A/N: Yes, here we are! Sob!
Standard disclaimers apply.
Chapter rating: R
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Epilogue: Forever
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Twenty-five years going on twenty-six…
Harry looked up at the dark English sky, west of Amesbury in Wiltshire.
Earth, timber and stone.
He touched his hand to the wards and it held. All around him, it was silent.
If you listen hard enough you can hear her screams.
He smiled.
Hermione loved his sporadic flares of drama.
"Alright there, Harry?"
Harry turned and regarded his best friend of almost forty years, Ron Weasley. He stared at Ron a moment, pondering his reply. Was he all right?
There were some aspects of his life that he wouldn't exchange for the world, and yet there was that other side that brought him such deep pain that he sometimes understood why Hermione didn't think immortality was such a blessing.
For now, Harry nodded.
Ron's shoulder's sagged with relief. "Then let's go. This place still gives me the creeps."
From a forty-seven year old man who rounded up the fiercest dragons for a living, that was saying something awful.
Harry smirked. "It's the safest place on earth. Safer than Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts doesn't have an angry, thousand-year-old vampire imprisoned in a coffin buried underneath fifty feet of earth and twenty feet of concrete."
"The wards are unbreakable. So long as me or my bloodline survives, those wards aren't going down, and that's if I don't physically pass on guardianship of this seal."
Ron sighed as they walked farther from Stonehenge. "I still don't get why they didn't just kill her."
"They can't. Not until Yasmin's at least a thousand years old and officially among the Most Ancient. And then when that time comes, Yasmin has to be the one to kill Dendera so that she could 'properly' take Dendera's place."
"And there can only be three?"
"In Europe, in an official capacity. There might be a few millennium-old vamps hidden here and there, but they haven't been groomed to the position. No one's come forward to contest Nekhbet and Kalfani's place, anyway. Until then, it's status quo."
Ron sighed. "That's frightening."
"Vampire laws, and they seem to work. If they weren't in place, there'll be vampire anarchy, and trust me… you don't want to know how vampire anarchists get their kicks."
"In the meantime, you and your future biological children are stuck guarding Dendera. Why did you get this job again?"
Harry chuckled. "Because vampires generally aren't afraid of vampires, but vampires seem to be afraid of Dhampirs. So here I am… perfect for the job."
Ron nodded. "I'm glad we had this talk."
"We had this same talk twenty-five years ago, I think."
Ron was silent. "Merlin, has it been that long?"
Harry didn't even reply. It was slightly painful to talk about the years gone by. When he looked at Ron and saw silver peppering the ginger-red hair, noticed the subtle limp in Ron's aching leg from the dragon-herding accident he suffered fifteen years ago, Harry felt momentary grief.
There was no silver in his dark hair; not a limp marred his gait; no lines showed evidence of aging. He was strong and agile. He was a freelance agent of the Brotherhood of Osiris. He was an instructor for the Dark Creatures Defense class in the Auror Academy. He was the N.E.W.T.s-level D.A.D.A. professor in Hogwarts. He was going on fifty.
I look young enough to be Ron's kid.
"Jules is starting Hogwarts," Ron said, laughing softly. "Only two more to go and they're all out of my house. Thank Merlin."
Harry chuckled. "That's if you don't knock Luna up again."
"Oh, God, please no."
Jules was the fourth of the six children Ron and Luna have had since they married twenty-three years ago. All of them were boys; none of them twins (much to Ron's relief).
It was Ginny who seemed to be popping twins out. After Ginny's second pregnancy and the second set of twins, she refused to have anymore children, in pairs or otherwise. Dean was only too happy to agree.
Harry had seen many Weasley children come and go through his classroom. He'd seen many of his other former classmates' children come and go, as well.
Except Malfoy's. The git had the bad sense to send his kids to Durmstrang.
Draco didn't want to send his children to "pansy-arsed Hogwarts," especially not if the D.A.D.A. teacher was Harry.
Harry thought it was just as well. The litter of Malfoys probably would've been insufferable, anyway.
"The youngest. Andrew, they call him. Weird as hell. SCARY… and coming from a someone whose father is a werewolf and whose aunts and uncles are vampires, that's saying something." Words from Amelia, Tonks's and Remus's nineteen-year-old morphmagus and cousin to the Malfoy brood on her mother's side. She was especially good at taking wolfy-shapes.
"How's Hermione doing these days?" Ron asked somewhat awkwardly.
