Harry and Ginny's wedding day
It was one of those beautiful January evenings where everything is illuminated by the glitter of light off the snow. Tonight the enchanted sky was thick and white, and below it the Great Hall was alive with the sound of chattering voices and music. The walls were beautifully decorated with dancing ribbons of white and blue, and all around the confetti machines waited anxiously to whirl out their contents to the crowd.
Meanwhile, in McGonagall's old office – which had been converted into a little dressing room – Ginny sat, nervously twirling round on a chair and looking at her reflection in a thousand different mirrors, which all praised her hair and her dress and anything else they could think of. Mrs. Weasley stood, looking proudly down to her daughter, and wiping stubborn tears from her eyes.
"Do you think he'll like it?" Ginny asked yet another time.
"Of course he'll like it" everyone said at once. It was true. How could anyone not?
Ginny's hair fell in long red braids, pearls shimmering in little delicate knots on her head. Her eyes were bright, eyelashes thick with mascara. Her pale face stood out in the light, but all that was nothing, compared to her dress. They had found it in Diagon alley, and it had cost them a fortune in galleons, but it had been worth that and more. It was strapless and gleaming white. Pearls on the sash on her waistline matched with her hair. Above, the ivory silk fabric was laced tightly on her back, showing her figure. The skirt floated out in a delicate meringue, and now it twirled around her legs, never lifting to show her shoes, which were simple, white and high, and shaped her feet into a graceful arch.
led his daughter out into the hall where she had feasted so many times, had so many memories, some good, others bad.
Ginny looked up, through the tables which had been parted to form a white carpeted isle, past the hundreds of guests, all of whose eyes were on her, up to the stage, past her brother, the best man, past Neville Longbottom, who they had asked to do the ceremony, her eyes settling on the man dressed in the navy blue suit and blue bow tie, the man with eyes only for her, the man, who had always been special, always a hero, and was soon to be hers. Her hero. Her Harry.
Hidden by his jet black hair, which had been the subject of hours of frustrated combing (but still was not flat) was the scar that made him who he was. Harry Potter. Always her crush, her little fantasy, until now he was real, he was here, he was waiting.
Ginny walked slowly to the stage, deaf to the 'oohs' and 'aahs' of the crowd, a little smile forming on her face, her whole life swirling in this moment, right now, her wedding night. She finally reached him, and he took her hand, feeling, like her, as though all of this was a dream, everything that had happened before, the bad and the bad and finally the good, would be gone in the morning. The pair of them looked up at Neville, a childhood friend, part of all this; and the ceremony began.
Neville's words were their future, and they listened, eager, perhaps not at all two normal people, but in this moment like any other couple getting married, excited, a little nervous, very much in love.
They made their vows, and it had reached that part of the ceremony where the much awaited sentence is said, now by Neville, his voice, for once, was clear and confident, as he said those six words. "You may now kiss the bride!"
Finally, the machines found their moment, and confetti fell over the stage, covering all in a layer of happiness and mystery, and Harry reached towards this beautiful girl, at last his wife.
As their lips touched, Ginny felt as though everything was right, flourishing in this moment, in this kiss, and that she safe in these arms, warm and excited, and that this could last forever, she never need let go.