CHAPTER FOURTEEN

A SPECIAL OCCASION

Ginny and Ron could not leave Grimmauld Place, and Hermione was busy researching various rituals, so it fell on Harry to do what he felt quite ill-equipped for: perform all the necessary errands for a double wedding. He was very grateful it was kept simple for him. "Just get trees instead of flowers, Harry, that'll be easier," said Hermione. "It'll look lovely down at the Quidditch Pitch." But Harry did not know where to get trees in London. It was not until he was flying over a Muggle area that he found a large sign that said "Christmas tree lot!"

He ended up buying all the trees, shrinking them down to fit in his pockets, down his shirt, in his socks, and under his armpits. By the time he was done, the proprietor was gaping at him as though he had gone mad. "Sorry to do that," said Harry. "I've got a wedding to plan." Then he confunded him.

"What're all these trees doing here for?" Ron gaped as Harry enlarged them and spread them out in what was hopefully a pleasing pattern.

"Hermione told me to get trees," said Harry.

Ron's lips twitched. "I think... she meant the kind of trees Bill and Fleur had at their wedding. They were little and came in pots. Don't you remember?"

"No, I don't, I've had other things on my mind since then," Harry said sharply.

Ron shrugged. "Well, I don't mind getting married in a forest. D'you?"

This was not the only thing Harry didn't do exactly right (though, to be fair, he did not do anything precisely wrong, either). Ron was in a fairly good mood about it. "The witches decided not to come down, they said they want to know what kind of wedding you'd come up with without supervision."

Harry was tired and irritated: he'd spent the last night luring fairies so he could hang them in the trees that Hermione had told him to get. "We'll probably need lights, too. Can you get some fairy lights?" she'd asked this the night before. "And hang them in the trees?" So Harry'd gone out hunting for fairies.

"Of course she wants fairies," Harry muttered under his breath. It was nearly five in the morning, and the tree ahead of him was twinkling with light. Fairies of all different shapes and sizes nestled in the branches.

All of them were staring at him, grinning.

The leader fluttered in the air before him. She was about the size of a wand, and bare-breasted. "You can't just take us, don't you know anything about fairies?" She spoke slowly, as though speaking to a slow, dim-witted child.

"Erm," said Harry.

She folded her arms over her chest, and gave him a look that reminded him of a pre-cursed Molly Weasley. "You have to bargain with us," she said in that same tone.

"Oh, you want money?" Harry said eagerly. "I have money!"

"You fool!"

"No money!"

"What does he think we are, doxies?!"

The tree had erupted with such tinkling outrage that Harry took a step back. "Okay, okay, not money," he said soothingly.

"We usually take things like firstborn children—"

"You take babies, really?" Harry said, dumbfounded. "What do you do with them? Can't be very good for a baby, living in a tree."

The lead fairy blew out a breath. "That is neither here nor there," she said loftily. "The point is, you have to come up with something really good if you want us to come live with you."

Harry did not particularly want them to come live with him, he just wanted them to come sparkle at a double wedding, per Hermione's request. But he sensed from the fairy chieftain's words and stance that it was all or nothing. Grimmauld Place's creature-free days were over, it seemed.

Then, he began to bargain. "Fresh apples?" He asked.

"No!" shouted the entire tree of fairies.

"Erm... honey?"

"No, of course not," the chieftain said scornfully. "It has to be something we can't get ourselves."

The sun was rising by the time Harry said, in a fit of desperation: "I'll give you Chinese take-out once a month for however long you live with me."

"Oh! We have heard of Chinese take-out!"

"Yessssss!"

"It always smells so good when the Muggles have it!"

And they had a bargain. The fairy chieftain promised Harry they would meet him at Grimmauld Place, no, they did not need directions, and he needed to go fulfill his side of their bargain as soon as possible.

"All right," said Harry. "It's a deal."

So now he had fairies in his cellar, and a long-standing commitment to bringing them Chinese food once a month.

"What d'you mean?" Harry said indignantly. "I'm just doing what they tell me!"

"You do know you can buy strings of fairy lights in Diagon Alley," said Ron. "She didn't mean actual fairies."

