all my souvenirs,
For where she goes I've got to be,
The meaning of my life is...

He glanced at her one more time as she lay upon the sofa, sleeping gently. He marveled at the tiny creation that lay next to her and carefully he covered them over with the blanket.

… She