Here We Go Again

Epilogue Part 3: Love like Rockets

POV: Dominique

If someone would have told me ten years prior that I was to be a mother, a housewife no less, I would have laughed hysterically, hexed them in their manly-bits or ovaries (depending if it was a bloke or a wench), and then marched right off with nothing but a hairflip and their agonizing cries behind me.

There was a plan ten years ago—live! Live like there was no guarantee of tomorrow. Get crazy (well, crazier), party, dance, sing, drink, eat, explore, do, and be as wild as I could.

Most of the family thinks that I was basically in school because Bill ordered it so, but that wasn't entirely true. Though I did (sometimes still do at this stage of the game) have a tendency to do the opposite of whatever my dear father asked of me, I was completely aware that having a proper education was going to get me going in life. Did that mean that I was prefect or Head Girl like perfect Victoire? No. I liked bossing people around, that's a given, but I never did quite see the appeal of snitching on my fellow classmates on their troublemaking ways (especially because they entertained me) or the couples caught romping each other in empty classrooms or broomstick closets (especially because several times I cost Gryffindor House points for being too friendly with blokes). The goal during my Hogwarts years was to get by as average as possible, all while actually maintaining a social life.

After Hogwarts, the plan was to bully Draco Malfoy into giving me an internship in his family company, all while pretending I was going to university for a business degree. In fact, I had began to activate that plan when I wrote to Aunt Hermione and mentioned how amazing it would be if she could get Draco Malfoy into letting me into his company, but then also stating how he probably would never take me in if she asked because Mister Malfoy didn't quite agree with her judge of character (since she married Uncle Ron, whom Mister Malfoy had a childish rivalry until forever and always). That was all I needed for Aunt Hermione to bombard Draco Malfoy on how brilliantly competent I was and how his business could only gain from my determination and ability to persuade. I thought it might take more than once for Mister Malfoy to see how I was beyond qualified for an internship in his company, but to my surprise he heeded my aunt's words and wrote to be immediately with the offer, (I suppose Draco Malfoy had a soft spot for Aunt Hermione).

Of course, that's when the plan sort of halted. All because one of my eggs decided to get fertilized without my consent and ended up developing an embryo I wouldn't know about until three months into its creation. Yes, Dominique Weasley became a teen mum (technically an adult one, seeing as in the wizarding world seventeen is when I stop getting tried as a child if I did any illegal activity, which perhaps was too many times—none of which I was ever caught doing, thank Merlin for that).

Fast forward months of carrying a large belly and Derrick Rowle, the father of my child, running off on me, when I came to the realization of fuck the previous plan.

Look, life happens unexpectedly, okay? You can plan as much as you bloody want to, but chances are that you are not going to hit every point on your list. That necessarily doesn't mean it's a bad thing; it's just different, new, and sometimes even better. And I've got to say, this new path I've been down on is so much better than anything I could have ever imagined.

Did I take a gap year to travel around the world after Hogwarts? No. I took a gap year and gave birth to my beautiful son Dustin. Did I get an internship in the Malfoy company at eighteen? No. I started working for the Malfoys as their marketing manager at twenty. Did I move around from country to country? No. Derrick and I bought a home in Brighton, somewhere close to a beach shore, and it was home; it was the only place I've ever wanted to be.

Sometimes, though, this new path was a fucking disaster.

And talking about disaster, that's exactly what I saw as I stopped at the top of my spiral staircase and looked over the living room area. The time it took me to stop heaving over the toilet, an explosion had taken place. I couldn't see the furniture or the carpet from the rubbish sprawled everywhere.

"Un-bloody-believable!"

I could feel time freeze from downstairs.

"...Ready?" murmured a voice I recognized as my nephew's.

"...No," groaned another, this time it was my son's.

"...Do it now," commanded another voice, this time a little girl.

"...I can't," squeaked Dustin, "She'll kill me."

"...I'll kill you if you don't go," that was an adult speaking, and my guess as to which stupid idiot it was only landed on my brother Louis.

"...Move," said the little girl again.

"...But I'm going to die," said Dustin with outrage.

"Dustin Louis Rowle!" I shrieked, confirming his fears. I began descending from the spiral staircase, never taking my eyes off the giant pile of trash that moved (it was either the children or an animal, and if it was an animal, I would go to Azkaban for murder). "Boy," I shouted again, "you better come here before I curse you back into the womb!"

There was a twenty-second silence.

