May second. A date he'd never forget. The date he first met her; it was funny how it happened. Now this date would always be their day. A day to celebrate, to remember where and when and how they came to be.
The music started, the guests turned to look down the aisle. Harry took a deep breath and slowly turned.
He looked first to the front row. His mother, sniffing into a handkerchief, smiling weakly at him. His godfather, comforting his mother. He felt Harry's eyes on him, so he looked up and winked. Harry grinned and shook his head subtly, and wryly.
He saw movement at the head of the aisle, and realised the bridesmaids had walked past without him even being aware. He heard his best friend mutter, "It's time," and finally he looked past everyone, to her.
His jaw must have dropped, for his best friend nudged him, and the people closest to the front chuckled. He snapped his mouth shut and continued to gaze in awe as she seemingly glided down the aisle, her blazing eyes never leaving his.
Her dress was so white it was blinding against the sunshine. She would laugh later and tell him it was a soft white, 'whatever the hell that means'. Her luminous hair glistened, and it was long and loose, the way he liked it. She was beautiful and kind, smart and funny, loving and wonderful, and she was about to become his.
He must have said and done everything right, for soon the minister was pronouncing them husband and wife. He did remember the kiss. Their first married kiss.
Later he would dance with her; their first dance as husband and wife. He would hold her close, but not too close, not wanting to dirty her pretty dress, or do anything else that would bring about the wrath of a brother or two. Or six. Of course, she laughed and pulled him flush against her and proceeded to gyrate sexily against him; ignoring some old aunt named Muriel who whispered loudly about her actions not being that of a lady.
He would sit back and watch her dance with others, admiring as always, the easy way she could talk and laugh with just about anybody. His wife. His!
Much later, he would remove the beautiful dress and see the wonders that lay underneath. The white lingerie was a soft white too, and against her freckly skin, well, the effects were instantaneous, ensuring that the wedding night was all that a wedding night should be.
But, my friends ( and potential voyeurs who wanted me to continue with their wedding night), this is actually the end of the story. For, you see, the real story begins on another May second, two years earlier.
The day Harry Potter met Ginny Weasley.