A/N: My God, I'm mad. 'I'm going to England, I have to take a break from fanfic-ing', I say. The next thing you know, I'm crawling right back again. I've gotten used to writing so frequently, and now find it difficult to stop. Maybe this is addictive. Oh well, I suppose writing's therapeutic, even if I am addicted. Could help me relax. So here's the promised sequel to Aftermath. It really doesn't have much connection to Beyond What Came Before, which operates in a fairly different world (ie. different confrontation with Voldemort, different timelines for relationships, very different Malfoy, etc). This is actually based upon the idea somebody offered up at Aftermath's conclusion, about the joys and troubles of a wizard wedding. Updates will very likely be even more here and there than BWCB, but I wrote this and just thought I'd get it out. As always, I'll do my best not to keep you waiting. We'll see how it goes. ~no more 3x5s~ Shez XXOO
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Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. Characters and settings associated with the Harry Potter world featuring in this, and all future chapters, belong to J. K. Rowling et. al.
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I can tell you this much
I will marry just once
And if it doesn't work out
I'll give her half of my stuff
It's fine with me
We said eternity
I will go to my grave
With the life that I gave
Not just a melody line
On the radio wave
It dissipates
It soon evaporates
But home life doesn't change
"Home Life", John Mayer
~
Harry Potter woke early on his last working day for the year, feeling cold and bleary-eyed. He lay still for a few moments, wondering why he was awake, and then felt a freezing draught slide through his bed-sheets, and knew. Somebody had opened the bloody door, probably Peeves, and that meant he'd have to get up and shut it.
And if he had to get up and shut it, then once he got back under the covers, he'd very likely toss and turn for an hour, unable to sleep but unwilling to give up precious hours in bed.
I might as well get up now, he thought groggily and, with an effort, swung his feet out and onto the floor. Now that he was awake, the breeze was quite pleasant, and he sat for a moment, enjoying it and running through the plan for the day ahead.
Breakfast. Senior graduation and luncheon. Final assembly.
And that's when he remembered. Ginny was coming home today.
A grin spread over his face, unbidden, and he threw himself back onto his bed.
After she completed her years at Hogwarts, Ginny had received several offers (despite her stubborn, Fred-and-George-like refusal to put much emphasis on study). The two of them had discussed it over the summer, in the Weasleys' house, and Harry had felt his stomach curl up whenever he thought about her going away. This must have been what it was like for her when he'd considered Allenhall University, and he tried to put on a brave face, as she had.
In the end, it was like the stars aligned, and things were sorted out. At the last minute she was offered a place on the Birmingham Quidditch team, and a position at Hogwarts as Assistant to Madame Hooch. Both were part-time. The school was happy enough to allow her some leeway for her Quidditch, and the team only needed her for touring every other month, so she accepted both.
The relief Harry had felt was pretty much indescribable. He couldn't imagine an entire year without her – and he had a feeling McGonagall had been perfectly aware of this, and perhaps even orchestrated the Hogwarts placement accordingly. He'd never get her to admit to it, but McGonagall was a romantic at heart.
They were separately quartered, of course, but more often than not spent the night together. Ginny hated the tiptoeing around, especially as they were supposed to be engaged, but the 'no fraternising' rule applied to staff as much as students, and neither of them could afford to be dismissed. Harry wasn't sure that the issue had even come up before – there weren't any married teachers at Hogwarts.
She'd been away for a month touring Wales and, as always, he'd felt distinctly odd and miserable without her. His bed was suddenly too big, his classes were longer than usual, and he had trouble getting to sleep.
This is what it's like to love someone, his inner monologue would point out, but it didn't make him feel much better.
And today she was coming back to Hogwarts, and then they'd have a whole summer to spend in London together, in Harry's flat. And then, if all went well, the wedding.
Before he could dive too deeply into fantasies of lying in all day with his fiancée, there was a knock on Harry's door, still ajar, and Malfoy pushed it open. He was wearing boxer shorts and an infuriated expression. He had a towel over one arm.
"Sorry Potter," he said shortly, when he saw that Harry was awake, and not sounding very sorry at all. "My shower's on the blink again."
