A/N: I must begin this chapter by offering my humble gratitude to The Wandering Reader, who has listened to me ramble my way through ideas for this story until I'm sure she hates it. Thank you, so much. I don't think this chapter could have happened without a recent conversation between us (indeed, I am not sure I could finish this story without some of the conclusions that conversation brought me to).
Despite all the gratitude, this chapter is not dedicated to the Wandering Reader. I must dedicate this chapter (and the next one, for that matter) to madbrad, whose opinion on Ginny is making me work like a house elf to get this part right.
Chapter Nine
The Best Man
Wedding season has officially begun, and it has begun with Neville and Hannah. They're keeping it small, mostly family, and thank Merlin for that. I know that Hermione, for the sake of peace, is going to let Molly make her wedding huge and I don't how many huge weddings I can handle. Dean Thomas is getting married soon, as well, to a girl I don't know—and from what women tell me, weddings breed and I should expect more invitations soon.
To say that I am going to spend the next few months uncomfortable would be a gross understatement.
I am going to attend at least three weddings, each time with Ginny on my arm. I'm not just uncomfortable, I am afraid. Because I actually need to admit to myself that I do not, currently, have an interest in getting married. I can love Ginny like crazy, but I don't want to marry her, at least not right now. It's time I said that, out loud.
"I don't want to marry Ginny right now."
"What?"
Oops. Forgot about Teddy for a second.
"Nothing, Bug, just talking to myself. Are you ready?"
Teddy holds up his tie with a hopeless look, and I kneel down to help him tie it—which I know how to do because I practiced with Arthur, two weeks ago, in preparation for wedding season. Ginny is going to be here in a minute, and then all three of us are going to Augusta Longbottom's house for the wedding ceremony, which will be tiny. The reception, of course, will be at the Leaky Cauldron, and will be slightly bigger, but not too much bigger. As far as I know, Ginny and Teddy and I will comprise three of the seven people at the Longbottom house who are not relatives. Ron, Hermione, Luna, and Susan Bones are the others. I don't think any of Neville's friends from work are coming to the ceremony, while Ginny, Luna, and Susan are all the friends that Hannah claims to need.
Ginny arrives while I am in the middle of wondering if Neville asked his great uncle Algie to be his best man, since it's not Ron or I. She doesn't announce herself, just comes upstairs and strolls into my room, looking amazing.
"Hey, Gin," I say as I fix my own tie.
"Hi," she answers, sounding cheerful and giving me a peck on the cheek. She leans forward to look at herself in the mirror and starts doing something or another with her makeup. I give her a nice, long look. All that time she spends in training makes her so utterly comfortable with her body that she looks just as relaxed and confident in her dress robes as she does in a pair of jeans, or naked in bed. Mmm, Ginny naked . . .
"Harry, what are you looking at? Come on, let's not be late," Ginny says, taking my arm and dragging me away from my spaced-out perusal of my bathroom counter.
I head downstairs with her, and I think I'm blushing. I don't know why, normally I'd just tell her I'm thinking about her naked and try to convince her to stay the night before going back to Wales. But I don't want to tell her I'm thinking about her naked. I'm not sure why. I'm too distracted for intense self-analysis today, so let's just assume it's related to the lack of desire to get married and move on. (Yes, doctor, I promise we'll talk about this later.)
"Ready, Bug?" I ask the bouncing presence at my side. He's never been to a wedding before, and he's excited to see it. I've explained to him what Neville and Hannah are doing today, and he got confused because he thought they must have done it already. He's such a perceptive kid, he really is. I had to think about it for a long time before I came up with something. I ended up telling him that two people know they are ready for marriage when they start acting like they already are.
"I'm ready," he says enthusiastically, running his hands over his tie and robes. He looks so cute in formal robes, and I think he knows it, because he's giving me a grin of pride over his outfit.
"All right, Ginny, you go through, and I'll come with Bug behind you."
"Okay," she says, and quickly pokes her head into the Floo to get clearance to come through. She seems so okay with this whole thing, with watching someone else get married when she still has no ring on her finger. And I know, because Hermione told me, that girls get mightily insecure about bare ring fingers when they're our age. I was half-expecting her to pick a fight with me about it.
Of course, that's stupid of me. Ginny's just not like that. She might be feeling horrible and insecure and all of that, but she hates drama as much as I do, and she'd never bring it up right before someone else's wedding. In fact, while she would wait for a night where neither of us are busy and we can be alone, I don't think she'd be too afraid to bring it up. This just makes me think she's happy not getting engaged, herself. So maybe I did the right thing, to let it go when I lost the engagement ring.
Oh, good grief, I've really got to get a hold of myself. I grab Bug and step into the fire, determined to let Neville have his day.
The other side of the fire is so frightening, I almost wish I was stuck at my house having a fight with Ginny. It's a room full of old people. No, really. Grey hair, far as the eye can see. I recognize Neville's grandmother Augusta, and the rest of them are surely relatives, but they're all old. No wonder Neville invited Ron and Hermione, even though he's not that close to them. He just needed someone who wasn't related to him and didn't look like they'd known Merlin personally. Ginny and Teddy are the only people in sight that I know at all, and Bug is clinging to my leg so hard that I think his fingers are going to leave bruises.
People start shaking my hand, and it actually relaxes me a bit. I'm in a room full of people I don't know, but they know me, and they want to shake my hand. This is something I know how to deal with. It even relaxes Bug a bit, to see me looking so easy-going about it, and I forget my worry that they might have to surgically remove his hand from my thigh. It's all, "Thank you for everything you did," and, "No, no, I didn't do anything without help . . ." Urgh. I thought I was done with this kind of shit at least three years ago, but this group probably doesn't get out much. Afraid of broken hips, maybe.
