A/N: I have been absent for far, far too long, but I swear it's through no fault of my own! As I am working at a school here in England, I am unable to access Fanfic.net - it's blocked on their system. As you can imagine, it's been very frustrating. My sister recently sent me my story outline, and I've been doing my best between all the work to write up chapters - internet cafes are my last hope for uploading them. I hope you'll forgive me, and not hate me for abandoning you. It was absolutely not my intention! So, my most humble apologies. Honestly. ~nm3x5s~ Shez . PS - Sorry. PPS - Thank you for the reviews while I was gone. And sorry. :( PPPS PS - have no idea if this will load as am uploading it from an internet cafe in Rome (I am on holiday) , and they only have WordPad, not Microsoft Word. Sorry again! Ah!
~
They were home by late afternoon, Ginny holding her wedding dress in her arms like a baby. She refused to let Harry carry it, or even to levitate the thing, just in case the folds 'went wrong'. Harry went along with it. She obviously loved the dress and that was the main thing, that she wasn't worried anymore, that she was happy. He got to carry the bags of shoes, and other bits and pieces, and was subsequently lagging behind when they Apparated back into the Burrow - Ginny having refused, quite understandably, to take her dress through the Floo network.
"Mum!" she shouted. Harry dropped the bags onto the kitchen table. Ginny moved very carefully into the lounge room, dress held in front of her,
"Mum!"
"Maybe she's not in," he suggested, but (in the way of these things) was immediately contradicted as Mrs Weasley appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Oh, you're home!" she said warmly, coming down. "Put the kettle on, Harry dear."
Obediently, he stood and moved to do so.
"Where's Ginny?" she asked, but then her daughter came back into the kitchen, still bearing her dress aloft, and with a wide, glad grin on her face.
"I'm here," she said.
There was a brief silence.
"So you are," she said eventually, and then took three purposeful strides to Harry and relieved him of the newly-filled kettle. "I'll do that," she said briskly, and bustled him away with waving hands. Bemused, he turned - Ginny's face had fallen into a frown, and she'd lowered her dress a little. The hem almost touched the floor.
"Gin," Harry murmured, pointing. "Just, um ."
Noticing, she quickly lifted the dress up again, and her spirits seemed to rise with it.
"Don't you think it's lovely, Mum?" she said challengingly.
Mrs Weasley didn't turn around. "Lovely, yes."
"And it fits perfectly. They designed it just like I asked."
"That's wonderful, dear."
"I know. It is wonderful."
There was another pause, longer this time, and more awkward.
"Mum?" Ginny said finally, exasperated. "Will you at least look at it?"
Harry winced, anticipating an explosion from his mother-in-law-to-be, but instead she simply did as Ginny asked - turned, looked at it. Harry's eyes moved back and forth between their two faces. Ginny's confident, almost defiant; Mrs Weasley's unreadable. Perhaps a little sad, if anything. Harry remembered how she'd held her old wedding dress against her daughter's body.
"Very nice," she said, after some time. "Very nice."
Ginny nodded slowly, and seemed about to speak again, but before she could Hermione had come in.
"Hello, you're - Ginny, is this it?"
Ginny's earlier enthusiasm returned immediately, along with her smile. Hermione rushed forward, squealing excitedly, but her hands touching the plastic-covered dress were delicate, almost reverent.
"Wow," she breathed. "Wow, it's amazing."
Ginny's smile stretched further, if that was possible. "I know, I know!"
Hermione gripped her hand and giggled, and then Ginny giggled, and they jumped up and down a little in a fit of excitement. Harry started to laugh himself - they looked so much like the schoolgirls he remembered at that moment.
"Best take it out of the kitchen," Mrs Weasley said, somewhat dryly. "You don't want it near the tea, do you?"
Hermione and Ginny sobered immediately. "I'll take it up to my room," Ginny said, and Hermione was quick to add: "I'll come with you."
"And I'll be off," said Harry, taking a step towards the kitchen door. The girls, who appeared to have forgotten him, both turned.