Harry glanced down at his hands, which were covered in bites and scratches. He had learned the hard way that fairies were not beings of sweetness and light. "She didn't mean actual fairies," he mocked under his breath.

"Hermione says we need some sort of special spot to stand in, and Ginny says she's always wanted a water feature at her wedding," said Ron.

"Special spot?" Harry asked suspiciously. "Water feature?"

"Like a waterfall or something," Ron shrugged. "Don't expect me to know what Ginny wants. I figured she'd want to get married on a broom."

Harry's shoulders slumped. At least Ron helped with the trees and the fairies, arranging them in a half circle as far from the actually Quidditch Pitch as it was possible to be. In fact, it was starting to look like a very small version of the outdoor grounds of Hogwarts. With that in mind, Harry used his magic to double the size of the trees. He looked at it, satisfied. That was better.

For the life of him, he could not think of a special spot. Recreating Platform 9 3/4 would have been perfect, but it would look very odd here in the miniature forest Harry had created. Not to mention, it was quite drab. Harry did not know a lot about weddings, but he knew they weren't supposed to be drab. He could think of any number of secluded areas around Hogwarts that were special to him and Ginny, but that would leave out Ron and Hermione. A thought struck him, and he jumped up, hopped on his broom, and headed back up to the main levels of the house. Ron was right behind him.

"Hermione, what time did you say was best for the ritual?" Harry asked. He grabbed his invisibility cloak and swirled it around himself, leaving just his head poking out.

"Two minutes to midnight," Hermione said placidly. She was reading a thick book, and taking notes.

"It's tomorrow, right? The longest day of the year?" Harry asked.

"Yes, Harry," she said.

"All right," he said.

He nearly Disapparated before he remembered one very important thing. "Oh damn!" he said, and thundered up the stairs to retrieve it from their bedside table. Ginny was nowhere in sight; Harry did not know the details, but knew she was working on her dress. His stomach clenched with excitement. It was in a state of nervous excitement that he Apparated to Hogsmeade to take care of a few last minute details.

The Hog's Head was not empty for a change, but Harry found Aberforth lurking in his own storeroom, avoiding his customers. "Aberforth, it's me," hissed Harry from under his Cloak. "Listen, I've got a — a special occasion happening tomorrow, and I need a favor..."

Harry did a few more errands, gathered a few more things, and — almost staggeringly tired — headed home to Grimmauld Place, where Ginny awaited him with a smile, a mug of tea, and some very bad news.

"What do you mean, we have to sleep apart tonight?" Harry asked, astonished. He felt as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders — though that might be the rocks he'd shrunk down to pebbles and brought home in a large bag Aberforth had given him. He'd been looking forward to relieving some tension with Ginny.

"It's bad luck for us to see each other before the ceremony," Ginny explained.

"I thought that was some weird Muggle tradition," said Harry, dismayed. "Hermione didn't put you up to this, did she?"

"No, the Muggles probably got it from us," said Ginny. "It's to do with the bonding charms. It's not like it will place a curse upon our — our marriage," she flushed slightly at the word. "It's just... tradition."

"And you want to follow it," said Harry. He smiled at her. "All right. Just know that tomorrow night, I won't be letting go of you so easily. Or at all."

She kissed him, then, sweetly. Harry put his hand in her long hair and kissed her back. He pulled away, and leaned his forehead against hers. "You're sure?" he asked.

"Oh yes," she said. "Yes, I'm sure. Are you?"

"Yes," he said. And he was. It was a little hard to believe that he was getting married tomorrow at the age of eighteen, but he knew he wanted to be with her the rest of his life. She understood him, understood the things that had happened to him, knew him deeply and utterly. He could not have this kind of bond with anyone else; Harry did not want to try... did not want to even think about trying.

Ginny surged up to kiss him again, and he understood by her passion that she somehow knew his thoughts. It was difficult to let her go, and it was one minute to midnight — officially less than twenty-four hours before he'd be a married man — when she turned and disappeared up the stairs. Harry, still energized, heading back down to finish the wedding preparations.

It was past dawn by the time Harry made it up to bed, and he slept deeply until a wand jabbed him in the shoulder.

"Time to get ready, mate," said Ron.

By the quality of the light, Harry knew it to be late afternoon. "Lemme sleep." A cup of firewhiskey floated by his head. Harry's eyes popped open. Finally, Ron had made himself useful.

