By Enola Jones

Life wasn’t supposed to be like this.

His life had been planned for him from the time he was born – perhaps before. Never, in a million years, was it supposed to be like this.

He was supposed to be his father’s clone – an obedient puppet spouting his views and sneering down at those whom his father declared were beneath him.

But he’d met her and they’d begun to draw close. She’d been touched by evil as well, and she loved him for himself, not for who his father wanted him to be.

All she’d ever offered him was her love. And ultimately, that was what it took for him to refuse the tattoo he was coming to regard as obscene. That put him firmly on the same side as his love – and opposite his father.

But now the war was over. Voldemort and his father were both dead. He had survived – and so had she. Together, they were building a new life for themselves.

He had had a long day and he was weary to the bone. He worked side-by-side with his former enemies now -- his brothers-in-law among them – weeding out and destroying remaining Death Eater cells. The four of them had rejected the old name of Aurors, preferring to jokingly call themselves Farmers because they cut weeds daily.

He drug himself up the steps to his modest house’s porch – and froze, admiring the sight that met his eyes.

His youngest, Alexander, saw him and waved the sippy-cup as he grinned at his father. He’d inherited his mother’s carrot top and sparkling green eyes, and the line of white showed it was milk in that cup.

His oldest, Molly Ann, toddled toward him. She’d inherited his fair hair and grey-blue eyes, though they sparkled with the sweet nature from her mother. The determination on her face belied the pain in her eyes. Glancing down, he saw why she was hurting – her shoes were on the wrong feet. Obviously the strong will had asserted itself again and she’d insisted on dressing herself.

He walked inside and saw his wife lift Alexander. She handed him over to his father even as she greeted the man with a kiss full of tender love. Five years into their married life, and she was as beautiful to him as ever.

He sat on the couch, surrounded by his family, and reflected silently as his wife finished cooking dinner. He had a job that satisfied him – even if it didn’t pay thousands of dollars a day – a wife that loved him and that he loved in return, and two beautiful children that he enjoyed every moment of watching grow up.

No, life wasn’t supposed to be like this.

This was infinitely better.

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