—What the hell is so bad about old people, anyway, and why am I acting like this? Maybe it's my recent talks about knowing myself with Kingsley Shacklebolt, or maybe it's my policy of honesty with Bug (or maybe, Merlin take me, it's some new defense against ever becoming like The Arsewipe—and there he goes, creeping into my life again). Well, whatever it is, it makes me think about my motivations loads more than I used to. I have to stand here a moment and examine my old-person prejudice, because I can't help but examine and re-examine everything I do, lately.
It might be simple unfamiliarity, really. I don't know anybody that I would call old, except maybe some of the Hogwarts professors. That's strange. The only person I've known who was truly elderly was Dumbledore. And while I'm not totally positive on this, I think I hate Dumbledore. I mean, I've got the right. Oh, wow. Now that I'm thinking about it . . . Maybe that's where my honesty with my godson comes from. I'd never lie to anyone the way I was lied to, but Bug's too special to risk losing because of some omission or manipulation.
"Harry, you're here! I don't know what to do!"
Neville is pulling me in and slapping me on the back while he says this, and wearing a look of such abject terror that I almost want to laugh. At least he's distracting me. I really need to learn how to put self-introspection on the back burner while I'm in company.
"Neville, mate, how're you holding up?"
He gives me a wide-eyed look, and I let out my chuckle. "Nervous, eh?"
"Harry, what was I thinking?" he whispers. "I can't be a husband. I'm clumsy, slow, incompetent Longbottom."
Whoa. This needs to be dealt with. I catch Ginny's eye, and jerk my head just a fraction toward Teddy. She nods, letting me know she'll keep an eye on him, and I drag Neville away from the press of his family and into a tiny sitting room that's been pressed into service as a coat room.
"All right, then, what is this you're going on about?"
"I can't marry Hannah," he gasps. "She's gorgeous. She's perfect. And I'm me."
I'm struck dumb. After all this time, he still sees himself that way?
"Nev," I choke out. "What the hell, mate?"
He just shakes his head in misery.
"You're not clumsy, or whatever it was you just said. Okay, maybe you are a bit clumsy. But seriously, I think Hannah already knew that. The point is, of course you can marry her. I don't know how you can be so blind about yourself, mate. Hannah is lucky to have you. I'm not saying she's not a great girl, because she is. But you're . . . Neville, you're one of the kindest and most courageous people I've ever met. You're a completely stand-up guy. Not to mention that you practically worship the ground Hannah walks on. How could you think you're not going to be a good husband for her?"
He's quiet. Which is good, I think. Hopefully means he's listening.
"I was trying to explain what marriage is to Teddy, you know. He thought you and Hannah had been married this whole time. And honestly, Nev, he was basically right. You two already make such great partners that the ceremony today is basically just a statement for the record."
There is a quiet knock on the door, and Ginny pokes her head in. She barely glances at me, but she gives Neville a long searching look. She rolls her eyes and lets herself in, shutting the door behind her.
"Neville Longbottom, if you are getting cold feet, I'm going to have to do something drastic."
"Oh, really?" he says with a wan smile.
She gives him her best stern look. It's the one I wish I could conjure up to give to Bug when he's trying to get out of something, the one that seems to belong exclusively to Weasley women.
"You and Hannah have been waiting for this day for too long already," Ginny declares confidently. "You've been in love for six years, and if there was any reason that you shouldn't get married, you'd have discovered it by now."
"But I—"
"Don't make me call Seamus," Ginny says warningly, and Neville's mouth clamps shut. He stares at her with something akin to horror. "Do you really want to do this wedding drunk? Because that can happen. I don't mind having a repeat of The Incident."
She's talking about that year of school that I was absent from, and it makes me a little nauseated to think that I don't know what The Incident is, or what is has to do with Seamus or getting drunk. Nausea is my second-most common way to manifest guilt, right after anger. I wasn't there for any of the hardships they went through. I know in my head that I was doing something important, that I went through hardships of my own, but in my heart it still feels like I abandoned my friends to something I should have been able to protect them from.
There's another knock on the door, and I almost hex the person on the other side.
"Is this a job for the best man?" asks a teasing voice that I recognize immediately.
"Come on in, you can help me and Harry sort him out," Ginny answers.
Luna slips in, and I can't help but laugh aloud when I see her. I suppose I was expecting a repeat of Bill's wedding, and a blinding yellow ensemble, but today she's wearing very traditional dress robes. Boys' dress robes. With a bowtie. Only Luna Lovegood would do this.
"You're the best man?" It's not really a question, since the answer is pretty clear. "Nobody told me."
"It was a secret," Luna says, flashing that serene smile that I've missed from her lately.
Neville shrugs helplessly, but he's lost that panicked look and has almost started to smile, now. "I'm not close to very many people. She's been there for things . . . and she's still here. Luna is the person I most want to stand up with me today."
"I've stood up with you before," she says, looking very serious, and sitting down beside Neville and taking his hand. "During some very frightening times." Something passes between them, all three of them, and it makes me feel left out, to be honest. Crap, is this what it feels like for other people to be around me and Ron and Hermione? "I was so proud that you wanted me to do the same during a joyful time."
"We know how strong you are, Neville," Ginny says.
Luna finishes. "We know you can be strong enough to accept happiness, too."
Neville nods, looking down at his lap, and takes a deep breath. "Okay," he sighs. "Okay, let's do this."
And so we do. Luna pats his shoulder, Ginny hauls him to his feet, and I keep a hand on the centre of his back to steer him back out amongst the others, just in case he suddenly changes his mind and tries to escape or something. We escort him all the way into the large parlour where the officiant waits—yet another old person, whom I suspect is one of Neville's relatives—and then we look for our own seats. It turns out that Ron and Hermione arrived while we were staving off disaster, and Bug was with them. He bounces up out of his chair, but Ginny and I slip in beside him and I press him back down.