A blistering heat slid down Harry's throat and into his stomach. Harry coughed, and a little spurt of flame came out of his mouth. "That's good stuff," he said, gasping. He drank more.

"Fred used to swear by it," said Ron.

They toasted to that. This time, it was more of a pleasant burn. Harry felt warm and light, and like this was the best day of his life. "I worked hard for this day," said Harry, thinking of one Christmas tree that had been wedged somewhere particularly uncomfortable as he had flown home to Grimmauld Place.

"You did, mate," Ron said affably. He sat down on the end of Harry's bed, and took a swig from the bottle. "We couldn't have the wedding to Hermione's overly vague specifications without you."

Harry chuckled. "You know, I haven't figured out what your job in all this is."

Ron passed him the bottle. "I'm doing it. Truth is, wedding planning isn't really my thing."

Harry hit him with a pillow. "And it is mine?" he said in mock outrage.

"Well, let's go see it, then," said Ron. They did not don their dress robes yet; instead they brought them down to the Quidditch Pitch — though Harry supposed that was no longer the most appropriate thing to call it. During the process of planning for this wedding, it had become much more.

Trees bunched together right beyond the Quidditch goals. They were huge, and towered above them, as though they were in the land of giants. And — Harry's favorite part — a tower nestled among them. Even though it was not attached to a castle, it was obvious that it was Gryffindor Tower, where the four of them had spent so much time and had so much fun. Harry'd had to improvise the balcony where they would perform the ritual, but it was... good enough, he supposed.

Ron was gaping.

Harry smirked.

"You... made Gryffindor Tower?" Ron said in a strangled tone.

"I figured it was a special spot for all of us," said Harry.

They climbed up it. It was actually only the tower itself, with the Gryffindor flag flying above it. There were windows, but there was nothing inside. "It actually wasn't too hard once I'd got all the rocks placed," said Harry. He and Ron dangled their feet over the edge, listening to the waterfall flowing endlessly into the pool below. They passed the bottle of firewhiskey back and forth.

"The witches are going to love it," Ron said openly. "Hell, I love it."

By the time ten o'clock rolled around, he and Ron were greatly in need of sobering charms (which Harry thought were much too difficult to perform whilst experiencing a pleasant, buzzing feeling). "Hold on," said Harry. He looked at Ron. "I think we shud — we should use the Elder Wand for this."

So it was that — with the help of the Elder Wand — he and Ron were mostly sober by the time they had to get ready. Harry could still feel the firewhiskey, but it manifested as a calm sense of well-being.

"Ready?" he asked Ron.

"Feels like I've been ready for seven years," said Ron.

They were putting the finishing touches on the dress robes when Ron handed him a blindfold. "Put it on, they're serious about us not seeing them until it's time."

Harry sighed, and put it on. Ron fiddled with something, and there was a great suctioning sound. "What are you doing?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"Never you mind," said Ron.

"Just don't ruin my tower," said Harry.

"I'm not," Ron grunted. "I'm — just — putting — blindfold — on."

Somehow, Harry did not believe this.

"Got it!" said Ron.

And not a moment too soon. There was a loud whistle. "We're here!" Ginny shouted.

"Hold on, I just have to do something," said Harry. He lifted the corner of his blindfold just barely, so he could see the tiny mirror he had embedded into the wall of the tower. "Aberforth, Aberforth, Aberforth," Harry said three times. Then: "Engorgio!"

"Oh my God!" came Hermione's shocked voice.

"Oh Harry..." said Ginny. "Oh... this is perfect."

"Is it?" came Lee Jordan's voice. "Damned if I can see anything but you four. Looking good, by the way, mates," he said.

"Lee!" Ginny cried. "And Seamus — Lavender! HAGRID!"

"What've you done to George?" Hermione asked, amused.

"I know he'd want to be here," said Lee. "So m'n Seamus stunned him and got him dressed. He should sleep through the entire thing."

"And you dressed him like that because...?"

"Fred would've wanted him to be all dressed up," Lee said pompously.

Ginny and Hermione laughed.