"Alright," Ginny said, her smile softening. "Hang on."
He hung on. She passed the dress to Hermione, very carefully (She wouldn't give it to you, inner monologue protested, but only faintly), and then came across to him so happily that she was half-skipping. She put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.
"Thanks for today, it was good," she said in his ear, her breath warm against his neck, and he nodded. It had been good. It always was with her.
She pulled back from him, kissed him on the lips, and then disappeared upstairs, Hermione and dress in tow.
"Alright, Mrs Weasley?" he said, feeling somehow uncomfortable after the awkwardness of moments earlier, but she seemed herself again.
"I can manage, Harry," she said brightly, surveying the kitchen as though he were only talking about the washing up. "Off you go. I think Ron's waiting for you."
It was true. He was standing in the garden, just outside the kitchen window, both his and Harry's brooms in hand.
~
They flew for almost twenty minutes, tossing a quaffle, not talking - or at least, not talking about anything. Occasionally they'd call out for a pass, or say 'watch it' if the ball looked in danger of hitting the house. As Ron liked to say, there were enough quaffles on the Weasley roof to keep the Cannons in stock for years. They wouldn't be hard to retrieve - just nobody could be bothered, and fair enough, in Harry's mind. The residents of the Burrow were far too busy to bother with lost sports equipment.
"So," Ron said eventually, gliding closer on his broom so that he wouldn't have to shout. "Have a good day?"
"Yeah. It was good. Bit surreal," Harry admitted.
"Why surreal?"
"Because - well - it's happening, isn't it?"
"The wedding?"
"Yeah."
"What did you think, it was just a bit of play-acting?" Ron asked, amused, and Harry threw him the quaffle a little harder than usual, grinning.
"I don't know. Not play-acting - but it didn't seem real, not even when we were making the lists and planning the menu and all that. And then, when I saw her come out of the change-room with that dress . it was like everything came together in my head."
Harry and Ron had both slowed their flying now, and were circling lazily about each other, the quaffle crossing between them from time to time.
"Yeah?" Ron said, and Harry nodded.
"Yeah."
"But - you're OK, right?" Ron said warily.
"What do you mean?"
"You do - want to get married?"
"Oh, course," Harry said indignantly. "That's not what I mean, I just . today it felt real. That's all."
"Right." He shook his head and whistled lowly. "You and Gin, married. Never thought I'd see the day."
"Never thought I'd see the day when you and Hermione finally got together," Harry said teasingly, "but it happened, didn't it?"
"Yeah," Ron agreed, but he sounded rather sober. Harry wondered if he should approach the whole Richard issue - it was easier to discuss it with Hermione than Ron - but it turned out he didn't have to. Ron steered the conversation his own way.
"I thought 'Mione might get a bit carried away with the whole wedding thing, what with you guys getting hitched."
Now it was Harry's turn to be amused. "You thought she'd be dragging you into the dark abyss of marriage, and what?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Not exactly." He hesitated. "OK, yeah. Yes. But she's been fine. No meaningful hints, no talks about commitment and 'the next step' and all that. Totally relaxed."
"And that's good?"
Ron nodded, and there was a brief, comfortable silence between them, the quaffle arcing slowly through the evening air. When Ron spoke next, it was almost as though he was speaking to himself. Harry rarely heard him talk about what he and Hermione had, but when he did, it always made him want to shake his head in wonder. It was a different Ron.
"It's so good to be with her, and know she's with me, you know? I mean, we've been together forever, and - well, I guess we will get married one day - of course we will - but just knowing that's enough. I'm never going to get tired of her, or want something better, because - she is the better. She's the best. If you know what I mean." He glanced quickly at Harry and then away, as though uncertain what Harry would think of all this.
"Yeah," Harry said. "I do know what you mean."
And it was the oddest thing, because Harry knew that being able to talk to him like this, talk about women, say these things and mean them, and not have to put over any bravado - it was this, more than anything else, that proved they were finally men.
