Words were not Harry's strong suit. He was a man of action, a daredevil of sorts, an unwilling puppet of fate. As someone who had been miserable for most of his life, he'd never been given much of a chance to express happiness with his words. Instead, he chose to act, and act he did.
But there comes a time in most people's lives, when words simply must be spoken, when the call of tradition dictates that actions alone will not suffice.
When a man must write a speech to his special someone, and swear his undying love.
"Bloody wedding speech," groaned Harry, slumping into his seat. "Can't bloody put my thoughts into words, can't crack this stupid case, can't eat anything but bloody kale for three bleeding weeks."
Ron, ever sympathetic, decided to help by laughing.
"Shut up, Ron," Harry snarled. "See if I help you write yours once you finally get your wits together and ask Hermione to marry you."
Ron's grin slid off his face, rather like the slugs had slid out of his mouth in second year.
"Well, what do you expect?" he retorted. "Hermione's the one who's good with words, not me. All I do is look after the shop with George!"
"Yes, but can't you come up with something, anything at all?"
"Mate," Ron sighed."Just stop and think about what you're asking me to do. You're asking me to help you write what amounts to a sappy love letter to my sister." He paused, making a face. "Now I'm not sure if you've really put much thought into this, but that's kind of wrong, don't you think?"
Harry grimaced. The thought of Ron making declarations of love to Ginny made his stomach churn. But desperate times called for desperate measures, and boy oh boy was Harry desperate.
"I'm not asking you to write the thing now, am I?" Harry asked, his words bordering on a plea. "I'm asking you for ideas, plans, an outline, maybe?"
Ron spread his palms and shrugged helplessly. "Like I said, not an essay person."
Harry shot him a nasty glare. "You're a real good friend, you are."
"Thanks, I try."
Harry mashed his hands against his creased forehead as he tried to think of things to say to Ginny.
Ron, who had been quiet for a while, suddenly piped up.
"Harry, mate, at the risk of sounding cliche, why don't you just tell her how you feel? You know, wanting to be with her forever and all that."
"You know how I feel about spilling my guts, Ron. I like it as much as I like actually having my guts spilled."
Ron snorted dismissively. "Yeah, but it's Ginny you're speaking to. You're only going to get this one chance, right? You don't get married every day. Also, stop getting that disgusting look you get every time I say her name. I might approve of the two of you, doesn't mean I want to see what you think of her every time I mention her."
Harry, who was in the process of straightening his face, considered Ron's idea. It did have merit, he had to admit. He would be mainly addressing Ginny, not the rest of the Weasleys, and as much as he feared opening up to, well, anyone really, he would rather the Weasleys know than anyone else.
"I'll think about it, yeah?" he sighed again. "Have a good night, Ron."
"You too, mate."
--
Upon returning to Chez Potter, he was greeted by a face full of red hair, and a full-bodied kiss from the love of his life.
Ginny Weasley, Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, Five Time Most Valuable Player of the European Quidditch League, aspiring reporter, and soon to be Potter, was desperately trying to suck one Harry James Potter's face off.
When she finally pulled away, they both took a minute or two to catch their breaths.
"Hello, Harry. Miss me?" Ginny gasped quietly, more due to lack of oxygen than lack of enthusiasm.
"Of course, all the time," Harry gasped back. "I thought that was a given, Miss Weasley."
"It's been 8 hours, Harry. And I missed you for every second of it. All through practice, lunch, the whole ordeal. I was wondering if you did the same."
"Always have, always will. And now that you've promised to marry me, I can make good on that promise."
Ginny's smile faltered a bit at that, before returning to full strength. And even though it had lasted less than a second, and anyone else wouldn't have noticed, Harry did. He was Harry, after all, and while Harry wasn't good with most girls, Ginny was not most girls.
"Harry, what are you doing?"
"Hugging you." His voice was muffled against her shoulder.
"What brought this on? I thought my greeting was good enough for you."