Harry felt quite smug that his brilliant idea — to tell the friends who had not had some sort of curse befall them that they were getting married, and to be at the Hog's Head if they wanted to watch — had worked. He was only slightly disappointed that they could not see the transformation.

He could hear a camera clicking from behind him, and turned to smile in Ginny's direction.

"I think I'm most impressed by the waterfall," Ginny said. He could feel her next to him. He reached out to grab her hand and she squeezed it. Harry knew where she was looking. The waterfall had been the last thing he'd made, and had been trickier than even the tower. It was twenty feet across and forty feet high, and flowed in constant loop.

"You said you wanted a water feature, and then Ron said waterfall," Harry said.

"It's perfect," said Ginny. "Perfect. It's like we've found a hidden area of Hogwarts..."

Ron and Hermione were chatting through the mirror with the others. Thinking of secluded areas of Hogwarts, Harry was suddenly eager to get this over and done with. "Are we going to get on with this, or not?" he asked.

"Impatient!" said Hermione. "We've just got to get everything set up. Ron, what's this—"

"It's my contribution," Ron said hastily.

"Okay," Hermione said slowly. "It better not be what you showed me the other day..."

Ron laughed wickedly. "You'll just have to find out."

Harry tried to block out his friends's verbal foreplay. It was not hard; he closed his eyes and told himself that in less than an hour, he would be married to Ginny, and hopefully in less than two, he would—

"Almost done," said Ginny.

Then she told him it was time to take off the blindfold. For long moments, all he could see was her. She wore a white dress that cinched in close around the bodice, waist, and upper thighs, then sort of... feathered outward around the legs. Harry'd never seen anything like it before... she wore her hair long — it was shockingly red against the white. A cap covered her head; it was mostly white, but had a great red jewel over her ear. She was beaming. Harry felt stunned.

To complete this image of perfection, his parents stood just over her left shoulder, smiling at—

Harry's mouth fell open. There was a life-sized picture of his parents, perfectly situated so it looked like they were guests at his wedding. Sirius stood next to them, young and handsome... Remus and Tonks, holding newborn Teddy. His eyes filled with tears.

"I've been collecting them all week," said Ron. "It's tricky business, enlarging magical photographs."

It was not only Harry's family, but Ron and Ginny's and Hermione's. Ron had floated them somehow... if Harry squinted, it looked like they were really there. All of them.

"Oh, you boys," said Hermione. Then they were all hugging, just for a couple heartbeats, and then they stood back. Ready to get married.

Hermione did most of the work, muttering under her breath as she did so. "It's not necessary," she said, thrusting a couple vials of potion at them, "but I've read in a few old books that this helps magnify the bonding..."

Harry drank it all — it was hot and cold, tart and sweet, all at the same moment. Harry smiled lazily, filled with a sense of well being. Smoke from several censers Hermione'd lit filled the air.

Then it was time to say the words. Ron went first, then Harry. Harry ignored everyone else, but told Ginny he would love her, cherish her, and honor her the rest of his life. He held his breath when she promised the same.

"Okay, it's almost over," said Hermione. She looked frazzled but radiant. "Now we — now we kiss, and then at 11:58 we'll bond..."

Harry had no trouble doing that. As he kissed her, he felt little surges. It was Ginny's magic, melding with his. Harry finally understood why Bill had looked so thunderstruck when the tufty-haired minister had tapped his and Fleur's entwined hands with his wand. It felt like nothing Harry had ever felt before...

They continued to kiss.

Someone cat-called, and Harry could hear Hagrid sobbing and blowing his nose. Reluctantly, he pulled away.

"MR. AND MRS. POTTER!" Lee roared. For the first time, Harry noticed how, exactly, Lee and Seamus had dressed George for the occasion. His first act as a married man was to laugh so hard he almost cried.

George was dressed in a sparkling, shining evening gown, and looked quite resplendent. Harry wiped tears out of the corners of his eyes. Ron and Hermione were already trying to figure out how they could get a picture with him, and Harry and Ginny hurried to help.

They drank, they toasted each other, they took a million pictures, they received toasts from a blubbering Hagrid, a lascivious Lee, and a drunken Seamus and Lavender (who looked like they were probably going to avail themselves of one of Aberforth's rooms). It was four in the morning before the celebration wound down. Harry and Ginny left shortly after Ron and Hermione. They shut down the connection between the mirrors. Harry shrunk it down to its real size and pocketed it. Then, together, they got on her firebolt and she steered them in the direction of the trap door.