Harry stifled the laugh that threatened to bubble from his throat. "These days" was the two weeks Hermione and Ron hadn't spoken (for the nth time) because they had another one of their arguments. Harry had given up trying to temper their fighting ten years ago and realized since that they could be terribly entertaining.
"Why don't you ask her? She should be back from Scotland about now."
Ron scowled. "Why do I have to be the one to speak first all the time? It was her fault we got into this bloody argument."
Harry shook his head in mock disapproval. "I told you, didn't I? You can't be having a say in Natalya's birthday party. This is Hermione's gig and she takes it pretty seriously."
"I was just making a suggestion!"
"Bollocks. You were trying to be difficult. Even John and Hans know enough to keep out of it, and they're barely in their teens!"
"That's because John and Hans are their father's sons."
"Yes, well, I like to keep peace in my household, if it's all the same to you. The Shadow Kin bicker enough. I swear, it's like living with a football team… and there are only three of them!"
"Well, I still think I'm entitled to give input for this birthday party. I'm Natalya's Godfather for Merlin's sake!"
"You dubbed yourself her godfather, Ron. Just like you dubbed yourself Hans's godfather. You're godfather to John. It doesn't mean you're godfather to all our kids."
"Well, I should've been Natalya's, at least! I rescued her from abandonment."
"Yes, yes. And you never let us forget it."
Ron gave up the discussion and grumbled to himself as he stomped off, irritated.
Harry laughed softly, checking his pocket watch.
Yes, Hermione would be home about now, and John, Hans, and Natalya weren't due to be picked up from Ron's for another three hours. The Shadow Kin… well, Hermione could always tell them to shove off.
He'd had a long day doing little odds and ends before the school year started, and he wanted to go home to his wife.
He always did.
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Their home in the heights of Hamstead was fairly large and looked only slightly more modern (but infinitely newer) than Grimmauld Place. Its eclectic design had Hermione falling in love with it the moment they saw its picture on the advert, and the house was located in a neighborhood where its residents' bohemian roots won Hermione over completely.
The sprawling meadows and grasslands surrounding the area remained unchanged in the twenty-three years they've lived there. The children loved it for the expansive grounds. It was a place they could roam free and play a million games, keep their pets and grow their little gardens.
Grimmauld Place was now owned by Remus Lupin. Harry had given it to Remus, as soon as he purchased the Hamstead home in fulfillment of the promise Harry had made to himself all those years ago. Harry could have given the home sooner, but Remus wouldn't have accepted it if Harry didn't already have another home to replace it.
With the Hamstead house bought, Remus and Tonks resisted Grimmauld Place only for a bit. It was easy to convince them to take it. After all, Remus could appreciate the fact that Sirius wouldn't have had any objections and Tonks could appreciate the fact that her name was already written on its walls via the Black family tree.
To Harry's mind, the house belonged to them. He always thought so, anyway.
Harry found Hermione in the library of their home, her Shadow Kin lounging around her in various states of relaxation.
Solomon was playing poker for chocolates with Kian, a vampire who liked to make one too many bets with the wrong people. His gambling problem wasn't so much expensive as it was inconvenient. He didn't usually gamble with money. It was always something along the lines of mowing someone's lawn, or cleaning out the stables, or-on one occasion-running kilt-less through Herald Square during tourist season, but he happened to make this one wager involving the removal of his head should he lose the bet, and naturally, he did lose-the bet, but not his head. Hermione bailed him out of it by winning the bet for him in a double or nothing deal, and Kian had followed her like a puppy since. Kian had been her Shadow Kin for fifteen years. He'd declared himself her Shadow Kin for eighteen. Solomon was yet to make him understand that the alpha chose the Shadow Kin, not the other way around.
Giselle, the girl on the couch with her head on Hermione's lap, had been abandoned and frightened when she was turned at thirteen three years ago by a rogue vamp. She was such a helpless slip of a girl when Hermione first took her in. That changed quickly enough. As Giselle began to adjust to her vampirism, she found out that she could be powerful and fierce. Loyal and affectionate to friends and "family," she was ruthless to those who threatened to harm them. It was a tiny bit alarming to others, but Hermione trusted Giselle with their kids, so Harry had absolutely no reason to think Giselle was capable of hurting anyone she shouldn't.
John, Hans, and Natalya were their adopted children.
Hermione had once said she would die if anything happened to them. Not that the children were in any immediate danger, but there was always that underlying threat, their adoptive parents being Harry and Hermione Potter.