"Just about time to start," I warn him.
"Where'd you go?" he whispers.
"Just had to help Neville with something."
"Oh. Did you see? Luna's got boys' clothes on."
"I know. She's going to be Neville's best man today."
"But she's a girl."
"I know. She's just making a little joke, I think." Well, that or she thinks she's actually required to dress like a man to play the role. This is Luna. Teddy looks very puzzled, trying to work out what is amusing about this joke, but I would probably have to explain the concept of a best man to him in detail before he'd get it. So I just shush him so that the ceremony can start.
It's simple, and absolutely perfect. Just Neville, Luna, and Susan at the front of the room, and then Hannah comes in with flowers in her hair, and even my breath is taken away. She's glowing, and it's so beautiful that it's hard to look at. I turn my eyes to Neville and see that his mouth is hanging open and his eyes are riveted on her. All his doubts have clearly left him. I flick my eyes to Luna and see a look that I haven't really seen on her before—she's so proud of her friends that she's glowing nearly as much as Hannah. Do weddings do this to all girls?
I look over at Ginny on one side, Hermione on the other. Ginny is wearing a look of pride, and Hermione looks as sappy as I've ever seen her, but neither of them seem to be alight like that. And I'm glad for Luna, I decide. That she's come around enough in the past few weeks to be able to feel joy like this. She's still seemed so much more serious than she used to be, when we talk, but I was starting to be afraid that she had lost her ability to be happy. She hasn't, that's clear. I'm glad.
When Neville and Hannah actually make their vows, Ginny leans her head on my shoulder for a minute. I get a slightly sick feeling in my stomach, and I wonder what she's thinking. Or mostly, I wonder if she's thinking It'll be us up there soon enough, and won't we look wonderful? or something like that. It's going to come up, between us, soon. It's wedding season. It has to.
(And no, doctor. Me dreading that conversation is not because I don't think Ginny will understand, because I know her, and she will.)
The reception afterward relaxes me, at least a bit. Ginny dances with Neville just to wish him luck, then manipulates me into dancing with her by teasing me about how much fun she had at the Yule Ball when we were kids. Ron and Hermione are dancing, too, and Hannah is dancing with her Uncle Tom while Luna takes a turn with Neville. Andromeda has been invited to the reception, so she's got Teddy, now. I see the speculative looks from the people not dancing, the sly grins as they predict the upcoming weddings. I "accidentally" step on Ginny's foot (well, it was an accidently, mostly) so as to get us off the dance floor. She glares at me, although without any real malice, as she hobbles to a seat.
I grin at the way that Neville and Luna are spinning around the floor, oblivious to Luna's unfamiliarity with the steps. She does have an undeniable grace, even in her blithe ignorance, even in her men's robes.
"Odd, that," I hear Neville's Great Uncle Algie grunt to someone sitting beside him. "Dancing with the best man."
I think he's trying to make a joke, but the old lady beside him nods in agreement. Bewildered, I turn to Ginny and press a light kiss in her hair.
"You looked really happy, seeing them doing the vows."
"I was. I'm happy for them. You looked like you had indigestion."
"Maybe I did," I tease her, brain scrambling for an explanation.
"Harry, what were you thinking that made you look like that?" she asks me with suspicion.
"Just thinking I was glad that it wasn't Luna's wedding," I say with sudden inspiration. Since Luna brought it up in her letter, I felt free to tell my girlfriend about my part in things. She said she was proud of me for it.
Ginny shudders now, remembering what I told her. "I'm so glad you got rid of that sick bastard."
"Me, too."
"This does mean that we'll have to find her someone else," Ginny says lightly. "After all, Hannah and Hermione and I had such good ideas for her wedding."
I groan. "I was warned you girls get wedding fever."
"Warned by whom?" she asks archly.
"Your dad," I say with a smile, happy because she can hardly rail against him.
She narrows her eyes. "I think I'll have a little chat with Daddy about the advice he gives my boyfriend about girls."
I can tell she's not serious. "I'll be sure to put up some Shield Charms," I laugh, and squeeze her hand. "Come on, let's mingle. It's a party, after all."
A party that gets pretty hilarious when Great Uncle Algie calls Luna "Neil" and makes it apparent he actually believes she's a man. Nobody contradicts him, and Luna decides to try to lower her voice and keep the illusion going as long as possible. Which is even more hilarious when I ask her for a dance, and I hear him say (well out of the range of Ginny's hearing, thank Merlin) that it's no wonder I haven't put a ring on my girl's finger yet, dancing with blokes right there in front of everybody. He thought that Neil boy and that Potter character both had that "funny" look about them.
Luna laughs at that, kisses my cheek, and it nearly sends Great Uncle Algie into cardiac arrest. We decide he's had enough, and let Neville explain at last.
We visited Wrexham today, and Dr. Griffin expressed delight in how well his Wolfsbane treatment is working for Teddy. He still can't use his Metamorphmagus abillities too well on the full moon, but that seems to be it. He interviewed Teddy to make sure he drinks plenty of water, which Teddy does because Andromeda and I make sure of it, and to find out if he's experienced a lot of fatigue, which he thankfully hasn't. Not yet, anyway. I'm clinging to the hope that it won't ever affect him too much.
We had dinner at the Dwynwen and Potion and chatted with Brychan like we're old friends, which we practically are, then Andromeda and Teddy went home. When I found out that Gerty is out of town visiting her mother, I decided to stay the night with Ginny.
So here I am, sitting in a chair in her living room, nursing a butterbeer and watching her read in front of the fireplace. She's stretched out, the skin of her back showing between her pants and her shirt, and her bare feet are practically in the fire. She's lit up in the glow of it, looking like something from a legend. And I'm sitting here, taking the opportunity afforded by her distraction, to make a list. A list of the reasons she's my girlfriend.