"Go ahead."
Malfoy had already gone ahead, and was shutting the bathroom door.
"I keep asking somebody to fix it," he called as he was changing. "But they either don't turn up, or it only stays fixed for a day or two, and then –"
He turned the water on and Harry couldn't hear him anymore. He replied anyway.
"I know, you told me. Don't worry about it."
He couldn't really do anything until the Slytherin was out of his bathroom, so wandered about his room for a while, picking things up and putting them down again. When Malfoy did emerge, he was trying to decide which robes to wear, and jumped when the blonde man spoke.
"Special day, is it?"
Harry turned, and Malfoy's expression was wry. He was drying his hair with Harry's hand towel – and not for the first time these past couple of years.
"Er – no," Harry said innocently, but couldn't stop a faint blush.
"So you're not agonising over your robes for any particular reason?"
"I'm not agonising."
Now Malfoy had broken into a grin.
"How long's it been since you had a shag?"
"Shut it," he mumbled, and threw the robe he'd been holding at his head. Malfoy caught it deftly and went on grinning.
"Four weeks is it?"
"Malfoy."
"Four and a half?"
"What about you, maybe fifty?"
"More like one."
"Right."
"It's true. I met Celeste in Hogsmeade."
"No you bloody didn't. And give me back my towel."
Malfoy threw both the towel and the robe. Harry caught the first, and the other slapped him in the chest and dropped to the ground. He grabbed it and then marched past Malfoy to his bathroom, calling over his shoulder.
"Out, you prat."
Malfoy left without bothering to say goodbye. That was a pretty frequent occurrence too. It was sort of reassuring actually, that some things could stay the same. Malfoy was as snide and proud as ever, if slightly mellowed since high school, and could shit Harry up the wall some days, and others make him laugh. It was strange, really. Where once Ron and Hermione had been his constants, Malfoy and Ginny now played that part in his life.
If you'd told him that in sixth year, or even seventh, he wouldn't have believed it.
That wasn't to say that Ron and Hermione didn't play a part in his life – quite the contrary. He was pretty sure they'd always play a part. He thought about them after his shower, as he was drying off. As far as he could tell, the two were still trundling along, lurching from argument to snogging to God-knows-what, and loving each other so hard that it almost gave Harry a nosebleed. There was no news of an engagement yet, even after Harry and Ginny's announcement – in fact, Harry had the distinct feeling that they were far too comfortable with things as they were to change just yet. He had regular letters, even from Ron. Hermione's mostly detailed the wonderful advancements being made in medi-witchery, and the stupid or sweet things Ron had said that week. Ron's mostly detailed quidditch, with occasional, familiar references to his girlfriend along the lines of: "… I tried to get Hermione to come to the game, but she said she was too busy with her autopsy. Well, sod the autopsy I say. He's dead, isn't he? He'll wait. Anyway, our Seeker's marvellous …" And so it went on.
He sometimes wondered what it would have been like to be at university with them.
Mostly he wondered how he could ever have doubted that this teaching business was for him.
Harry checked his watch. Its single hand pointed to: "Get thee gone." Ginny had given it to him for Christmas, and it used to be her grandfather's, so the terminology was rather archaic, but at least he knew when he was late.
He was late.
He ran two hands through his hair, pulled on his robes, and then went down the corridor at a not-very-dignified half-run.
~
He arrived late to the staff table, and received a disapproving glance from McGonagall as reward. None of the other teachers bothered – it was the last day, after all. They could afford to be a bit lax.
"Right there?" Malfoy muttered. He was in the seat next to Harry, and was already halfway through his food.
"Fine."
"Didn't get distracted or anything?"
"Took too long in the shower."
"Ah. Had things to do in there, did you?"
Harry shot him a loaded look, and Malfoy held up a hand.
"Alright, alright. Where is she?"
Harry shovelled food into his mouth and spoke when it was full. "Don' know. She's usually here before breakfas'."
"How lovely. Chewed eggs," Malfoy said disdainfully, and Harry rolled his eyes and swallowed.
"I said, she's usually here before breakfast. Maybe the bus is late."