He was almost tempted to say something, but then Ron threw a particularly lazy ball. It went sailing over Harry's head and straight for the house, and Harry sped after it. It wasn't a difficult pursuit - his Ascendant was fast, and a quaffle moves with gravity rather the mechanics of a Snitch - and he caught the ball just outside a window. Shifting on his broom, he realised that it was Ginny's window, their window, and that the blinds were up. Automatically, he looked inside, and what he saw made him stop moving, breathing - made his heart beat harder.
Ginny had changed into her dress, and was looking at herself in the mirror. Hermione, behind her, was fiddling with the arrangement of her veil, which hung long down her back and glistened in the lamp-light. Ginny was unmoving, her expression endearingly, heart-achingly solemn. She chewed her lip, and then turned her head to laugh at something Hermione must have said.
She was beautiful, and grown-up, and he was going to marry her.
"Oi!" Ron hollered. "Stop your dawdling, Potter!"
Harry jerked, and spun his broom about, speeding away from the house with the captured ball. He knew he wasn't supposed to see the bride in her dress before the wedding day, but it hadn't seemed wrong, and she wouldn't have to know. It was a secret of sorts, which hugged itself inside him, and made him feel warm.
~
Later that night, after a roast dinner, Harry was lying on the living room floor in shorts and a T-shirt. It was far too hot for roast this time of year, but he couldn't resist Mrs Weasley's cooking, and had gone for second helpings too. The meal itself had been largely uneventful - Fred and George had sniped at each other for the duration until Mr Weasley hushed the both of them, at which point George muttered something about spending the night in London and had Floo-ed himself away. They'd become fairly used to this bickering between the twins. It had picked up the past fortnight, and it was all due to Fred's refusal to move out and see Angelina, but Fred was steadfast - he was staying put until he knew it was safe to retreat.
Harry was alone, pleasantly enough. Fred was moping in his room, Ginny had gone to have a shower, Hermione and Ron had disappeared for a walk (Harry was sure they were off to the gazebo, they're old rendezvous point, but wisely said nothing), and Mr and Mrs Weasley were sitting on the front lawn, watching the summer stars.
He was onto the last chapter of his book, feeling calm and sleepy and full, when a thump and a shout from the hall made him start. He sat up in time to see Ginny launch herself at him through the door between kitchen and living room, waving a fistful of papers and wearing a livid expression. She was also saying something along the lines of: "Why? Why?" He stood and got hold of her arms in time to stop her slapping him, but she continued to struggle.
"What are you talking about?" he demanded finally, when he could get a word in.
"What, don't you remember?" she retorted.
"Ginny, what?"
"These, Harry!" She pushed his hand from her arm and thrust the papers under his nose. He took them from her, desperately trying to think what he'd done to make her angry, and then felt his jaw drop as he understood what the 'papers' were. They were letters. Wedding R.S.V.P.s to be precise. And the first one read:
Harry
We accept your invitation.
Vernon and Petunia Dursley.
"Oh Merlin," he said faintly, as Ginny poked him in the chest.
"Why?" she demanded. "Why would you invite them, and behind my back?"
He couldn't reply yet. He turned to the next page. Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker. Obscure Weasley relatives. No terrible acquaintance had been left untouched. There was even a page-long acceptance letter from an obviously deranged Gilderoy Lockhart.
"Gin," he said finally, his voice hoarse with shock, "I didn't send these."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"I didn't! I swear I didn't! Why would I want the Durselys to - to come to -" He trailed off, feeling anger building in the region of his chest. He hadn't seen the Durselys since seventh year, and he thought about them as little as possible. Remembering his years living with them was not something he enjoyed, and more often than not he tried to pretend he hadn't grown up with them, that he'd only lived at The Burrow or Hogwarts, and that there were none of those eleven long years and six dark summers in his life. But seeing this brought it all back - the hate and the hunger and the horrible things they'd said and done to him. Nobody had the right to invite those bastards to his wedding, those nightmare figures of his past.
