T.T My first real story (the Aeneid totally did not count)! Do I need a disclaimer 'cause JK Rowling wrote Harry Potter? It's so short! I hope some people like it... at least two (is that a bit to many?)... Tah. Well, I've got homework to do.

Chapter One

The Final Battle could only be described as chaotic. The number of souls who died will never be known. There were weepy witches who were devoted to the task of giving each and everyone who left the world a proper burial, whether he was for or against Voldemort, but it was pointless. They may have counted the majority of organisms from the species homo sapien, but they missed the giants and centaurs, and the lone unicorn who foolishly but bravely stuck out her head from among her leafy den to look out, only to be hit by a vicious cutting curse.

For a few weeks after the battle, lines of mourners came and went. Bringing the body enclosed in its hard wooden caskets—whether it was Brazilian teak or American redwood—for one last visit to Hogwarts before the entire procession apparated to its final resting place.

This was the view the people who worked tirelessly on rebuilding various parts of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry saw. From a single worker's lofty position on the roof of the West Tower, she could see the Forbidden Forest extending for miles, the village buildings of Hogsmeade, the lake with its curious rippling effect, and—on the skinny road (built for carriages and people but not cars) leading up to castle—a thin parade of people who walked slowly up.

But that was a few months ago. May or June, right? Fast-forwards to mid August.

Harry Potter was in a butter-yellow dressing room lit by the windows framed by lacey white wisps called curtains. There was a closet with its bright washed door thrown wide open. Inside laid the lair of a mess of suits and dresses hang in plastic wraps. On the red velvet chair beside the eighteen-year-old hero was a well pressed robe—expensive by the look of its silky cloth and elaborate by the look of its embroideries.

A silver band lay on a plush cushion. The simple ring was decorated by a small circlet of flat black stones. Several of these gems still had the engraved design of some previous jewel. Whenever he studied the ring closely, Harry would vividly remember the night of Voldemort's defeat and wish longingly for solid and breathing copies of the ghostly figures that had appeared that night and pushed Harry on until victory. He had dropped the original ring, yes, and although he swore to keep it hidden from mankind, he could not resist the temptation to spend a whole week's worth of night hours to comb the forest looking for the heavy set ring. Harry wanted no one else to have it, and so he had a jeweler unknowingly split the magical gem into many pieces and embed the pieces into his current wedding band.

Ginny had planned most wedding while Harry was busy training on his own (for who knows what!) Thus the light gold of Harry's wedding robes faded slightly in comparison to his bronzed complexion—though it was a great color to complement Ginny's hair—and the deep red of the other accessories were just a tad bit too bold for Harry's liking. All in all, the color choices weren't too bad. The location, at a quiet but heavily visited hotel on a serene lake out in the country, was suitable. The guest list was slightly large (the Weasley clan numbered as much as Gryffindor's house population)… Lilies, though a nice and caring touch, were slightly off for a wedding… And Harry wasn't quite sure about the snails on the menu.

Everything was set, everything was prettified, something was wrong.

As Harry tugged his arm through the first silky sleeve of his robe, a woman rushed in the room, stomping along as she ranted.

"Harry James Potter! Do you know what time it is? It's almost four in the afternoon, high time to get your tush out the door 'cause Ginny will freak out when I tell her that you're still dressing…" Hermione began, but then broke off as she realized Harry was only dressed in a light pair of low slung trousers, white and almost see-through near the top where Harry's green boxers with polka-dots were easily visible. She blushed bright red and averted her eyes to Harry's face, bypassing his chest rippling with muscle.

Harry continued slowly tugging on the second sleeve with a roll of his eyes. "Hermione," he said, "you really need to work on your blushing habits. What will the others think?" Harry grimaced and finished off the last of his buttons. Once he was married, he didn't need people such as the paparazzi to follow his every move and write down every lie. Although Hermione did look quite beautiful when she blushed, when her eyes shined as she got furious, when she put her hair up in a bun and allowed several tendrils to snake their way down her neck. Heck, Harry would answer to anyone that Hermione was stunning if anyone asked—not that anyone would.

But that wasn't the attitude he needed at that moment, wasn't it? Hermione shouldn't be beautiful to him right then and there; Ginny (once Harry sees her) was to be the only girl on his mind.

"Well," Hermione began.

"Look, I'm sort of stressed right now. Don't start advertising pain killers, it's my wedding, what would anyone expect? Just please don't state berating me. I'm going, I'm going." And with that, Harry left in a hurry, hiding his confusion. Was something wrong with him?

He weaved through the chests and boxes that lined the hidden hallway, edging around preoccupied maids, nearly tripping over house elves in his unsuccessful attempt to Ginny's rooms. Blast wizarding tradition, he thought, keeping the bride and groom apart until the ceremony from a whole week before. He needed some love. But Mrs. Weasley grinned happily as she turned him away from the mahogany door.

"So sorry Harry dear, but you just can't go in. You don't want bad luck, do you?" she said with a cheeky smile. "You'd better get going to the alter, the ceremony should start soon."