"Oh, she's coming by Knight Bus again?"
"I think so. She doesn't like it much, but –"
He stopped abruptly. His eyes had just flickered over the room, and found a figure hovering in the Great Hall doorway. She ducked out of sight again as he tried to focus, but he did catch a flip of red hair.
"What?" asked Malfoy, blinking in the direction of his gaze, but Harry wasn't listening.
"Excuse me," he said, and pushed back his chair.
He had to slide behind five staff members to get out, and most made noises of discomfort. He apologised automatically ("Sorry. Sorry there. Sorry.") and stepped off the platform in such a rush that he almost tripped. He didn't even mind Malfoy's audible snort, and simply ignored him as he made his way across the room, skirting the tables and staying close to the wall.
In the entryway, he couldn't see her at first and spun around in a circle. It was on his second rotation that he spotted her, just outside the main doors and kicking the flagstones. His heart gave a funny jolt and he went forward quietly, watching her. She scratched her nose and then put a hand on her hip and sighed, completely oblivious, completely herself. He loved seeing her when other people weren't around, and when she didn't know he was looking.
Just as he reached the doorway, she heard him and turned her head. There was a brief pause as he smiled, and she smiled, and then she suppressed a squeal and threw herself at him, putting her arms around his neck. He lifted her up, and her legs went around his waist. She was light – not delicate, but slender, athletic – and he held her for some time, a head on her shoulder. She smelt so good. He'd missed that.
"I missed you," he murmured, and she nudged his face with his shoulder. He lifted it and she kissed him, still smiling, so that his lips touched her teeth.
"I missed you," she said against his mouth. "It's been ages since I was away so long."
"I know. Don't do it again."
"No promises, Potter."
"Oh really?" he said, and tickled her briefly. She wriggled and dropped her feet to the floor, laughing, before leaning her head against his chest.
"You feel nice," she said softly.
So do you, said inner monologue, very fervently, and he began to feel a bit hot beneath his robes. He shushed his thoughts as best he could, but then she kissed him again, and her lips travelled down his cheekbone and his chin, and onto his neck, her fingers twisted in his hair.
"I missed that," he admitted and she stopped kissing so that she could laugh again.
"I can tell."
Harry pulled away from her, just slightly. Best not to get too excited just yet. He cleared his throat. Then she tucked her hair behind her ear, and he had to clear it again.
"Why didn't you come in?"
"Into the Great Hall?" She made a face. "Everyone's in the middle of eating, and I didn't want them to stare."
"Right."
"But it's last day, isn't it?"
"Yeah. Thank Merlin."
She moved to lean on the same side of the doorframe as him, and slipped her hand into his.
"Why? Has it been awful?"
"Awful? No. You mean work? No, that's fine. I mean – you and me."
"Oh," she said, smiling a bit. "Well, that's not awful is it?"
"No, no," he said hurriedly. "I just meant – you know, all the sneaking around. And we haven't really had ourselves to ourselves since, what, Christmas?"
"Mm. Christmas was good."
"Christmas was great," he corrected her. They'd spent Christmas Eve at the Weasley's, and then much of the next few days in bed, or wandering Diagon Alley only to, well, return to bed. It had been the best holiday of Harry's life, and had reminded him enough of their very first stay in London that he felt pleasantly nostalgic the while.
"So," he continued, a bit awkwardly, "I was just thinking – well, it'll be good to have some privacy, won't it?"
"Privacy," she repeated, and then sighed. "Harry, there's something –"
A sharp bell sounded, and first- to sixth-year students began to pour out of the Great Hall. Harry groaned inwardly. The graduation ceremony. He didn't have a part to play, but feeling Ginny beside him was enough to make him want to abandon a Quidditch final, let alone a school function.
"What?" she asked, and he shook his head.
"Graduation."
"Oh. I forgot."
"I'd better go." He kissed her temple, but then found he couldn't move. "Bugger," he muttered, and she gave him a 'what can you do?' half-smile.
"Go on," she said then, firmly, reminding him of both her mother and Hermione. "You have to."
"I have to," he agreed.
He gave her hand a squeeze, and left before he could change his mind.