"...Don't do it, Dust. It's a trap," muttered the little girl again.

"...I've got to," replied Dustin.

"...You're a dead man," said my nephew with a hint of remorse.

"...I'll see you lot on the other side," sighed my son.

"...Say hello to Snowball for me," interjected the girl as a farewell.

"...I knew you were going to bring up your stupid owl into this, Bliss," hissed my nephew to the little girl.

"...Well, you killed him, Maxim," snapped Bliss in return.

"...I did not," Maxim defended himself. "It was Theo."

"...Lies," said a different little boy, suddenly making himself accounted for in the mess. "Dad killed Snowball!"

"I couldn't control my magic!" cried Freddie, my idiot cousin who was hiding with the children, and who I was equally (or more) about to murder with my bare hands. "I replaced the blasted thing, didn't I?"

"With a rat!" screeched Bliss.

"Now, Dustin!" I commanded, tapping my foot impatiently as I now was on the final step of the staircase.

There was a squeak of fear, and I wasn't quite sure whom it came from.

"...Bless him," sighed my nephew Maxim.

With a gulp of courage loud enough for me to hear, red hair emerged from behind one of the trashed couches. Emerald eyes, large and wide, rimmed by thick lashes, that resembled the ones on Bill Weasley, shone with a dose of bravery—albeit wavering bravery—to come out onto the battle zone.

"Now, Mum," began Dustin, his hands up as a gesture pleading for me to give him a moment, "before you get all scary like Aunt Ginny, you have to know that it happened out of nowhere. I swear it."

I snorted at the ten year-old boy. "Really? And how did it just happen? Did you knick a wand you didn't tell me about? Did you suddenly become the incarnation of Merlin and are breathing your magic, now?"

Dustin gulped again, watching me with giant eyes as I stepped closer to him, my hands on my hips, looking as scolding as my own mother would appear to me whenever I did something that wore her patience thin (oh, how the tables have turned!).

"What if I say—just for fun, here—that Uncle Louis decided to rampage the house because you kicked him out yesterday night when he brought me fireworks and my room caught on fire?"

I rolled my eyes. "Do you think I'm daft, Dustin? Louis is an idiot, sure, but he wouldn't be so stupid as to—" I stopped immediately, my palms balling into fists. I overestimate my brother's intelligence. "Louis!"

"The boy lies!" Jumping from behind the same couch my son had been previously using as a barrier from me, a tall blonde man stared back at me with terrified and defensive blue yes. His wand was automatically out, ready to strike in case I wanted blood.

I glared at him, slowly reaching for my own wand. "The boy never lies," I declared. "I killed him if he did."

"How can you bring up a snitch in this family, Dom?" My brother gaped at me before turning to my son. "You're ruined, boy! You have earned yourself the label of traitor!"

Dustin shrugged his shoulders at his uncle. "At least I'm not labeled as the Pet Killer."

Another body popped up from behind the couch.

"It was one time!" bellowed Maxim, a seven year-old, blonde, blue-eyed, obviously a Delacour descendant, boy. "I was trying to turn the rose blue and instead the bird collapsed! I couldn't control it! Honest! Besides, Uncle Freddie failed in saving it and ended up killing it himself!"

"I'm no bloody Healer! I don't know how to save lives!" defended Freddie, still hidden.

I sighed, looking at my nephew with understanding. "It's okay, Max. It happens." Which was true; I was eight when I blasted Louis' pet toad into pieces when I was trying to make milk into ice cream. "Just be careful with your magic, love. Bliss is older and more experienced with her magic, she can hex you with a blink of an eye."

The beauty that was nine year-old Bliss Potter graced my vision as she crawled out from behind an overturned table. Her own green eyes (inherited to her by Harry Potter, her grandfather) batted their thick lashes at me, distracting me of my anger for a moment.

And that was the thing about Bliss, actually; her face was too damn angelic that you couldn't help but see her as a saint. It was a mystery to us all how she managed that, considering that James (the bastard) was her father. We expected her to be just as mischievous as he, but had inherited all of Emily's calmness.

"I wouldn't hex him, Aunt Dom," said Bliss to me, her kind soul showing, "but I am upset. I've got to buy a new owl to deliver my mail when I go to Hogwarts."

Maxim snorted. "That's in two years, Bliss. Dustin is the one who is going to Hogwarts this September. He'll be eleven tomorrow! His letter will surely be here by morning."

"—Maybe you should buy Dustin an owl, Aunt Dom. He'll need the company."