Groaning softly in annoyance, Harry swept away, down the stairs to the pavilion outside. The marble alter gleamed in the afternoon light. The maples trees stood still, dropping a leaf occasionally but rarely, and the thick grass glowed green (to much fertilizer Harry's muggle-garden-minded mind supplied). Doves flew leisurely hither and fro. Satin chairs were protected by charms to protect them from bird droppings. The Marriage Mage was there, the stone plate inscribed with runes was already seated on a wooded pedestal.

It was to this plate that Harry looked on hard. He and Ginny were to kiss while touching this plate and… and be married. Contrary to popular belief, the marriages were reversible, although it took a great deal of energy for when a couple was married, the runes took their magic and wounded them. It was a rather stupid form, idea, tradition, ritual, practice, custom, but it thoroughly expressed a couples' love.

Harry was totally against the idea, not that he had said anything to anyone about it yet. After the painful experiences with Voldemort's magic, Harry didn't want anyone or anything controlling him or his magic again. They were to keep their hands off him and possibly allow him to do the dirty work on them. It was an evil though, yes, but Harry believed that he deserved a little bit… or maybe a lot. He really needed a hug.

Standing there made him lose feeling in his toes, but that was why Harry did for the next twenty minutes, waiting for four o'clock (Hermione was lying about the time, again). In due time, the pavilion was flooded with people looking for spaces to sit. And as four o'clock came, the door of the hotel leading out into the pavilion was thrown wide open and the people quieted. Ginny, in her light gold dress—that shone mostly white—glided slowly up the pathway carpeted especially for the special occasion. Two rings bearers brought up the rear, bearing the Ginny's wedding ring and Harry's silver band that he had forgotten in his room. In moments, Ginny was standing next to him, smiling shyly. They turned to face each other.

The Marriage Mage began talking, "On this day…" but Harry tuned him out. Passively, he stared at Ginny's flushed face and noted how ugly her red cheeks and her red hair were when clashed. They should have given her a cooling charm. Whoever did her makeup was very unprofessional. And if the dress robes were pulled just a bit tighter around chest, the silk wouldn't have sagged that tiniest bit. Heck, the gel they used on her hair was too visible; there were prominent ridges that had became too stiff too early to fix. It wouldn't have made her perfect (no one is!), but at the very least the changes would dramatically be fore the better. Harry wouldn't gladly done the makeup job for her himself—and no, he isn't gay. He would do anything to help her be ready for the perfect guy…

Unintentionally, Harry tilted his head a hair to the right, as though he was examining Ginny (he was) and his lips lifted into a faint glimmer of a smile. Ginny grinned back at him. He went through the actions of putting the rings on their fingers. He wasn't paying any attention. It was all muscle memory.

The Marriage Mage cleared his throat and Harry looked up. Ginny looked at him funny, with a raised eyebrow that totally distorted her face. The audience was deadly silent; the Marriage Mage merely looked bored. Shuffling his single sheet of parchment to his other hand, the ancient wizard sighed.

"Mr. Harry James Potter," he began in a level voice, "do you take Miss Ginerva Molly Weasley as your wife?"

Merlin's socks. The few reporters that had snuck in through the light security were flashing away with their cameras. Several Quick-Quills were scribbling whatever disgusting thoughts people think nowadays. The wind blew slightly and the birds were chirping. Other wise, silence reigned. Harry tried to keep his head level, but he suspected that most people caught the desperate turning of his head. Desperate? Did he say desperate?

"Mr. Potter—"

Ron was going to kill him. All the Weasley brothers were going to kill him. He was going to be dead meat in less than three hours.

"I'm sorry." Harry cringed internally at his voice. So unsure of himself. "I can't." And with that, he hurried off the pavilion, rushing through the still silent audience members and over to the apparition point where he left a second later.

It was very lucky for Harry that he went so quickly because a split second after the small "pop" his apparating made, the entire wedding was thrown into an uproar. Half the Weasley clan began insulting Harry in their rash ways, jumping to the most absurd conclusions. They caused a general panic after one rather mental uncle on Arthur's mother's side that was thrice removed and thirteen years old from Denmark interpreted a random word in the English language that George Weasley had just exclaimed as a mortal insult and thus had set off a dozen fireworks— several that landed on the buffet tables. Chairs were overturned in the rush of excitement and most of the relatives were flushed and sweaty after running around the marble floor two minutes after Harry had left. Ginny and the Marriage Mage were left standing at the alter; Ginny in quiet surprise and the Marriage Mage in relative interest (he was picking at the dirt under his nails). Did anyone mention that the Daily Prophet was going to have a field day?

Hermione was one of the few who remained calm and she was one of the calmest of them. Sighing gently through her parted lips, she walked up to Ginny and gave the poor girl her condolences. Ginny stayed ridged through the motherly patting of her back. Giving the disorder one last look over from the apparration point, Hermione turned on her heel and silently disappeared. She was going to look for Harry.

I got another one of those "TAKE A BREAK" pop-ups. I think I will... How did I do?