Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns all things Harry Potter.

A/N: I apologize for the extreme delay in getting this chapter out; life got a bit crazy for a while there. But here is the epilogue, as promised. It is very short and very cheesy. But what is wine without a little cheese? Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read this story, especially to those you who have reviewed!

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In Vino Veritas

Epilogue

Draco ducked behind the oriental screen in the study for the fourth time in ten minutes to check on the bottle of champagne he had on ice. He was uncharacteristically bursting with nerves and excitement. That morning, Ginny had told him that she needed to talk to him. He suspected they would have reason to celebrate. He wasn’t completely oblivious, after all. He had noticed Ginny making a beeline for the bathroom first thing every morning for the past two weeks, and how her moods seemed to shift with the wind. Putting two and two together, he had a very good idea of what her news would be.

As he paced the study, waiting impatiently for his wife to return, Draco reflected on the past four years.

That evening he had stormed her flat, they had stayed up the whole night, drinking wine from her small collection, talking, and snogging. They had watched the sun rise together from Ginny’s balcony before Draco had to return to France to collect his mother. Draco never could remember what wines they had drunk that night; he had been too caught up in Ginny to notice. But he did remember the Meursault they had drunk when Ginny had passed the tasting portion of the Masters of Wine Exam, the Tokaji after Draco survived his first dinner with the entire Weasley clan, and the Côte Rôtie that had marked their first anniversary as a couple.

Some of the wines they had drunk on special occasions had hidden meaning that Draco had not yet dared to tell Ginny about. The night that they first made love, Draco chose a Condrieu to remind himself of the night he had come to his senses about Ginny. Draco proposed over a bottle of his grandfather’s Lafite-Rothschild, remembering that at one time he thought that if he were ever to marry, his wife would resemble that wine. At their wedding, they toasted each other with Veuve Clicquot. The classic champagne had been the first wine Draco had ever been allowed to taste; it made him think of new beginnings, which was why he had another bottle on ice tonight.

Draco was distracted from his memories when Ginny arrived. He kissed her cheek, then fussily ushered her into her favorite corner of the sofa and propped her feet on an ottoman.

“How was your day?” Draco asked, fighting the urge to ask her point blank about her news.

“Long,” Ginny answered, closing her eyes and leaning her head against the back of the chair. “I spent a couple of hours this morning on the Floo, haggling with Paul Dumas over prices. Then my mum dropped by and insisted on talking my ear off over lunch.” Draco smiled at that. He suspected that Ginny had done just as much talking as Molly had, but he knew better than to say so.

“Oh!” Ginny continued. “And I got an owl from Pierre inviting us to help with the harvest again this year. I’d really like to go—Michelle will be there with her new fiancé, and I’m dying to meet him.” Ginny and Draco went every year to Beaune to help Pierre with the harvest. It was her way of thanking him for helping her get started in her career, and a way of keeping in touch with her “second family.”

“Of course we’ll go,” Draco said, his patience wearing thin. When would she get to the news?

Ginny opened her eyes then and looked intently at Draco. “And just now,” she said, “I went to see Healer Prentiss.”

“Oh?” Draco struggled to keep his voice even.

“And she confirmed something for me.” Draco gazed steadily at Ginny as she spoke, but didn’t trust himself to answer. Ginny took a deep breath, then said, “I’m pregnant.”

His hopes finally confirmed, Draco gave a great whoop of joy and crushed Ginny in an embrace, grinning like an idiot through it all. “That’s wonderful!” he managed to say. Ginny squeaked, and Draco pulled away, suddenly worried that he had hurt her or the baby in his exuberance. “Are you feeling all right?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes, I’m fine, now that I can breathe again,” Ginny said playfully. “And Healer Prentiss gave me a potion so I shouldn’t be so ill in the mornings from now on.”

Draco nodded sagely. “That will be a relief. For me too.”

“You knew?” Ginny asked, surprised. Draco just raised an eyebrow, which made Ginny blush.

After a moment, Ginny looked up at Draco seriously. “You don’t mind?” she asked. “About the baby?”

“No,” Draco said, smiling. He reached out and cautiously touched her stomach. “I had hoped this was your news.”

“I love you, Draco,” Ginny said, smiling.

“I love you, too. And I think this is cause for celebration.” Draco rose and stepped behind the screen to retrieve the chilled champagne. When he emerged, he saw Ginny’s face fall.

“What is it?” Draco asked anxiously, rushing to Ginny’s side. “Is something wrong?”

“No, I’m fine,” Ginny said sadly. “It’s just that I can’t drink wine now. Not while I’m pregnant. It’s bad for the baby.” She paused for a long moment. “But you go ahead.”

Draco was shocked. Ginny couldn’t drink wine? How would she survive for nine months without it? How would he survive? For he knew he would never have the heart to drink wine in front of Ginny if she couldn’t try it as well. And how would they celebrate? They always celebrated with wine. Draco felt as if his world had shattered like a wine glass against a marble floor.

Draco slowly made his way behind the screen and replaced the wine in the ice bucket. He stood there for a few moments, trying to compose himself. Just as he was about to return to Ginny, he felt her arms embrace him around his waist from behind.

“What’s wrong, Draco?” Ginny asked quietly, her face buried in his back.

“What will we do now?” Draco asked, his voice sounding plaintive even to his own ears. “How will we survive so much time without wine? And how will we celebrate?”

Ginny was quiet for a moment. “It won’t be easy for either of us, but we’ll manage it together,” she said simply. Then her hands started to slowly insinuate themselves into the waistband of Draco’s trousers. “And I think we could find another way to celebrate,” she said seductively. “Don’t you?”

Draco smirked as Ginny’s hands traced patterns around his navel. Oh, yes, they could manage. And the bottle of Veuve Clicquot could wait; it would be a wonderful way to celebrate the birth of their child. At that thought, Draco turned around to embrace his wife properly. After all, they did have plenty to celebrate.

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Tasting Notes:

* Meursault is a subregion of France’s Burgundy region that produces primarily white wines made from the Chardonnay grape.

* Wines made in Hungary’s Tokaj region are called Tokaji. The best are dessert wines made from grapes allowed to contract botrytis, the “noble rot”, which concentrates the sugars in the grape juice.

* Côte Rôtie, in the Rhône Valley, is one of France’s oldest vineyards, originally planted by the Romans. The red wines produced there are made from a blend of Syrah and Viognier grapes. Syrah tends to have an earthy, leathery quality, while the Viognier that is blended in gives the wine a hint of floral character. (You might recall that Viognier is the grape from which the white wine from Condrieu is produced.)

* See the notes for Chapter VI for information on Condrieu and the notes for Chapter I for information on Lafite-Rothschild.

* Veuve Clicquot is one of the premiere producers of champagne. The company is named for the widow who controlled the company for sixty years during the nineteenth century.