John and Hans had known no other mum and dad since they were adopted as babies, and they were still relatively oblivious to how dysfunctional their family was, but they thrived in this eccentric environment where their mum was a vampire (among many), their dad a Dhampir, and their Uncles Sol (vamp), Kian (vamp), and Ron (human, like them) weren't actually related to them or to each other. Giselle was still an interesting new addition to their family, but since she hid chocolates under their pillows whenever they managed to prank Uncle Kian successfully, she was shaping out to be "a-OK."
Natalya was a bit different. They'd adopted her when she was five, and before that, she suffered various forms of abuse and neglect from her Muggle parents who thought she was unnatural and the spawn of the devil. It didn't take long for Muggle social services to take her away from that environment, but of course, being a Muggle-born witch, her magic began to go haywire and the orphanage feared she was going to be a danger to her peers. Calls were made, and soon enough, Wizarding Child Welfare got wind of it. Ron just happened to get flooed first, and then Ron passed the case on to Harry, hence Ron's assertion that he was the one who rescued Natalya.
When Harry and Hermione heard of her plight, there was no question about it. Natalya was welcomed into the Potter family, and Hermione had been doting on her ever since.
She was turning nine for her upcoming birthday, and of course, Hermione was going to make sure that the affair would be soothing, as well as enjoyable, to their fragile little girl.
Natalya had of course shown on several occasions that she wasn't as fragile as she used to be, but all the same, Harry didn't want to disrupt her steady progress with some wild, overwhelming birthday party. She'd have enough to cope with when she got sent to Hogwarts, a prospect that was already turning on Hermione's ocular waterworks every time it was mentioned.
"I'm quite sure John will take very good care of her," Hermione had said, mostly to comfort herself. "Hans is a dear, but he's… fun-loving. John is steady and responsible. Oh, Harry! My baby's going to be eleven in two years and…" She ranted and raved, and there was really nothing Harry could do except listen to her motherly woes. She went through exactly the same thing, first with John, and then Hans. He always had to remind her (always) that he was a professor at Hogwarts, and that he'd at least be intelligent enough to keep an eye on his own children.
She claimed that it was different; that it was an entirely new, vicious ballgame when it came time to retire to the house dorms, and the adults weren't there to watch over them.
Harry had resigned himself to the fact that Hermione bordered on being neurotically protective of their kids. It was endearing (sometimes) anyway.
Harry loved it that these were their cares.
Oh, their life was by no means ideal and picket-fencey. With Hermione working for the Brotherhood of Osiris, and Harry unable to kick his habit of saving people every now and then, usually when the Auror Department called him in for "consultation," they weren't exactly active members of the PTA.
Hermione did try. She baked cookies and everything, but she wagered her velvet and leather business suit, even paired with her frilly-collared blouse, didn't win her any PTA-points when the fathers began to check out her fish-net clad legs and their wives caught them at it. Needless to say, Harry got a call from John and Hans's grammar-school teacher the following day, asking him how he and "Mrs. Potter" got along. Harry could have slug-hexed her through the phone, but he forbore and explained in a very polite tone that he and Mrs. Potter shagged at least twice a day on every surface of the house imaginable whenever the kids were out at school or at their Aunt Luna's.
"So yeah," Harry had said. "I think we get along just fine."
Hermione was scandalized, or maybe pretended to be, when he told her about it.
He swears to this day that he saw something twinkle delightedly in her lovely eyes.
And so now everything seemed quite perfect. Hermione reading as she stroked her fingers through Giselle's blonde hair, Solomon winning his chocolates, Kian losing by the kilt of his arse, the kids over at Ron's playing Quidditch with Daniel, Jules, and Stephen, possibly with the older Weasley boys as well, since Tristan, Fred, and Mark liked a pick-up game every now and then.
His brows crinkled a bit with concern.
I hope John remembers not to let Natalya on his Firebolt… he thought as he walked into the library.
"John will remember," Hermione said lazily from the couch. "I think he was more frightened by her Firebolt joyride than she was."
She looked over her shoulder at him and grinned, their mind link from their years of blood-sharing gentle, but reassuring.
He smiled and kissed her hello. Her tongue brushed briefly against his. A sure sign that she was going to drive her Shadow Kin away in the next few seconds.
Stifling a laugh, he plopped beside her on the couch and stretched his arm out along the backrest.