"—No he won't. Dustin makes friends everywhere."

Emerging out from one of the halls that led to the living room of my house, two identical little girls with flaming red locks and dark, brown eyes made themselves heard; one after another, as it was accustomed.

One of them was smirking—Riley—as it was in her nature, even at eight years-old. The other—Rory—was looking timidly at my son, who was frowning at her twin sister for her snark.

"Doubt it," snorted Riley. "But don't worry, Dustin. You can always be friends with Mrs. Norris and Filch's ghost."

Dustin glared harder at his cousin. "I will not be in need of friends, Riley," he spat. "I am actually rather likeable, unlike you! The only person who stands being around you is Rory, and that's because you bully her into staying. You're a mean little witch, and everyone knows it!"

"Oi!" Jumping up from his hiding spot, Freddie frowned at my son's direction for a moment, then at me. "Dom, you're going to let your kid talk to my daughter that way?"

The last body hiding in the mess my living room had become came out. It was little Theodore: a six year old boy with brown hair and bright blue eyes; a male replica of Evanna Nott, his mother. The only Weasley feature Theo had was the freckles across his nose and cheeks, everything else was taken in by his twin sisters.

"Actually, Dad," Theo began, "Riles is scary. She made you cry last time, remember?"

"Don't tattle on relatives!" roared Louis at Freddie's son, his arms thrown in the air with outrage. "Unbelieveable! This generation knows nothing of the Weasley Book of Codes!"

Stepping over a broken vase that Victoire had given me two Christmases ago (which was not much of a loss considering how horrific looking that thing was that not even a troll would want it as a drinking goblet), I sent a soundwave in the atmosphere, causing all voices to stop.

"All of you grab a bloody broom, rag, mop, and brush—I want this house spotless within the hour, or else curses will start flying. Do you understand me?" Silence rang, wide eyes gawking at me as I pointed my wand from person to person. "Just because I decided to take care of you lot this week it doesn't mean that I won't start instilling punishment Azkaban style."

The kids scrambled like ants running from a boot.

I marched with authority to my brother and cousin, my wand now closer to their faces. "Clean this place up, you fuckers," I hissed for only them to hear, "or I'll remove the little bits that entitles you men."

Freddie nodded immediately, already bending down to gather as much trash as he could in his hands.

"Clean." I jabbed my wand onto my brother's chest. "Now, Louis!"

My brother stuck his tongue out at me and turned around, walking over to Freddie and assisting him.

I eyed the filthy creatures, asserting my dominance and presence on them for a minute before heading for the kitchen. And just as I made it into my kitchen, I almost crashed into a tall, lanky redheaded girl who was sipping on a juice box.

"Threatening them is getting old, Aunt Dom," Sidney Weasley said casually to me, as she maneuvered away from my path and headed for the stools by the center countertop. "Just some advice, it's not as effective anymore."

Sip. Sip. Sip.

I raised my eyebrow at the nine year-old girl. I suspected my gaze looked like I was examining her, wondering if she was human or some sort of creature that resembled her. Sidney, of course, was unmoved by my staring, as she always was; she would just stare back blankly, letting me look over her time and time again as if I was trying to solve a riddle and she was the only one with an answer. It wasn't something one should make a child feel, obviously, but I could never help myself whenever Sidney was around.

I cleared my throat. "This lot only responds to threats," I told her. "Your mum might be able to use her muggle parenting techniques on you, but, trust me, making these beasts stand in a corner for an hour doesn't do the trick."

Sidney stared unimpressed at me. "I'm not three anymore, Aunt Dom. I just don't get into trouble."

I frowned. "When did you become an adult, then, twerp?"

Sip. Sip. Shrug. Sip. Sip.

"The same day you started losing your touch," replied Sidney.

Well, tou-fucking-che.

"I like you, Sid. Please never change," I told the girl with a laugh, reaching over and ruffling her red strands as I headed for the sink.

Perhaps the reason why I inspected over Sidney was the same as to why all others did too: we worried about her. The little girl had been brought into the world without knowing about her father, his whereabouts or identity. Molly, of course, did the best she possibly could (and beyond) to make certain that her daughter had everything, all the love and attention as possible. No one could say that Sidney didn't come from a loving home, because everyone gave her all their attention whenever she wanted it.

Tragically for my cousin Molly, Sidney was intelligent and far more apprehensive than the other children. Her blue eyes would look around during the family get-togethers and realize that she was missing something; that her little family consisting of just her and Molly was not alike the ones her cousins had. Sidney felt the absence of her father more than we liked, more than Molly feared.