For one thing, she's absolutely beautiful. She wears her hair long because she knows I like it, and that's beautiful. And she's Forward Chaser for the Harpies, which means several things: she is constantly on a high-protein, low-carb diet, she runs several kilometres a day and does light weight-lifting, and she infuses a certain power and grace into her every movement. That incredibly slender body, the lean muscles sliding under the skin that glows with good health— damn. Believe me when I say that I know how lucky I am. Don't get me wrong, I feel that a good Auror should be in shape, so I do some running and working out myself. But I don't know how Ginny does it. She is so comfortable in her own skin that her confidence itself is beautiful.
That has to be more to this than how attractive she is. After nearly five years, even someone as hot as Ginny can't hold my attention with that all the time. So what else?
A sigh. I look at her, but she's still reading.
Ginny shifts herself, and the play of the firelight directs my attention to a scar that puckers a bit, all the way around her ankle. It looks suspiciously like someone bound her, by manacle or rope or something, but she's always refused to tell me how she got it. I once asked Neville if he knew, and he got a disturbed look on his face and said he couldn't tell me if she wouldn't. Which means he does know, which means she got it at Hogwarts, which means she got it facing off against the Death Eaters. And I love that she has the strength in her soul that made her stand up when everyone was cowering down.
So there's clearly more to her than the physical. I do adore where she comes from, every bit of it. I don't just mean her family, even though it's pretty handy to already be considered one of them. I mean the way she was raised—accepting of other people, working hard for what you love, all of that. She's got a genuine goodness in her that could never be bought or sold. And as the only girl out of all those boys, she knows that the universe doesn't revolve around her but also knows how to make herself heard when she wants to be.
So, I respect and admire her as much as I desire her. What else? There's the way she is with me, the way she's always been. She knows who I am, what I've done and what I've had to do, and it doesn't bother her. She's not put off by my name, she knows exactly who I am underneath that. We're comfortable, she and I. We can do this, be in the same room without talking and it doesn't feel awkward. I value that. Everything she is points to her being the perfect woman for me.
So why don't I want to marry her? I don't understand it, don't know why I'm balking at it when I was so sure just a few months ago. What is it?
Well. Let's pick this apart into pieces. So Ginny's great. I can admit that. But does it have to mean marriage? And where would this go, if not there?
Okay, for starters: everything except the physical desire are things I value in people who are only friends. A lot of people stood up to the Death Eaters. And Ron, for example, grew up the exact same way Ginny did, and if anything, I'm more comfortable with him than I am with her. And I am most decidedly not gay, Great Uncle Algie's opinion notwithstanding. I don't want to marry Ron. So all those things I like about Ginny don't have to mean anything other than friendship. Right?
But what about the physical? She's beautiful. Okay, good for her. So is Fleur, Bill's wife. I can know that she's beautiful without wanting her. (Which is all to the good, since she's Bill's wife.) Maybe that's a bad example. Okay, Hermione, then. She's beautiful, as well, at least I think so. But she doesn't do anything for me. And I don't want to marry her. Even a couple of the other girls on Ginny's team, who train their bodies just like she does and are clearly attractive, don't inflame me with the desire to leave Ginny and take up a life with them. So it is clear that mere physical desire doesn't have to mean anything, either.
But physical desire and respect and friendship? What are those things, if they aren't love?
But they are love. I do love Ginny.
This is getting me nowhere. Now I'm frustrated. I need to refocus this whole thing, approach it from a different angle. I need to think about marriage, maybe. What if I've got some idea of what marriage is that makes me think Ginny's wrong for it, and what if I don't even know I have this misconception? (Yes, doctor, I am aware that that's what you're here for. That's why we're having this little chat.)
Marriage. Ginny and I have been together for nigh on five years. We've been children, most of that time. We're just barely figuring out what it means to be adults, right now. I know I thought I was so mature and grown-up when I was seventeen, but that doesn't mean I was right. I was definitely a little further along than most people my age, but it's taken me until recently to discover just how much I don't know, and have no experience with.
So, what will we look like in another five? I'm trying to picture the scene.
Ginny rolls over in her sleep, exposing a bare shoulder, but I just tug the sheet up and run a light hand through her hair. We've been together for ten years, the sight of her skin doesn't arouse me to the point I need to wake her up. And that's okay. I'm reading a book about Dark curses, doing some research for work, while she sleeps beside me. She needs her rest, there's a qualifying game tomorrow that will determine England's chances to get into the World Cup.
There's a cry down the hall, a sound full of pain and misery. I leap out of bed, cursing silently. Teddy. It's the full moon, and sometimes his potion isn't as effective as I'd like. In only moments, I have him in my arms, soothing him while his hair goes wild with colour and his arms squeeze me so he won't run frantic hands across his itching skin. He relaxes in my embrace, and lets his fears go in a wash of tears. He becomes drowsy, limp in my lap.
Ginny appears in the doorway. "Harry? Come back to bed."
"Can't, Gin. Teddy needs me."
"He'll be fine, he just needs sleep. And so do you. Come on."
"You don't understand, Gin. I can't leave him when he's in pain like this."
"How would I understand, Harry? You've still never told me what's wrong with him."
I jolt back to awareness, and my eyes immediately fix on the burnished red hair that is glinting in the firelight. She's still bent over the magazine, her feet waving lazily in the air. I feel sick.
Bug. That's what it is, that's what is holding me back. I am as good as a father to him, and I've made up my mind that I'll fulfill that role no matter what it takes. But Ginny . . . She's nowhere near to being his mother. They're barely even friends. They're okay with being in the same room, sure, but they don't really know each other. And I have to hold my breath for a moment, because I'm noticing that's the way Teddy wants it. He won't let me talk to her about his health problems. He doesn't want her taking that role.
