Ten Years Later, or Pud's Rewrite of the DH Epilogue

Draco awoke with a gasp, sweat pouring from him and drenching his pillow. He lay in the dark a few moments, trying to gather his thoughts and catch his breath, but his fears got the worst of him and he reached out in the night for the comforting feel of his wife sleeping next to him.

“What’s wrong, Draco?” she asked, coming awake almost immediately and shimmying closer to him. Her arms went comfortingly around his neck while she slid her soft thigh over his more muscular one and encouraged him to roll over to face her. The feel of her was enough to make him almost forget what had troubled him enough to disturb his sleep.

“Gin, is that you?” he asked shakily. He tenderly ran his fingertips over the face he loved so very much, making sure she was not a figment of his imagination.

“Of course it’s me, silly.” She kissed him softly, as if to reassure him that she was indeed real. “You had the nightmare again, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” he groaned, closing his eyes against the rising vision of a faceless and nameless wife and a ferrety looking pale blond boy of eleven standing on the train platform.

“It not real,” she whispered between the butterfly kisses she was placing on his chest. “Not one single word of it.”

“Are you positive?” he couldn’t help asking.

She grabbed his hand and forced him to feel along her lush curves, allowing him to linger a moment over her full breasts before guiding him over the narrowing of her waist and leaving his hand to rest on the swell of her hip.

“Don’t I feel real?”

“Yes,” he hissed when she nipped lightly at the sweet spot on his neck. She knew just how to drive him around the bend.

“Good, now repeat after me,” Ginny said firmly, just like she was speaking to their three-year old daughter who was sleeping in the nursery down the hall. “I am married to Ginny Weasley and she is not a nameless face.”

“I’m married to Ginny Weasley Malfoy,” he said dutifully, “and she has a very beautiful face.”

“Our son is not called Scorpius.”

“No, we don’t have a name for him yet, but it sure as hell won’t be Scorpius.” Draco lovingly caressed his wife’s barely there baby bump.

“No, no, it won’t be. I’d never allow it.”

“What was Harry thinking when he choose that name for my make believe child?”

“You know he’s just jealous that you stole me right from under his nose so he wanted to get you back.”

“You wanted to be stolen.” Draco trailed light kisses over Ginny’s shoulder, and feeling smug at the little shudder when he’d reach the spot just below her ear.

“More than you’ll ever know,” she whispered huskily. Her fingers slowly traced the trail of fine pale blond hairs that started just at his navel and led south, causing him to groan with anticipation. He loved the sound of her giggles when she thought she was being nefarious.

“I love you,” he said, rolling over on his back and pulling her over him so she was straddling him.

“I know. I love you too.” He allowed Ginny to take advantage of the situation by laying and focusing his mind on the pleasant sensations she was evoking from him, and she had him in a quivering nearly purring mess in moments.

Draco suddenly felt bereft when she sat back and stared at him, obviously lost in thought.


She rubbed the slight swell of her belly. “I hope he looks like you.”

“What? You don’t want another pink-haired baby?” Draco asked, chuckling. They’d been ribbed mercilessly by their friends about Cassie’s strawberry blonde hair being pink. It was a joke that his parents did not find amusing in the least.

“No, I want a little miniature Draco to spoil rotten.”

“Are you sure about that? My hairline is supposed to be receding, according to that drivel.”

“You know Harry can’t resist taking a swipe at you.” She patted his chest comfortingly.

“Why on earth did he choose a Muggle to ghost write his biography anyway?”

“Because she doesn’t know what really happened and he could embellish anything he wanted without fear of being called a fraud.”

“He really is a tosspot, isn’t he?”

“A very jealous one, yes.”

“My hairline really isn’t receding, is it?”

She groaned and rolled her eyes before sliding off him so she could get out of bed. “For the millionth time, Draco, no,” she groused as she put on her deep blue silk dressing gown. “I’m going to check on our daughter if you care to join me.”

Draco rolled out bed and pulled on his dressing gown over his silk pyjama trousers, cursing under his breath as he nearly tripped over a large wolfhound that’d made himself at home on the rug on his side of the bed.

Another wolfhound, a much younger and smaller one, greeted him as he entered his daughter’s room before returning to his dog bed by the fireplace where a low fire burned once he’d verified there was no threat. Ginny was carefully fussing over the sleeping little girl as to not wake her or else they’d have a guest in their bed for the rest of the night.

Cassiopeia Molly Malfoy, known as Cassie to everyone except her paternal grandparents, was sleeping the sleep known only to small children in the large canopied big girl’s bed she’d just graduated to the previous week. She was a tiny lump nearly hidden amongst the sea of stuffed toys. Her tortoise shell kitten had sought refuge on the pillow while her pink (because everything had to be pink) pygmy puff her twin uncles had given her the last time they were in Diagon Alley lay snuggled up against her back.

Ginny wrapped her arms around his waist and stood in silence while they watched their daughter sleep. “Why don’t we go back to bed and finish what we started earlier? All is well in here,” she whispered, giving his arse a pinch for a good measure.

As he drifted off to sleep just as the sun peeped the horizon, curled up in his bed with his beautiful wife (who had a name, and a lovely one at that), he couldn’t help but think that Gin was right. All was definitely well with their growing family and Harry Potter was just a self-aggrandizing and clearly delusional tosser.
The End.
Rainpuddle is the author of 23 other stories.
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