~
When he came out of the ceremony, she wasn't there, and he presumed she'd gone to her quarters, a little place barely bigger than his room under the stairs at the Dursleys', and located right by the Quidditch pitch. She'd left her things there – presumably before she came up to the Great Hall, because she wasn't around. Her broomstick was leaning against her trunk in the open doorway, and he quickly put them in her room and locked the place before he went. She never bothered with things like that. She had too much faith in strangers.
Harry didn't have much faith in strangers. He didn't have a lot of faith in people generally. Those he trusted, he'd trust with his life. The rest – well, it was a legacy of darker times, when nothing and nobody was exactly as they seemed.
He shook off those memories and went to his own room instead.
He could see her inside as soon as he came to it. She was humming a bit and busying about the room, doing – he wasn't sure what. Picking up after him? She had a bad habit of doing that, inherited from her mother, who cleaned like a madwoman. Actually, Ginny tended to start, and then boss him into helping. He supposed it wasn't such a bad habit. It kept his room clean, and it was also kind of endearing, watching her fold his clothes.
"You right there?" he said, coming in and shutting the door again, and she stopped what she was doing to narrow her eyes at him.
"Fine, thanks. Your room's a bloody mess. What have you been doing in here?"
"Moping," he admitted, and her expression softened a bit.
"You just want me to clean your room," she said, straightening and crossing her arms over her chest. She still had a pair of his discarded trousers in hand. "Well I'm not your slave, young man, and you can clean it yourself."
"I will," he said, coming closer and taking his pants off her. "Look, I'll do this."
He folded them up, not very well, and then tossed them onto the floor. The folding fell apart immediately and she shook her head.
"I'll have to train you better."
"You can train me all you want," he said, hands sliding around her waist. He kissed her again, because he couldn't stop himself, and didn't want to, and because she was lovely. She kissed him back, a little harder than she had earlier, and she was pressed up against him and he'd missed that so much that he couldn't even tell her, and it felt as though his whole body was throbbing.
"God," he muttered instead, and moved his hands over her, into her hair and back down again.
"Do we have time?" she asked, and he nodded. He would have nodded if they'd had five seconds, but as it was they'd have nearly an hour's grace before they needed to pack.
"Good," she said then, and began to fiddle with his trouser button.
~
Afterwards, they lay on his bed, Ginny on top of him and curling a bit of his hair around her finger. She liked his hair, apparently, and Harry wasn't complaining. He just lay where he was, feeling better than he had in a while, and so glad she was there that he decided to tell her.
"I'm glad you're here," he said.
"Mm," she replied, and dropped her head so that it lay against his chest. "Me too."
"How'd the Quidditch go? I read in the Prophet, but …"
"Oh, we lost. We tend to do that. But it was fun, and I had a really great game at Carmathenshire."
"You told me. How soon did you catch the Snitch again?"
She eyed him and then tugged his hair lightly. "You're teasing me."
"No," he protested. "I want to know."
"Twenty seconds," she said, and he nodded thoughtfully.
"Right. Twenty." He paused. "You know, that must be the twentieth time you've told me too."
"Harry!" she said, but he was laughing so hard that he couldn't apologise, and then she laughed too, and they rolled around a bit and were, eventually, still. Her back was curved against his front now, her legs tucked up, her hair in his face.
"What did you have to tell me?" he asked after a while, remembering, and she started.
"Oh! Oh, never mind."
This worried him. Ginny didn't said 'never mind' unless it was something he really ought to mind. "What is it?"
"Nothing."
"Gin," he said. "Just tell me."
There was a long silence and then she sighed heavily. "I don't want to."
"Why not?"
"It's not very good news."
His stomach lurched. 'Not very good news' was not what he wanted to hear. He
had the sudden, fairly irrational notion that she was breaking up with him, or
going away, and his hands tightened involuntarily around her waist.
"What is it?" he repeated, and this time she turned on her side that she was facing him, her expression serious.
"OK. You're going to hate this."
"You can't know till you tell me."
"Oh, you will."
"Gin."
"You will."
"Gin, tell me," he said, through gritted teeth, and when she finally spoke she didn't meet his eye.