I'm stumped. Why?
I keep saying he's an insightful kid. Maybe he knows something I don't. I try to go back to that picture of me, in his room, soothing him through the full moon while Ginny is trying to get some sleep. And try as I might, I can't make that scene in my head end with Ginny coming into Bug's room and sitting down beside him and stroking his hair. She'd be there for him, but she doesn't know much about comforting someone who's in pain. I'm not looking at it as a failing of hers, it's not something I want to blame her for . . . but I know she's not the right partner for me, when it comes to Teddy. I don't want to know it, but I do. She can't give Teddy what he needs, not the way I can.
We're moving in two different directions, now. We used to be moving the same way, but then Teddy got sick. I'm the one who's changing. My priorities are becoming so basic: stability and simplicity. A home for my godson. Steady work that will help me give that to him. I want quiet, and peace, and anonymity. I want to raise Bug and help him overcome his physical problems, and I want to protect him from the prejudices out there.
Ginny hasn't changed. I know what she wants, it's what she's always wanted and what I have admired her so much for trying to achieve. She wants to do what she's good at, and more than that, she wants to be the best at it. She wants to ride this wave that is slowly but surely making her a celebrity, and she wants to play for England. I'm sure she wants things after she's achieved all that, we've even talked about the house we might live in someday and the children we might have. But it's supposed to happen later, after she gets everything out of Quidditch that she can.
Ginny can't have what she wants at the same time I have what I want. I can't leave Teddy out of my plans, and so I can't be the one to go with her. If I asked her to be part of my life, the life I'm heading towards, she would have to give up some of her dreams. And they're good dreams, wonderful dreams. For me to ask her to let them go, just to have a quiet life with me and my godson . . . How could I ask that of someone I love?
And there it is. I'm stunned by the realization. It's like getting punched in the gut. The reason I don't want to marry Ginny is because I love her. I love her too much to ask her to give up her dreams for me. I am not, at least not intentionally, trying to be selfish. I'm not doing this just because I want to. It's because of Bug. It's because I love him, and want to be able to give certain things to him. I really did used to want (and was it really such a short time ago, when it feels like forever?) to share a life with Ginny. I was prepared to go to all the parties, to shake all the right hands, to continue to be famous while she earned her place among the stars. It wouldn't be such a bad life. I probably would have enjoyed it. I might have even been persuaded to try out for a professional team, after all, and I probably could have liked that, as well.
But now I want something else, and it's because of Teddy. I can't feel guilty for that, much as I think I should. It isn't my fault that my priorities have changed, so it's no good casting blame. (I'm not trying to justify anything, doctor, and I'm not sure I like the insinuations.)
Ginny must have felt my eyes on her. She looks up sharply, her finger held lightly in place on the page where she is reading.
"What?" she asks in a lazy voice.
"Nothing."
"You're thinking awfully hard about something."
"Just that I love you," I say. It's not the truth entire, but it's honesty nonetheless. I don't know what to do with what I've been thinking about. I can't explain it to her without some serious practice. Who knows how it might hurt her, to blurt out the realization I've come to?
She smiles, looks down at the magazine, and then back up. "You're right, you know. This is amazing."
"Told you."
"I haven't paid enough attention to Luna," she says quietly. "I knew that she was producing The Quibbler, of course, but I had no idea she was capable of such wonderful writing."
"It's a great piece, isn't it?"
I'm glad we've changed the subject. This one is something I can handle.
"It's inspirational, and she picked a subject that is going to sell out this issue almost on its own. But she really is a good writer. She mostly does editing for other people's articles, I thought?"
"Yeah, she said that's what she does most of the time. But she's been wanting to do some writing of her own for a while now, and she said she loved researching the article. It did seem to stress her out, but she looked like she was in her element when she was working on it. Did I tell you, that was how I get involved in the mess with The Arsewipe?"
"The Ar— you mean Scamander?"
"Yeah. Neville and I saw her at the pub, working really hard on this piece, and we accidentally got her drunk, and she started saying all this stuff that had me worried about her, so I pushed her into talking about it."
"Lucky you were there at the right time, then," Ginny says slowly. She looks surprised. Maybe it's just that I'd forgotten to tell her about getting Luna drunk, until now.
"Yeah. If I hadn't gotten her to talk then . . . what if she never did? What if she had married him? It might have been years before anyone knew what was wrong . . ."
We both shudder at the idea. In the silence, I am again being grateful that I was there at the right time, and also renewing my vow to never be so arrogant that I start thinking like The Arsewipe did. I would never treat Ginny in such a way, and it's not just because she'd kill me if I did. It's because it's wrong.
When you love someone, you want what's best for them, not for you.
I was sure I'd only thought it, but Ginny blinks at me in surprise, and I realize I said it out loud. She doesn't say anything in return, leaving me wondering what she's thinking. Then it doesn't matter, because Ginny is standing up and coming over to my chair, and she's straddling my lap and kissing me. I am not complaining.
"You're so good, Harry," Ginny says, kissing all over my face and sounding almost frantic. "I don't know how you manage it. You're just so noble, all the time, and . . . Mmm . . ."
I chuckle, which makes her squirm because my mouth is currently latched onto her neck. "And being noble is sexy, is it?"
"Yes," she growls, kissing me so hard that our teeth scrape.
Her fists grip into my hair, and my heart skips a beat. My hand is on the collar of her shirt, and I accidentally yank on it, baring her shoulder. I dive for it, planting sucking kisses all along the exposed skin and sliding that offending hand inside her shirt instead of on it. It hasn't been ten years yet, okay? And did I mention that she's bloody gorgeous?