Teddy took over being the father figure Sidney needed (which wasn't a surprise, considering how close he and Molly were) and he did his best to make her feel normal. Molly and Sidney lived in the muggle world, but whenever Molly was held up at work, Teddy would pick little Sid up from primary school, bring her to his home so she could interact with his children, he helped her with her coursework, fed her, and then took her back to Molly's place, tucked her into bed, and read her a bedtime story until she fell asleep and Molly was home. Teddy did all of it without a single complaint; it was obvious to everyone that he considered Sidney his daughter. That was something worth respecting and admiring my brother-in-law for the rest of time.

Not everyone was okay with his attention and dedication to Sidney; Molly and Uncle Percy being the only two, actually. For the first time in history, father and daughter were on the same page: they didn't think it was fair to the Lupin family for Teddy to take on the weight of another child, especially one that wasn't his. Victoire, of course, along with Teddy, refuted their opinions about the matter. Even I smacked Molly beside the head and told her she was being a stupid bint because it was not a burden—for anyone—to love and take care of the little girl. And everyone, especially the men in the family, went the mile for Sidney Weasley.

"We're back!"

As I was washing the dishes a la muggle (because it actually was relaxing as Aunt Ginny said, helping to distract so I won't commit murder), the kitchen door opened, the one that led to the backyard of my home. With the open door came in the smell of ocean mist, the sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore, and the intense summer sky. But mostly importantly, two of my greatest joys marched in, too.

Derrick still looked as bloody delectable as he did during our school years: he was still tall, rippling with the perfect amount of muscles on his arms and chest, his hair was still feathery and tousled, black as night, with eyes that matched the ink fresh on parchment. He was even more so attractive as the years went by because he grew into a man: he kept his dark humor, but was more aware of his words and who they were direct to, his jeans and fitted t-shirts were replaced with black trousers and button-ups with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he was no longer stubborn, instead well-reasoned now, he didn't just do things for himself, he did everything for his family.

What made him even more mouth-watering to me was when he was in his role of Dad, which was always. He had marched in with a little nine year-old girl attached to his hand, our daughter Devon Victoria Rowle. And she was such a beauty. When she was born, Mum said Devon looked just like I did at that size—I didn't consider that a compliment at the time because my daughter was a giant ball of pink and tears. But when I rested from the long labor, I gazed at her and saw the entire brilliancy of the universe in her. Now, at nine, I could see our resemblance; she was white as snow, had fire-red waves cascading down her back, freckles across her nose, rosy cheeks, and giant doe-like eyes. The color, however, were her father's; they were black like a mystery, like the dark side of the moon.

"How'd it go?" I asked.

Devon grinned at the question. "It was amazing! Grandad Bill let me go really deep to see the dolphins and the mermaids—the mermaids, Mum!"

I glanced up at Derrick. "The mermaids? I'll kill, Dad!"

Derrick rolled his eyes as he grabbed a juicebox from the counter and handed it to our daughter. "He had a charm on her, Weasley. Don't worry."

"He's teaching her to swim," I said, "not to bloody making friends with conniving sea creatures."

"Not all mermaids are mean," explained Devon immediately. "Ariel is so nice, Mum! She's friends with humans, and her husband is a muggle prince!"

There was a loud sigh that represented my thoughts exactly.

"Ariel is a fictional mermaid, Dev," said Sidney to her cousin. "I told you that before. I'm sorry, Aunt Dom," she then directed at me, "I told Mum not to show anymore Disney movies when the others were over."

Devon snorted. "That's what the muggles want us to think. I'm sure if I asked a mermaid they'd tell Ariel I was looking for."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as my daughter sat herself on the stool beside Sidney.

"Why are you back so early?" I asked Derrick as I turned back to the dishes and running faucet. "Did your day filing archives with Teddy go short?"

"Don't even remind me," huffed my husband. "Your Uncle Harry is still upset, and I blame it all on Lupin. I had the situation completely under control when he forgoed the plan we spent weeks creating. He got himself blasted, and me being his partner got dragged with him! Now we're both secluded to our offices with piles of paperwork. I hope the tosser limps the rest of his life."

Not that I was one ever to defend Teddy from anything, but recalling the incident that took place a week ago, I knew who was to blame and who wasn't. In this case, Rowle was the idiot.