"I told my Mum we'd spend the summer at home," she mumbled.
A long, long silence now as Harry attempted to digest this.
No, still wasn't getting through.
"What?" he said, and her gaze flicked upward.
"I'm sorry. She cornered me, and she asked, and then she looked like she was going to cry, and the next thing I knew I was telling her we would."
"That we'd spend the summer there?"
"Yes."
"At the Burrow?"
"Mm."
"All summer?"
"Pretty much."
It was his turn to sigh. Not as bad as he'd thought, but not great either. He loved the Weasleys, and he loved the Burrow too. In a lot of ways, the Burrow was home. But the last summer he'd spent there was the one after seventh year, and things with him and Ginny had been complicated by Mrs Weasley's, er, house rules. Sure, they'd managed to bypass them a few times, but the thing with the Burrow was that there was nowhere to really be alone. The summer after – the summer he'd proposed – they'd spent most of their time in London, or at Lupin's holiday house in Ireland (left to Harry in his will), and it had been so great that Harry had been looking forward to a repeat.
"OK," he said finally.
"Really?" she asked. She seemed a bit nervous. "Because I suppose I could tell her no."
"Oh, don't do that. God. She'd have my head."
"She'd probably understand."
"No," Harry said determinedly. "No, we'll go to the Burrow. And – I suppose we can visit London, when we want."
"I'm sorry."
"Stop apologising. I don't mind. I love the Burrow."
She bit her lip, and it made him want to kiss her, but she was speaking again. "I love it too, but that doesn't mean I want to spend all summer there. Mum's just – well, she misses us, I suppose, and everybody. She's a bit lonely. Fleur and Bill are all set up in Paris with Felix, so she doesn't see much of them, and Dad's doing his Acting Minister thing while Madame Redfern recovers, and Charlie's holed up with his dragons, and Fred and George are holed up in their joke-shop, and –"
"Gin. Shut up."
"Shut up?"
"Shut up. We'll have a great summer, and it'll make your mum happy and we'll find somewhere to – you know, and everything will be fine."
"OK," she said on an exhale, and touched her forehead to his. "I'm glad that's over. I was dreading telling you."
"Don't ever dread telling me things," he said, and he meant it. "Tell me everything."
"I'll tell you everything," she said quietly. It sounded like a promise.
The Burrow for the summer. Well, it wasn't all-day-in-bed-just-the-two-of-us-and-our-own-place-in-London, but the more he thought about it, the more he looked forward to seeing the rolling hills and the little gnarled gnomes and the homey kitchen and Mrs Weasley, who was more his Mum than anyone else, and –
"I think Ron and 'Mione are coming home, too," she said then.
"Those two? I haven't seen them since – when did we go up?"
"February."
"February, right. Before his birthday."
"So they should be there, Mum said."
Ron and Hermione, too. Now he was really looking forward to it.
"I hope this isn't just some ploy by Mum to get the wedding under her thumb," Ginny said after a while, musingly.
"Oh – she wouldn't do that," Harry said, but he wasn't so certain. In fact, it sounded like exactly the sort of stunt Mrs Weasley would pull.
"You think?" Ginny said dryly.
"Don't know." He paused, considering it, and then found he was considering something else. "We're getting married, aren't we?" he said, his voice a little wondering, and she smiled just slightly.
"We're getting married, Harry."
"What an amazing thing."
They smiled some more, and then Harry shook his head a little and stroked her back.
"I'm sure your Mum will let you organise."
"Well, I've got most of it in hand, so she can't go wild."
"Most of it in hand, do you?" he said, smirking now, and she poked him.
"Don't be dirty."
"How can I help it? You're gorgeous."
"Flattery will get you nowhere."
"You're gorgeous," he repeated, and kissed her slowly, and when he pulled away she was rather breathless.
"Flattery – will get you –" she began to say again, and then he kissed her again, and pretty soon they were doing all the rest of it again, and then they had to pack so fast that Harry was sure he'd forgotten something.
Going to the Burrow instead of London didn't seem so important anymore. As long as he had her with him, he didn't really mind where they went.