"There's my Bug," I say, and I can't help the stupid smile I get when I see the little boy come out of the fireplace in Andromeda's arms and leave them to come directly into my arms. Having someone who loves me and trusts me the way that Teddy does is the most I could have asked for out of my life. At one point, I considered myself lucky just to have life—but these days, I'm starting to think being alive wouldn't be worth it if I couldn't have a Bug Hug whenever I wanted one.
"Thanks," I say to her.
"You know you can have him over anytime," she says, and ducks back into the fire, seeming to realize that it's just Teddy I wanted.
"How come you wanted me to come over?" Teddy asks me immediately.
I guess he picked up on Andromeda's surprise, which shouldn't surprise me. He's good at sensing these things. My day off is in two days, and she wasn't expecting me to take him until then. But I'm finished with work for the day, and I want him with me.
"I missed you, that's all," I tell him, a hand on his back to keep him close to me.
"I miss you, too," he tells me, half-shy even though it's me.
"Love you, Bug," I mutter, squeezing him until I'm practically crushing him to death.
"Why?"
I suck in a breath, and draw back, keeping hold of his shoulders but making sure I can look into his face. "What do you mean, why?"
He shrugs. "Grandma has to, cause she's my grandma. But you don't have to. How come you do?"
"Why would you ask me that, Teddy?" I feel like I should be cautious. Something's up, here. I sit down in a chair and bring him into my lap.
He hangs his head and mumbles, "Nevermind."
I catch him by the chin and make him look at me. "Hey," I say as gently as possible. "You don't have to hide anything from me. You know that. It seems like you don't feel very lovable today. Can you tell me why?"
He picks at the hem of his shirt, letting his hair hang in his eyes. "I like playing with Parry—" I scramble, then remember that Parry is short for Paracelsus, and he's the grandson of one of Andromeda's friends "—but Mrs. Dinklage said we can't play anymore because I might be contagious."
Sheer rage grips me so hard that I have to take my hands off of Teddy in case I accidentally hurt him. I cast about for something to keep me from jumping up and hunting Mrs. Dinklage down right now. I want to. I really, really want to. But the Bug doesn't need a godfather who's in jail.
Oh, shit. There goes my anger, and here comes grief. Thinking about Sirius will do that.
I cuddle Teddy against me, pretty sure now that I'm not going to harm anyone. "Did your grandma talk to Mrs. Dinklage?"
"I don't think they can play tea anymore," he says, feeling stiff against me. "I didn't mean to be sick and make Grandma get mad at her friends."
I let out a slow breath. Again, I'm not sure how to comfort him through something like this. Again, Remus would know better than I would. But I was just thinking about Sirius, wasn't I? Remus actually was a werewolf, unlike Teddy, and he still found friends who would do anything for him. I just have to be here to be of comfort to the Bug.
"It wasn't your fault."
He sighs.
"Mrs. Dinklage didn't listen to your grandma, because I know she would have told her that you wouldn't hurt anybody. Mrs. Dinklage is the one who was at fault, because she was too selfish to listen. Okay?"
Teddy shrugs minutely.
"Are you going to miss Parry a lot?"
He nods. "Uncle Bill and Tante Fleur said I can still play with Victoire, though. I like her okay, even if she's a girl."
"Bill and Fleur are very nice people," I say, relieved beyond words that my "family" is supporting us.
"Uncle Bill said he knows what it's like to feel funny on the full moon. He said his face got like that because of a werewolf."
"That's true. Uncle Bill probably knows what it's like for you better than anyone else does."
I'm so retarded. How could I have forgotten this? Bill could probably give Teddy so much reassurance that I don't know how to give. And apparently he has been. Sometimes the Weasley family can still surprise me with how great they are.
"But Harry," Teddy says with a slight whine, "that means werewolves are bad. You said they weren't."
"That's not quite what I said. I said your dad wasn't. What I told you was that werewolves are people just like everyone else, and they have to make a choice to be good or bad like other people do."
"Mrs. Dinklage doesn't think so."
"Mrs. Dinklage can shove that where the sun doesn't shine."
"Mrs. Dinklage is stupid, cause I'm not even a werewolf anyway," he says crossly.
"That's true. But I'd love you even if you were," I say lightly, preparing to put him down and move to another room.
But Teddy turns to look at me, and he still looks very troubled. "Why do you love me?"
"Because you're perfect." It's the first thing that comes into my head, but it's the best I've got. I don't know how to condense love down into something that he will understand. And do I really know, myself? I went through all of this, trying to figure out why I love Ginny, but it never occurred to me to do the same thing with Bug. Perhaps I should have. I'm changing my entire life, for him.
And that's why I wanted him here, to be honest. To try to set it in stone, that he's worth all this, worth the direction I'm heading and worth what I might lose in the process.
He presses his face against me. I can't tell if he's crying, or if he's just embarrassed. "But why do you come over when it's a full moon to stay with me? That's when I'm sick, and you shouldn't come over then. Nobody else likes me then."
"Because you need me. I always want to be there when you need me. I'm not afraid of you, Bug. I would never be afraid of you. I feel bad when you're sick, because I wish I could make you well again. But I would never stay away when you needed me, just because I felt bad. I love you too much for that."
"But why?" he whispers. His fingers are digging into my arms.
If you screw this up, Potter, you will never be able to make up for it. You'd better get this right.
"Let me think. At first, I think it was because you were so important to me. You were my chance to do things right. I don't think you'll understand that, but I feel like I let a lot of people down a few years ago, and I thought that taking responsibility for you was my chance to fix some of those mistakes. I promised your parents I would take care of you, and I was determined to do that no matter what."
He sighs, but doesn't even come close to letting go of me.
"That's not the end of it, though. That was just the beginning. It turns out that you're a smart and kind little boy, with a big heart that inspires everyone who meets you, and you are fixing me, instead. I love watching you grow. I'm so proud of you because you're learning to read really well and it makes me think of your dad. You're patient, the way he was. And you're good at making people smile, like your mum was. But you're more than that. It's hard for me to say everything that makes me love you, because there's so much. And some of it, I think you're too young to really understand."