"Alright, ladies, time for you to go," she said on cue. "I need to speak with my husband in private."
Giselle pouted, but got up, pulling Kian by the hair to make him follow.
Kian, his soft, honeyed tone and oft-dignified appearance bespeaking nothing of his roguish, irresponsible, cigarette-smoking, gun-toting, and card-sharking nature, frowned and stumbled along with her, saying, "I urge you to let go of my hair before I endeavor to chop that hand of yours off."
Solomon herded them out of the library, and when Harry heard the doors to the library bang shut, he looked at her, trying to gauge her mood.
"Harry?" she began, moving a bit closer.
"Hermione?" he answered in the same tone, grinning.
"We have to talk."
"Uh-oh."
She laughed, rubbing his chest with the gentle stroking of her hand. "You're not in trouble."
"Good!"
"Hush, stop teasing. This is serious."
He stared at her and saw that she was being serious. In fact, he'd seen that look in her eyes before, and he remembered it like it was yesterday, even if it had actually been ten years since. He knew what was coming before she spoke it.
"I want to try again," she said.
He didn't say anything for a moment, but he did smile gently, and he did play idly with the curly strands of her hair. He gave her time to absorb the enormity of what she'd asked of him, and in turn he gave himself time to choose his words well.
His reply was simple. "Are you sure?"
She nodded eagerly. "I am. I'm sure. I'm all better now. This time I'll be careful. I'll be so careful, Harry. And I promise I won't botch it up this time."
He felt his heart twisting every time she spoke like that. He sighed and cupped her face. "Love, you have to stop thinking it was your fault. It wasn't."
"The first time wasn't. The second time was. I should've learned from the first. I should've-I could have brought her to full-term, Harry. You know I could've. Rose would've been born and we'd-our baby…" Her eyes filled and her gaze dropped to her hands. He saw the tear drop and it still hurt him to see her so sad and vulnerable about this when she was so strong and impenetrable in everything else. And he understood that pain; that loss. Rose was his, too. Rose was their child, but she wasn't meant to live.
Hermione had gone into labor too soon and there was nothing anybody could have done about it.
Remus said it was no one's fault but fate. Hermione still blamed herself.
It was their second miscarriage.
The first one didn't even make it to sixteen weeks. Hermione had been inconsolable for days after that, but her recovery was evident soon after, and just a year later, she told him she wanted to try again.
The second pregnancy lasted seven months. When Hermione went into premature labor, her eyes were struck with such horror and helplessness that he just knew that if they lost the baby, it would take years before he could pick up the pieces of her broken heart and mend it back together.
It has been ten years since they lost Rose and Hermione was still blaming herself even as she sat beside him, begging him to try again.
Trying was easy. Trying was bliss. And hoping was a miracle in itself. But to see her so devastated after those miscarriages was almost too much for him to bear. It was embittering-that he could save everyone from anything, yet he couldn't save his wife from heartbreak and loss, nor his own children from death.
"Listen to me," Harry said gently, taking her hands in his. "You know I'd like to try again, don't you? I wouldn't normally say no to this, but Hermione… you know there's a chance this would-that something would happen-"
"Nothing will happen this time."
"Something can happen. You know most of all how hard your pregnancies were. You become weak, and the change of… diet drains you. You feel pain and stress and… it's like everything in your body works just to keep the baby alive. The fact that it's not an easy pregnancy just makes it all the more probable that the baby won't…" He couldn't stand to finish what he was saying.
She looked up, a new light of resolution in her eyes. "It has been ten years since the last time. Developments have been made to help me come to full term. It will happen this time."
Hearing her so sure only made his stomach knot harder. He'd never heard of a vampire dying of a broken heart, but if it was possible, and by some cruel twist of fate they lost this baby again, it would be the heartbreak that would kill her.
"I need you to believe in this," she said, her grip tightening on his hands. "I need you to think that we're going to get this baby."
"Hermione… we have children. And you can't tell me it's not the same, because you love John, Hans, and Natalya as much as I do, and I feel no different about them than I would have about Rose, or the baby before that."
"I know that. I know that, Harry, and it has nothing to do with blood or lineage or…" she sighed.
"Then why do we have to do this?" he asked softly. "Why do we have to risk so much pain?"
She seemed utterly surprised by his question. Her eyes widened a bit. "Because it's worth it, Harry."
And there it was.
Of course.
Of course that's the answer!