"You're ready?" Harry asked quietly when they were at the door to their room.

"Oh, Harry," said Ginny, smiling and rolling her eyes a little. "I've been ready for this for ages. We certainly didn't wait until were were married to have sex because of me."

Harry undressed her almost reverently. "Did you make this all yourself?"

Ginny shook her head. "Hermione and I found a trunk of old clothes in the attic — don't worry, they were thoroughly cleaned by me, Hermione, and Kreacher."

"I wasn't worried," Harry said, amused. "That explains why the dress looks a little — old-fashioned. In a beautiful way," he added hurriedly.

Ginny tugged the bodice off, revealing her breasts, and Harry forgot what they were talking about. He lifted them into his palms, reveling in their warm weight. His thumbs stroked her nipples, and felt them tighten.

Then he let his hands drop. "We don't have to—"

"I really want to," Ginny said simply. Her cheeks turned red. "If you knew how many times I've touched myself, thinking about what we're about to do, you wouldn't make me wait anymore."

Harry chuckled, then stripped. Then they were both naked, looking at each other, and Harry was already hard and pointing straight at her.

"Well?" Ginny arched her eyebrow at him.

They lay down together, facing each other. Harry let his hands wander where they wanted: they roamed over the silky skin of her back, played with her breasts, and dipped down between her thighs. She in turn stroked his chest with her fingertips, and reached down to take him in her hand. He was so hard, and she grew wetter and wetter as he played with her clit.

"Harry," she said, some time later. Her chest was flushed, and she was grinding herself against his palm. "Harry — please. Just — put — it — in."

This startled a chuckle out of him. "I thought I was supposed to make sure you were ready?"

"I'm ready, I'm ready," she said.

As it happened, so was Harry. He rolled over on top of her, and settled between her spread thighs. They pulled against each other, feeling each other's heart beats in the places they most wanted to be connected.

And then they were. Harry slid into her with a loud groan. She was warm and wet and welcoming. He felt tiny muscles quivering around him, drawing him inside her.

He had to move. He pulled out almost all the way, then pushed back in.

"More," she said in a strangled tone, squirming under him. Harry began to thrust in earnest, finding a rhythm, and moving with Ginny, who was quickening the pace.

"Oh God, Ginny."

The words burst out of him when she grabbed him around the waist, and ground against him. Whatever she was doing... Harry could hardly keep himself from climaxing. Instead, he found a rhythm that she seemed to like, and held her tightly as he pushed into her. Hard.

"Oh God oh God oh God," she chanted. "Harry."

He kept going, nearly mindless now, Ginny was so tight... so wet... so tight. Her arms locked around him in a death grip, she shrieked, and he felt her come on him.

"Oh fuck," he said. Three more thrusts, and he came harder than he'd thought even possible.

Harry could not remember ever being so happy... so blissful, really, and they probably wouldn't have left the room for another month — maybe two — if an urgent owl from St. Mungo's hadn't interrupted the festivities.

Harry was on top this time, moving with great purpose, when he felt something drop onto his sweaty back, and dig in its claws. "WHAT THE F—"

He scrambled to the side, and saw a tawny owl with beady, imperious eyes staring him down. It held a letter in its talons. Harry took it, glaring at the bird.

"What is it?" Ginny sat up, looking quite grumpy. They'd been interrupted at a most inopportune time. Harry opened the letter, scanned it, then read it again more slowly, suffused with surprise.

He handed her the letter.

"Dear Mr. Potter, it read.

We have a patient that has been screaming for you. Normally we would not bother you with such, but she is on the verge of death. There is nothing we can do for her. I do not ask you to come out of mercy for her, nor do I think you owe her compassion. She has a Dark Mark.

We here at St. Mungo's support you, whatever you may decide.

Thank you for your time, and regards,

H. Rowan Khanna

Harry read it out loud. "It's got to be Alecto, right?" he asked. He got up and started to pull on clothes. Ginny grabbed her wand, and cast freshening spells on both of them.