"You could try."
He needs this. I can't think about screwing up, I just have to do it. "I think maybe it's because you love me, Teddy," I say at last. It feels right, to say this, and some of my own tension begins to release itself, a little at a time. This is truth, absolute truth, every word of it. And this level of honesty is amazing to achieve.
"I've never had anyone who loves me the way you do," I tell him. "You laugh when I make stupid jokes, and you hug me whenever you want to. You come to me when you're sad. You know that when you come running toward me, I'm going to catch you. I've had a lot of people who trusted me to save them, but you're the only one I know who trusts me to take care of him. You just don't know how special that makes me feel. I know how shy you are around other people. But you let me see all of you, without being worried how I'll make you feel. You believe in me, Bug, and I need you because of that. Your trust and belief make me feel like I can be everything you think I am. You're just so easy to love."
"It's not easy," he whispers, doubtless latching onto the only thing in that whole speech that he actually understood.
I have him tucked right under my chin, one of my arms wrapped around him, while my other hand cups the back of his head and keeps him cuddled there on my shoulder. I can smell him, and he smells like peanut butter and the dirt he's probably been playing in. I put my face in his hair and breathe it in. No meal that Molly has ever cooked and no perfume that Ginny has ever worn smells as perfect as he does.
"Being with you makes me happier than anything else in the entire world," I whisper back.
I didn't know it was true until I said it. But now I'm certain that my new goals in life are worth sacrificing for, if it comes to that. I don't know when it became this way, maybe not until just this minute, but he's the most important thing I've ever had, and I will do anything to make sure he knows that.
I rock him back and forth while he cries, and I wish he was an infant again. Back then, I would just have to lift him up a little higher and pat his back and make him belch, and the tears would stop. But what he needs isn't so simple anymore—and really, things with Teddy have never been all that simple, compared to other kids. But I would never want it any other way. I meant it. He's perfect, to me.
I'm not exactly immune to his confusion and pain, and I find myself choking back a few tears, too. It's weird. I don't remember crying much, even when my own pain was far worse than this. But lately I've felt like an emotional wreck. It's bothering me. Maybe something's gone wrong in me, I think wildly. I wouldn't be surprised if one too many stresses has finally snapped something and I've gone barmy. (You know, doctor, that look you're giving me makes it seem like you think I went around the bend years ago. Er, well, you're probably right.)
Eventually, Teddy and I make our way into the kitchen (there is a brief detour into the loo to get cleaned up, but I'm too polite to mention how gross crying can be when little boys do it) so that we can cook together. It's always fun to do that with him, and it makes me feel like I'm learning how to take care of him. Since we've both already had dinner, we bake cookies. Sugar cookies are so simple that they're almost impossible to screw up. And I have food dye so we can give them many interesting colours. It even gives me the chance to have an impromptu bit of schooling for Teddy, by showing him how to mix colours to achieve a new one.
Teddy loves it, and his enjoyment is the thing that really makes it permanent, in my mind. If I can make him smile until his face lights up my kitchen, then I know I'm doing something right. It adds to the fun that Teddy is experimenting with the colours of his hair along with the cookies.
"So if I mix red with yellow—" Pop. Orange hair.
"And if I mix red and green— that's a gross colour!" Now the hair on his head looks disturbingly like something I once found in his diaper.
"Cause green is just blue and yellow, and so I'm really mixing up orange and purple, and those don't go together! I get it!"
"Was my favourite colour really turquoise when I was a baby? You didn't make that up?"
"I did not call you Hey-hee!"
"Don't tell Grandma I put peas in your hair, okay?"
"I know I was a baby, but she'll scold me for my manners anyway!"
I love that I can tell him about what he was like when he was a baby. I'm glad that I was there, that I have the photographs, the memories, all of it. If he can't have his parents, he should still have this in his life. I didn't have it. I barely remember my childhood anymore, beyond a few confusing bursts of accidental magic and a handful of particularly frightening episodes of abuse from my relatives. I don't have pictures, or anyone who cared to take them. I'm glad I get to be that, for Teddy.
We get a batch of oddly-coloured cookies in the oven, then we sit with a spoonful of dough at the table while they're baking.
"Uncle Ron says you're his best man next week," Teddy says suddenly.
"Yeah, I am," I say, swallowing my mouthful of cookie batter.
"And Luna was Neville's best man when he got married, right?"
"That's right."
"Even though she's a girl? Why's it called best man if it's a girl sometimes? What is best man?"
I try to explain, as best I can, the reasons that a man chooses someone to stand next to him when he gets married. It needs to be someone he's close to, who approves of the person he's marrying, and who the groom can trust to help him during the ceremony. For instance, Ron is going to be a basket case, and I am going to have to keep him calm and keep track of all the details of the ceremony. I tell him that normally the best man also has the wedding rings while the ring bearer has fake ones—but as Teddy is their ring bearer, they trust him to keep track of the real ones.
Teddy, spoonful of dough still in his mouth, comes to me and leans into my side.
"You have to be my best man when I get old enough to get married," he says solemnly.
"Sure, Bug. If that's what you want when you get to that age, then I will."
I keep to myself that by the time Teddy is old enough to marry—and please God let that not be for about forty years—he'll probably want someone else to fill that role. But who knows? It's a long time before then, and the buzzer is telling me that our purple and red and green and turquoise cookies are done.
After the amount of fussing Ron did, I would have expected his wedding to be a disaster.
"Is my tie on straight, Harry? Oh, Merlin, if it's not on straight, if I look stupid—"
"I'm starving! I forgot to eat breakfast! What if my stomach starts growling or something?"
"Oh, no, I forgot the rings, didn't I? What will Hermione say if when I don't have the rings?"