Hermione was always right. Well, almost always-but enough times, especially when it mattered.
It made him smile, and he kissed her, telling her in between kisses that of course they were going to try again, and that this time-this time, it would be alright.
He believed it.
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It was a night like this one long before when Hermione Granger became the center of his life. He didn't know back then that was what happened. All he knew was that she had appeared at the Dursley doorstep and quite possibly shifted his understanding of life.
He was so young then. Seventeen. He knew absolutely nothing, yet at the time, he thought he knew about everything there was to know about darkness, hatred, and love.
He watched the raindrops slide down the windowpane in rivulets while he saw the past. He'd been alive for forty-seven years, but when did the Boy really start to live?
"I was eleven…" he whispered.
Her presence was like silk in his mind, and then her softness, wrapped in blankets, settled behind him on the window seat. Her arms slipped around his naked torso, her cheek pressing against his spine. He could feel the soft tendrils of her hair brushing lightly over his skin.
His hands sought hers, and he closed his eyes, reveling in the sweet silence of peace.
"What about when you were eleven?" she asked.
He smiled. "I met you and Ron."
She was silent, but he could almost feel her smiling. "Twas a good day."
A soft chuckled rumble in his chest. "You say that now, but Ron was horrid to you."
"Part of his charm. But I met you, and that made up for Ron's horridness. I wrote home as soon as I had the chance. Told mum and dad that I made the acquaintance of the famous Harry Potter."
He grinned. "No mention of Ron?"
"There was. Lots of him, in fact. I said, 'Dear Mum and Dad, I met the famous Harry Potter today on the train going to Hogwarts. He was sharing a compartment with this awful boy with a smudge on his face who couldn't speak a proper spell to save his life. Harry Potter was sooooo handsome I wanted to snog him right properly…"
"Oh, you did not write that, Mrs. Potter."
"Well, not the snogging part, but I did say you were interesting looking."
"That's what Neville says about his Mimbulus Mimbletonia."
"I was thinking that you looked 'cute' when I wrote that, but Hermione Granger would never say a boy was cute. Wasn't going to happen."
"But you sighed and swooned over Lockhart."
"Oh, but Lockhart wasn't a boy. He was a professor. I have a thing for professors, as you know." She nudged him with her shoulder.
"Any professor?"
"Handsome professors."
"Is that why you spend all that time with Remus?"
She pinched him to punish his snark. He complained softly but laughed anyway, turning a bit to kiss her.
He looked back out in the rain, their silence comfortable.
"Natalya talked to me this evening before going to bed," he said. "She'd just finished reading Tuck Everlasting. Have you read that book? About young Winnie Forster meeting a family in the woods that had drank from the Fountain of Youth?"
Hermione stiffened distinctly before molding softly back against him, nodding. "What did she think of the book?"
"She liked it," he replied. "But she asked me-she asked me if I felt sad, knowing that one day, I'd have to watch her, John, Hans and a lot of the family leaving. Her word, not mine."
Now it was just Hermione's hands that tensed, her fists tightening against his chest. "What did you say?"
"I said of course I was sad. I told her that the mere thought of seeing everyone age and knowing that they had to eventually go on to the next great adventure while I had to be left behind was the only thing that could ever make me cry."
Natalya had understood then how deeply he would hurt. She'd never seen him cry, and Natalya… well, he'd never seen his little girl cry, either. She'd been beaten out of her tears at so young an age that she understood pain and loss so well-no tears to mar her vision.
Hermione sighed.
"She said you'll keep me company," he went on softly. "But then she began to worry about you. She asked me who would keep you company when I had to leave."
There was a sniffle, but he felt no wetness on his back from stray tears. Hermione had stifled them, or wiped them away.
"That's a long while, yet," she said. "It's not something I like to think about. But… that's what a lot of mortals fail to understand, yes? Immortality isn't a gift. Not if you have people to love. And what's a vamp to do when everyone she loves is gone? Stop feeling? It's not something I want to happen."
He turned and looked at her, smiling wanly. "We have children, remember? And they'll have children, and those children will have more children… you'll always have people to love and look after. You won't ever have to stop feeling."
At that she smiled through her deep pain. "Is this my task, oh great one?"
He laughed softly, turning to face her. "I'm going to live a very, very long time, Hermione. It's going to be a while before you have to do any of it alone. While I live, we'll watch over them together. We'll protect them and fight dark lords and dark wizards…" His thoughts flittered to Andrew Malfoy for a heartbeat before the thought dissipated into the darkest cavern of his mind.