Ron and Hermione were down in the kitchen; Ron had amassed quite a feast, and Hermione was sitting on the table, helping him arrange everything.

"Merry Christmas!" Ron said loudly.

Harry's mouth fell open. The note from St. Mungo's was forgotten. "It's Christmas?" he said weakly.

Ron gave a great snort. "Yes, you two broke your record this time. We thought for sure we'd see you last night, but Kreacher said you just asked for pie and whipping cream, and nothing else."

Harry's cheeks heated. "We were — you know."

"We know," Hermione said dryly. "But it's not like you hadn't before."

Neither Harry nor Ginny replied.

"What?" Ron gaped.

"You didn't... you two were... virgins?" Hermione asked. "But all that time you spent days in your room?"

"Well, we did pretty much everything else," said Ginny.

"Mum's going to be pleased," Ron said, after stuffing his face with ham and a spoonful of sweet potatoes. "None of the rest of us waited for marriage, I assure you."

"I can't imagine why Mum would ever find out what I did or didn't do before marriage," Ginny said acidly.

"She'll find out, you know she will," said Ron.

"Only if you open your big, fat—"

"We got a letter from St. Mungo's," said Harry, a little desperately trying to head off a Weasley fight. Weasley/Potter fight, he corrected himself with no small amount of smug pride.

While he was distracted, Ginny had handed the letter to Hermione. Ten minutes later, Ron was still protesting having to leave the feast he had created. "Bloody Alecto," he muttered, kicking at the troll foot umbrella stand. "We should just let her die."

"We are," Hermione said soothingly. "We just want to hear what she says first."

It turned out that not only did Ginny and Ron know Rowan Khanna, but she was an old friend of Bill's from Hogwarts. Apparently she'd been at the wedding and everything. Harry did not remember her. She worked at St. Mungo's and dealt with all sorts of witches and wizards dealing with non-physical trauma and curses.

"She's in the Closed Ward," Khanna said grimly. She led the way, walking with the brisk pace that Harry associated with Healers, and crowds of Muggle women pushing strollers. They all hurried to keep up.

Harry gleaned information along the way. Alecto Carrow had been found in Hogsmeade yesterday, facedown in a snowbank. One of the proprietors had brought her to St. Mungo's, where they thought she was too far gone. They'd found her death mark: "After that, she still received care, but not — no one wanted to work on her," said Khanna. "So it fell to me. I thought she was never going to open her eyes again, but she's had moments of lucidity." She took a deep breath and slanted Harry a glance. "I didn't want to mention this in my letter, but I can't help but notice how... odd things have been lately, since you defeated He Who Must Not Be Named. And it just seemed like something you would want to know."

Harry agreed with her, and told her so.

In the end, they were very nearly too late. They found Alecto in bed, but her back was bent in a bowstring, and her mouth was open in a silent scream of terror.

"She screamed herself hoarse," said Rowan. Her tone was without remorse.

"Harry Potter," she said. It was a rasp, and sounded painful. Harry studied her. She hardly looked human anymore, and it was nearly as unsettling as watching Nagini come out of Bathilda Bagshot's body. Her hair was matted to her head, and her mouth was open much too wide. It was splitting at the corners. Her eyes were entirely covered by a purple film. Bruises covered her face; but they were not natural bruises, oh no. They were incorporeal, as though made of smoke. "You killed me. You killed all of them. Your cowardice..."

Despite everything, she was trying to sing that damned song. Harry's lip curled. He stood over her, watching her.

Then she managed to scream, a horrible, wild sound. It made the hair on the back of Harry's neck rise, his stomach plummet, and he nearly brought his fingers to his ears, to shove them in and block the sound.

Then she died, and the sound stopped as suddenly as though cut by shears.

It wasn't over. Out of her body rose a smoky sort of substance, the same that had made up her bruises. It congealed into a cold, black mass. Harry took an instinctive step backward, his nerves tingling. Despite everything Alecto Carrow had done, and all she had tried to do, he could not help but feel he had just witnessed a deep, elemental perversion. It wasn't that he didn't want it to happen to her, it was that he didn't want it to happen at all.

Feeling sick, he looked at Ginny and the others. "I think we ought to try again to talk to Dumbledore's portrait."