"Did someone remember a chair for Hagrid? He'll break the others into matchsticks!"
"Are you sure Hermione wants to marry me? Really, Harry, are you sure?"
It's actually no big deal, once we get down to it. I keep him calm with the ease of long practice—he was always like this before Quidditch games, after all—and since I was thinking about all this with Bug last week, I made sure I was on top of everything he might ask about. I keep hold of the rings until just before the ceremony, and put a Sticking Charm on them when I give them over to Teddy's safekeeping. After all the fuss I expected Molly to make of this wedding, things are actually fairly simple. It's at the Burrow, just like Bill's was, and Ginny and I walk up the aisle between chairs with newly-trimmed grass swishing under our feet. There's an latticework arch where the officiant waits that's covered with the twining roses Neville coaxed into growing. Luna walks with George just ahead of us, and I feel a pang, wondering how it must feel to be watching still more of her friends getting married when she'd expected to be married herself by now.
But I put all that out of my mind, hold my breath while Teddy and Victoire walk toward us with an adorably serious attitude, and then am forced to hold it yet again when I see Hermione at last. Ginny whispered to me just before we walked that she looked beautiful, but she was underestimating. Hermione's old-fashioned gown, all lace and delicacy, is perfect, and I've never seen her so happy. She's so serene under that lacy veil. Like she knows that this will be perfect. She's been waiting for this day for so long, and even her hair has bowed in miraculous obedience. Ron, however, looks like he might puke, so I have to casually touch my wand in my pocket and cast a very mild Cheering Charm on him.
Everything goes off without a single hitch, even though I worried about what kind of prank George might pull. Molly weeps almost on cue, and nobody's really that surprised when Ron gets choked up right behind her. Really, it's all one big whirlwind of joy and contentment . . . until the moment I was dreading comes.
It's time for my speech. We're sitting around the tables, glasses at the ready for the toast, and it's time for me to stand up and say something.
I can practically feel a hand around my throat.
When was the last time I had this many eyes on me, caring about what I was going to say? I try to focus on the fact that I'm going to be talking about Ron, not fucking Voldemort or something, but my palms still feel clammy. I've been keeping my nose to the grindstone the past few years. I'm an Auror, not a celebrity. I'd sort of forgotten how much I hate it when people look at me with expectation in their eyes.
Ron, sitting right beside me, puts his hand on my arm in sympathy, under the table where no one can see it. He understands why I look so trapped and nervous, and he would forgive me if I can't do this. I tried to prepare something, but it's all gone out of my head now. But my best friend's hand on my arm, offering me sympathy at his wedding reception, is what gives me the ability to get up and tell the world why I stood next to him today.
"Ron was the first friend I ever had. We bonded over Chocolate Frogs on our first ride aboard the Hogwarts Express. Some of you may think that's not a bond that can stand the test of time and the obstacles we've faced—but Ron's friendship was what led me to Gryffindor House over Slytherin, and I would not be here today if that had not happened. All of you know at least some of the challenges that the 'heroic' Harry Potter faced during his years at Hogwarts, but what you should know is that I never faced any of them without Ronald Weasley beside me.
"His heroism is much greater than my own, because he never received any accolades for what he did. He stood up to his worst fears, plunged into unknowable danger, and walked into battles with experienced Death Eaters, and he did it over and over again. He did that for me. I can't pretend to know why he'd risk so much for a skinny kid with broken spectacles and a talent for pissing people off, but he risked everything.
"It wasn't always danger and darkness and doom, of course. It's not like we never went out after curfew or snuck into the school kitchens. There were Quidditch games and chess games and games of Exploding Snap. There were late nights of frantic studying because we put it off too long—and Ron's beautiful bride was always there to scold us for that—and nights when things seemed too overwhelming so we just skived off everything and went flying.
"There was less of that, as time went on. Less fun and more pain. But Ron was always there. Sometimes even when I didn't want him to be, when I'd rather be miserable and alone, Ron would force me to remember that we were friends. And it didn't end, when the war ended. After it was finally over, Ron was still there. I had to struggle to figure out what I was going to be, and he was always with me—that is, when he wasn't helping George with the joke shop or babysitting his little niece, or any of the thousand ways he's proved how generous he can be with himself. Somehow, he's managed to become a great man—something nobody would have suspected from the kid who crashed his dad's car into a tree and nearly got us expelled, but something I knew was possible, that first time he put his life in danger for me at the age of eleven.
"And all of that has given me the authority to say this today: You don't really know what you're in for, Hermione. You wouldn't believe the snoring."
I pause for the laughter, and I see that Ron's face is red to his ears, and that Hermione has tears in her eyes. I try to speak again, then I have to stop and clear my throat. I guess Hermione isn't the only one about to cry.
"No, that's not what I want to say. Hermione does know what she's in for, because she was there, too. She knows just as well as I do how amazing Ron really is. What I mean by everything I just told you lot is this: Ron, you're my best mate. You've been right beside me during every wonderful and awful thing that's happened in my life. And the chance to turn around and be the one beside you today is an honour. More than an honour. You've been my best man since we were eleven. Thank you for letting me be yours in return."
I raise my glass and manage to warble out, "To my personal hero." I reclaim my seat while everyone's applauding, and if Ron and I both clear our throats and thump each other on the back a little too hard, who's to see it except the wedding party here at the table? None of them are going to judge us for it.
I briefly catch Hermione's eye to let her know that I wasn't leaving her out. Ron deserved that speech from me, but my bond with Hermione came just a short time later, over the unconscious body of a mountain troll, and she's stood up to everything thrown against it just as much as Ron has. I have more than one hero in my life, and I'll overcome my embarrassment enough to toast her as well. In a minute. When I'm not so choked up.
Nobody told me being best man was so bloody emotional.