"Dark lords?"
He didn't laugh. "There will be more. You know this, yes? Many thought Grindewald was the last, then Voldemort came. There's a new one in the making as we speak."
"Uncharacteristically pessimistic of you."
He shook his head. "Not really. I've been wondering what I was going to do with all this… power I have. It seems wrong to just sit here and do nothing, yes? Yet I have no taste for ruling the world, as might have been the case if I was just the tiniest bit inclined. I figured I'd put this thing to good use. Decide once and for all that if another Dark Lord crops up, it would be my personal mission to stop him."
"Or her."
"Her. Right. Couldn't be sexist now, could we?"
She smiled.
"I thought maybe I'd… I don't know, revive the Order just before it's completely forgotten."
She arched an eyebrow. "How are you going to do that?"
He shrugged. "I'll think of something. I'll keep it simple. Nothing militant. I don't want to inadvertently become my own dark lord, now would I? Dumbledore would turn in his grave."
After a moment, she smirked. "You'll have your own little Coven."
"Something like that. The ancient ones did say that I'd eventually have to put up some sort of system. This will be part of it. Very convenient, don't you think?"
She nodded. "Very. And who would lead when you're gone, Harry? How can you trust that the next one won't abuse the power he or she has inherited?"
"That'll be Fawke's decision, not mine."
She seemed surprised for a moment before smiling. "Well, that makes a lot of sense."
And she wasn't being sarcastic, too.
"Time works things out," he said quietly. "So long as you don't try to know how things happen ahead of time."
"How true that is, Mr. Potter."
He stared back out into the night, beyond the wet windows and dim moonlight, the future absolutely uncertain. Yet he was happier for it.
He closed his eyes again, savoring her closeness and the thought of how wonderful things were at that very moment in spite of the insecurities and unknowns.
Happy.
It felt good to know this was true.
Grateful.
Because no one was telling him that things can't ever be the way things used to be-no Oracle telling him how things were probably going to be. There was no prophecy telling him to live, or die, and no Dark Lord telling him that his fate was at the mercy of a lightning-bolt shaped scar.
THE END
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Author's Final Notes:
And that's it, folks. That's the end of the fic that I began to write more than a year ago. I first posted this on Oct. 4, 2005. I've completed it today on Oct. 12, 2006. I CANNOT believe it, but here we are!
First, I cannot express enough thanks to my betas.
Tome Raider, you totally OWNED this story. Ladies and gentlemen, this woman was a pillar of inspiration and a guiding golden compass. I could not have done this without her. This story could not have been finished without her. If she hadn't been around, I probably would've stopped around chapter 30 and let this story die. Seriously, that might have happened! But as Harry said, there's hardly any point to dwelling on what might have been. So thank you so much, Tome Raider! And I'm just glad what is turned out to be such a wonderful writing/collaborating experience!
Lady Diamond, my first beta, who indeed showed me the virtues of having a beta, for making me realize, once and for all, that every writer should have a beta, no matter what other published Vampire-theme writers think. Lol.
Thanks to all you readers in Portkey, especially those who left reviews, good or bad (had to say that the good reviews were so very encouraging, though). I answered many of your reviews in the first part of this fic, but the parts after that, my review replying lagged. For that I am sorry. I truly am grateful to you all, and I wish I could have answered every single one of you, but I swear I've been absolutely swamped with real-life issues. So let it be said, one and all, from the bottom of my heart, that all of your reviews mean a lot to me.
For everyone in LJ, in my flist or not, you've given me countless hours of joy, both with your comments and snarky avatars. Thanks for letting me peek into your lives, upon which I was able to comment/rant/make unwholesome cracks at ;) . I'm so glad Tome Raider introduced me to LJ. I can't believe I lived without it before! You guys at LJ are the best, and good lord, the talent running rampant in those archives… inspirational. So my dear flisters, stay tuned. I do have a bit more for you guys. ^_^
So it's goodbye to this story, now.
I don't know if I could give this a proper send off. I feel so fulfilled, yet I'm so reluctant to let this go. I think maybe if I was just a little mad(der), I'd just keep writing and writing FK, but thankfully, my mother once told me, "Sweetheart, you have to let it go," when she tried to wean me off the baby bottle. Yes, I remember because I was already too old to be drinking from a baby bottle.
"Forever Knight" is hereby lovingly put to a close.