Harry gently pulled back. "I saw your face fall, Ginny. What's on your mind?"
Ginny bit her lip, and exhaled slowly. "It's about the wedding."
"Oh?"
"I'm worried, and also a little scared. Okay, a whole lot scared. Not of marrying you!" she quickly assured Harry, who had become rapidly alarmed by what she was saying. "I'm just... I dunno."
"Well," Harry mumbled into her hair, "Why don't we work it out together?"
"You wouldn't know how. Not even Hermione knows how. And let's face it," Ginny joked, "we all know how the brains were distributed among the three of you."
Harry lightly pushed her away, putting a mockingly offended look on his face. "Are you calling me, Harry James Potter," and here he pressed his hand to his heart hurtfully, "less intelligent than Hermione '11 Outstandings in OWLS' Granger?"
Ginny giggled at that. "Of course I am."
"Well, try me. You may not think so, but I have quite a bit of street smarts."
Ginny smirked playfully and replied, "Well, unless you want to know what my wedding speech to you is going to be about beforehand, you're not going to be helping me, Mr Potter."
Harry, who had frozen at the words 'wedding speech', coughed nervously.
"That makes two of us, you know. Not knowing what to say in our speeches."
Ginny turned her head incredulously. Then, she started giggling, then laughing, finally throwing her head back and cackling. Harry joined in, having already had trouble keeping his face straight, laughing until they were once again out of breath, wiping back tears of mirth.
Harry let out a sigh. "Truthfully, Ginny? I just want to keep this between you and me. You know I don't get much privacy these days, and neither do you. One of the perks of being famous with an F, I suppose."
"I just want this one thing to be ours, y'know? To just... skip the whole harrowing ordeal. Don't we deserve that? To be a little selfish, just this once?" he finished.
"I know what you mean, Harry. It does get exhausting, doesn't it? But we do kinda owe it to them, seeing as how they're family and all. They deserve to be shown just how much we love each other, not that there's anything to prove after, you know," Ginny flushed, remembering the time Hermione had caught them having loud, passionate sex on their kitchen counter.
Harry grinned saucily at her, making wildly exaggerated "come-hither" eyes. "I do remember dearly, Ginny dear. But," clearing his throat, he continued, "I really can't stand the idea of speaking about us in front of a crowd without first lightening the mood, yeah? And if you can't either..."
"Maybe we should do something else. Great idea, Harry!" Ginny finished for him.
"How about we..." whispered Harry in Ginny's ear, an amused smile slowly splitting her face upon hearing his words.
"That sounds like an awful lot of hard work for what the payoff is, Harry. But seeing as we only get to do this once..."
--
"...Once the number three, being the number of the counting, be reached, then lobbest thou the Holy Hand Grenade in the direction of thine foe, who, being naughty in my sight, shall snuff it." Finished Harry with a flourish.
He and Ginny took a bow to the mystified applause of the Weasleys, as well as the slightly grudging clapping of one Hermione Granger.
As Ginny sat down, Harry remained standing, and turned to address the table.
He began, "That was our rendition of the entire script of Monty Python and the Holy Grail. We spent quite a while rehearsing that, and we hope you enjoyed it."
"Now here's the part where everyone expects me to put on a show, and tell everyone how much I love Ginny or something. Surprise surprise, you're not getting that. What I feel for Ginny you all know very well," winking at Hermione who blushed and rolled her eyes, "so I'm going to talk about another very special woman in my life."
"You all know I'm not good with words, so I'm going to keep this short. Mrs. Weasley, thank you for being the best mother anyone could ask for. Thank you for the sweaters, thank you for the love and most importantly, thank you for the home you gave me. I'm honoured to be a part of this family, and it's all thanks to you."
Harry crossed over to the sobbing Molly, and gave her a long, tearful hug.
After disentangling himself from Mrs. Weasley, he turned to Ron and said, "Now that, Ron, is what we in the business call 'a wedding speech'."