"You didn't?" Ginny was saying. "Well then - who?"
Harry clenched his jaw. He knew exactly who - and walked out to find them.
When Mrs Weasley saw him coming, saw the determined stride and livid expression, she sat up properly and raised her eyebrows questioningly. Ginny hurried along behind, but he hardly noticed her. He hadn't felt this angry in a long time.
"Why did you do this?" he said when he reached Ginny's mother, holding up the letters.
"What are they?"
"R.S.V.P.s! From people we didn't invite!"
"No need to shout, dear," Mrs Weasley said reasonably. "I didn't think you'd mind. And I thought it might be nice for -"
"For the Durselys to spoil our wedding?"
"For them to see what kind of man you've become!" she said. Her tone was more protesting now. He could see that she obviously hadn't believed he'd be upset, and was taken aback by his anger, but he couldn't restrain himself.
"This is a disaster! It's a disaster, and it's your fault!"
"Now, Harry," Mr Weasley began firmly, having up until now kept his peace.
"No," Harry said, eyes fixed on Mrs Weasley. "You have to stop interfering! This, the dress, everything. It's our wedding, not yours, and this" (he waved the letters) "isn't any of your business. Don't make it your business."
"But I was only -"
"Don't! I don't want you to!"
Without another word, Mrs Weasley walked past him and back into the house. She was totally silent, her face strained. She was trying to maintain her composure. Mr Weasley followed her, giving Harry the evil eye as he went, and it was as he turned and watched their retreating backs that he felt the sudden rage fade, and a heavy weight of guilt in his stomach.
He'd shouted at Mrs Weasley. He never shouted at Mrs Weasley. Perhaps once, when Dumbledore had died, but that wasn't like this. This had been wrong of him, no matter how angry he was. It had been wrong of her to invite those people, true, but she never meant to hurt him. She didn't know. And now - he'd hurt her instead.
"Oh fuck," he said lowly, and Ginny rubbed his arm.
"It's my fault, I worked you up," she said miserably, and Harry shook his head.
"Don't. It's mine. I can't believe I yelled at your mum."
"Neither can I," Ginny admitted.
"She'll never forgive me." This was a panicking thought, and he spun to face Ginny as it came to him.
"Don't be ridiculous," she said decisively, putting a hand to one of his cheeks. "She will. She loves you. She'll forgive you."
He dropped his head. Maybe she would forgive him, but she wouldn't forget it, and that's what mattered. She'd always remember the time he shouted at her when she'd tried to help, and it would tarnish things between them from then on.
"I suppose - it's not so bad," Ginny said, looking resignedly at the acceptance letters in Harry's hand.
"They can't come," he said, more despairing than furious now. "The Durselys I mean. I can't see them again. And Filch? And - who is this, Great Aunty Mabel?"
"She's totally mad, thinks she's a metamorphagus" Ginny said, and sighed. "What else can we do? You can't just retract a wedding invite."
"You can."
"It's impolite - and that's one thing we're not." He said nothing, and she nudged him.
"Harry?"
"Yes?"
"We'll manage. It'll be OK."
"How come you're so calm about this suddenly?"
"One of has to be."
She had a point.
~
They were home by late afternoon, Ginny holding her wedding dress in her arms like a baby. She refused to let Harry carry it, or even to levitate the thing, just in case the folds 'went wrong'. Harry went along with it. She obviously loved the dress and that was the main thing, that she wasn't worried anymore, that she was happy. He got to carry the bags of shoes, and other bits and pieces, and was subsequently lagging behind when they Apparated back into the Burrow - Ginny having refused, quite understandably, to take her dress through the Floo network.
"Mum!" she shouted. Harry dropped the bags onto the kitchen table. Ginny moved very carefully into the lounge room, dress held in front of her,
"Mum!"
"Maybe she's not in," he suggested, but (in the way of these things) was immediately contradicted as Mrs Weasley appeared at the top of the stairs.
"Oh, you're home!" she said warmly, coming down. "Put the kettle on, Harry dear."