"He strayed from the plan because it wasn't working," I said, turning off the faucet immediately and looking at him; I was also aware that my hand was clutching onto a soapy butterknife. "The raid was going terribly and he did the only thing he could do to get you both out of there. I know you're very capable," I rose my hand with the butterknife up to halt him from the defensive words that were about to come out of his lips, "and that you've earned your position as an Auror by hard work and dedication, but sometimes nothing goes as planned. The wankers got away, but you made it out alive. You can't be upset with Lupin for that."

"I could have taken those gits if Lupin—"

"No, you couldn't have," I interrupted Derrick with fervent emotion. I remembered, in that moment, when Uncle Ron exited the Floo Network in my home office to tell me Rowle and Lupin had been hospitalized after a rogue raid; my heart had sunk to the bottom of my chest and exploded into a thousand pieces. I only thought the worst. I only thought of how losing him would cost me my life too.

When we made it to St. Mungos and he woke, I almost killed him myself for making me cry and experience what it meant to be the wife of an Auror. I, then, perfectly understood Aunt Ginny and Aunt Hermione; having your husband make a career of risking his life for the benefit of others was not something to take in lightly. It was selfish, even, to see it as that, to hold a grudge against the world and its citizens for needing my husband to protect them, because it was the most selfless thing a person could do, to be brave and put their life on the line to secure the world we lived in, but I just couldn't cope with it. Derrick was my husband, the father of my two children—no one would feel his absence more than us.

One thing that hadn't changed in Rowle in all of these years was his righteousness. If he believed in something, he would throw caution to the wind to make sure his side of things conquered over anything. He was an Auror because he saw what evil had done to his family; he came from a background of Death Eaters, he knew and heard from his relatives the horrible things they'd done for Voldemort, the people they harmed, and how they too had suffered over it. He knew from a young age that he was going to spend the rest of his life trying to defeat evil, no matter what shape or form it came in.

"Both of you were injured because you decided to be a hero," I added with resentment.

Derrick leaned against the side of the sink, his dark gaze penetrating my emerald one. "Lupin acts on instinct all the time, Dom. And the one time I do too this rubbish happened? Bullshit. I didn't think I'd get hit for it, it was a bloody accident, after all."

"An accident that could have cost you your life!" I whacked him on the chest with the butterknife, leaving water marks on his grey button-up. "No one is blowing this out of proportion to get a rise out of you, Derrick! Uncle Harry and Teddy are angry at you because you could have died! You're one of them, not just a bloody Auror, but you're their family!"

The chatter in the living room quieted itself, even the sipping of juice and light conversation Sidney and Devon were having stopped.

I sighed, trying to lessen my justified anger.

"People lose their lives in your field because of an impulse," I muttered to Rowle, "because they get carried away with their need to carry out justice. That's bloody well fine, as long as you're sure your skin is protected at all times. Derrick," I reached for his hand, "people leave everything behind in a blink of an eye; their wives, their children, their friends...Remember that next time you take on a group of demented wankers on your own."

"...Wait. I couldn't hear. Who's demented?"

"...I think Uncle Teddy is."

"...Why?"

"...He ate someone's skin."

"...Ew."

"...You think he's finally a werewolf?"

Taking the seconds of silence between us, and clearly ignoring the eavesdroppers from the living room, Derrick squeezed my hand and closed the space between us. His arms went around my waist, pulling me in so close that I could see his soul inside those dark eyes of his.

"I love it when you get worked up," he said teasingly, nudging my nose with his.

"You drive me mad," I said.

He grinned. "You wouldn't be the girl I fell in love with if you were completely sane, Weasley."

I rolled my eyes and he swooped in for a kiss.

Our lips sealed together like lock and key, igniting the flame that lived inside of each of us, that defined us. The kiss was passionate as it always was, always surprising me, always making my knees shake and my soul come alive and my blood sing and my heart flutter wings. With every kiss awakened the heat that burned beneath our skin. This overwhelming sensation was far too much for one single person to handle, but it was perfect, challenging, pleasurable for two completely mental people to thrive on.

What I felt for Rowle, what he felt for me, was powerful; it was fueled by charges of intensity that could set a room on fire, that could explode at any moment, that could shatter the world around us. It was aggressive, vicious, untamed, indescribable, grand, claiming, energetic, vivid, colorful, sweet, beautiful. heavenly, and absolutely fucking necessary.

A love like this, between a true Gryffindor and a true Slytherin, was like rockets.