Obediently, he stood and moved to do so.
"Where's Ginny?" she asked, but then her daughter came back into the kitchen, still bearing her dress aloft, and with a wide, glad grin on her face.
"I'm here," she said.
There was a brief silence.
"So you are," she said eventually, and then took three purposeful strides to Harry and relieved him of the newly-filled kettle. "I'll do that," she said briskly, and bustled him away with waving hands. Bemused, he turned - Ginny's face had fallen into a frown, and she'd lowered her dress a little. The hem almost touched the floor.
"Gin," Harry murmured, pointing. "Just, um ."
Noticing, she quickly lifted the dress up again, and her spirits seemed to rise with it.
"Don't you think it's lovely, Mum?" she said challengingly.
Mrs Weasley didn't turn around. "Lovely, yes."
"And it fits perfectly. They designed it just like I asked."
"That's wonderful, dear."
"I know. It is wonderful."
There was another pause, longer this time, and more awkward.
"Mum?" Ginny said finally, exasperated. "Will you at least look at it?"
Harry winced, anticipating an explosion from his mother-in-law-to-be, but instead she simply did as Ginny asked - turned, looked at it. Harry's eyes moved back and forth between their two faces. Ginny's confident, almost defiant; Mrs Weasley's unreadable. Perhaps a little sad, if anything. Harry remembered how she'd held her old wedding dress against her daughter's body.
"Very nice," she said, after some time. "Very nice."
Ginny nodded slowly, and seemed about to speak again, but before she could Hermione had come in.
"Hello, you're - Ginny, is this it?"
Ginny's earlier enthusiasm returned immediately, along with her smile. Hermione rushed forward, squealing excitedly, but her hands touching the plastic-covered dress were delicate, almost reverent.
"Wow," she breathed. "Wow, it's amazing."
Ginny's smile stretched further, if that was possible. "I know, I know!"
Hermione gripped her hand and giggled, and then Ginny giggled, and they jumped up and down a little in a fit of excitement. Harry started to laugh himself - they looked so much like the schoolgirls he remembered at that moment.
"Best take it out of the kitchen," Mrs Weasley said, somewhat dryly. "You don't want it near the tea, do you?"
Hermione and Ginny sobered immediately. "I'll take it up to my room," Ginny said, and Hermione was quick to add: "I'll come with you."
"And I'll be off," said Harry, taking a step towards the kitchen door. The girls, who appeared to have forgotten him, both turned.
"Alright," Ginny said, her smile softening. "Hang on."
He hung on. She passed the dress to Hermione, very carefully (She wouldn't give it to you, inner monologue protested, but only faintly), and then came across to him so happily that she was half-skipping. She put her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.
"Thanks for today, it was good," she said in his ear, her breath warm against his neck, and he nodded. It had been good. It always was with her.
She pulled back from him, kissed him on the lips, and then disappeared upstairs, Hermione and dress in tow.
"Alright, Mrs Weasley?" he said, feeling somehow uncomfortable after the awkwardness of moments earlier, but she seemed herself again.
"I can manage, Harry," she said brightly, surveying the kitchen as though he were only talking about the washing up. "Off you go. I think Ron's waiting for you."
It was true. He was standing in the garden, just outside the kitchen window, both his and Harry's brooms in hand.
~
They flew for almost twenty minutes, tossing a quaffle, not talking - or at least, not talking about anything. Occasionally they'd call out for a pass, or say 'watch it' if the ball looked in danger of hitting the house. As Ron liked to say, there were enough quaffles on the Weasley roof to keep the Cannons in stock for years. They wouldn't be hard to retrieve - just nobody could be bothered, and fair enough, in Harry's mind. The residents of the Burrow were far too busy to bother with lost sports equipment.
"So," Ron said eventually, gliding closer on his broom so that he wouldn't have to shout. "Have a good day?"
"Yeah. It was good. Bit surreal," Harry admitted.
"Why surreal?"
"Because - well - it's happening, isn't it?"
"The wedding?"
"Yeah."
"What did you think, it was just a bit of play-acting?" Ron asked, amused, and Harry threw him the quaffle a little harder than usual, grinning.
"I don't know. Not play-acting - but it didn't seem real, not even when we were making the lists and planning the menu and all that. And then, when I saw her come out of the change-room with that dress . it was like everything came together in my head."
Harry and Ron had both slowed their flying now, and were circling lazily about each other, the quaffle crossing between them from time to time.
"Yeah?" Ron said, and Harry nodded.
"Yeah."
"But - you're OK, right?" Ron said warily.
"What do you mean?"
"You do - want to get married?"
"Oh, course," Harry said indignantly. "That's not what I mean, I just . today it felt real. That's all."
"Right." He shook his head and whistled lowly. "You and Gin, married. Never thought I'd see the day."
"Never thought I'd see the day when you and Hermione finally got together," Harry said teasingly, "but it happened, didn't it?"
"Yeah," Ron agreed, but he sounded rather sober. Harry wondered if he should approach the whole Richard issue - it was easier to discuss it with Hermione than Ron - but it turned out he didn't have to. Ron steered the conversation his own way.
"I thought 'Mione might get a bit carried away with the whole wedding thing, what with you guys getting hitched."
Now it was Harry's turn to be amused. "You thought she'd be dragging you into the dark abyss of marriage, and what?"
Ron rolled his eyes. "Not exactly." He hesitated. "OK, yeah. Yes. But she's been fine. No meaningful hints, no talks about commitment and 'the next step' and all that. Totally relaxed."
"And that's good?"
Ron nodded, and there was a brief, comfortable silence between them, the quaffle arcing slowly through the evening air. When Ron spoke next, it was almost as though he was speaking to himself. Harry rarely heard him talk about what he and Hermione had, but when he did, it always made him want to shake his head in wonder. It was a different Ron.
"It's so good to be with her, and know she's with me, you know? I mean, we've been together forever, and - well, I guess we will get married one day - of course we will - but just knowing that's enough. I'm never going to get tired of her, or want something better, because - she is the better. She's the best. If you know what I mean." He glanced quickly at Harry and then away, as though uncertain what Harry would think of all this.
"Yeah," Harry said. "I do know what you mean."
And it was the oddest thing, because Harry knew that being able to talk to him like this, talk about women, say these things and mean them, and not have to put over any bravado - it was this, more than anything else, that proved they were finally men.
He was almost tempted to say something, but then Ron threw a particularly lazy ball. It went sailing over Harry's head and straight for the house, and Harry sped after it. It wasn't a difficult pursuit - his Ascendant was fast, and a quaffle moves with gravity rather the mechanics of a Snitch - and he caught the ball just outside a window. Shifting on his broom, he realised that it was Ginny's window, their window, and that the blinds were up. Automatically, he looked inside, and what he saw made him stop moving, breathing - made his heart beat harder.
Ginny had changed into her dress, and was looking at herself in the mirror. Hermione, behind her, was fiddling with the arrangement of her veil, which hung long down her back and glistened in the lamp-light. Ginny was unmoving, her expression endearingly, heart-achingly solemn. She chewed her lip, and then turned her head to laugh at something Hermione must have said.
She was beautiful, and grown-up, and he was going to marry her.
"Oi!" Ron hollered. "Stop your dawdling, Potter!"
Harry jerked, and spun his broom about, speeding away from the house with the captured ball. He knew he wasn't supposed to see the bride in her dress before the wedding day, but it hadn't seemed wrong, and she wouldn't have to know. It was a secret of sorts, which hugged itself inside him, and made him feel warm.
~
Later that night, after a roast dinner, Harry was lying on the living room floor in shorts and a T-shirt. It was far too hot for roast this time of year, but he couldn't resist Mrs Weasley's cooking, and had gone for second helpings too. The meal itself had been largely uneventful - Fred and George had sniped at each other for the duration until Mr Weasley hushed the both of them, at which point George muttered something about spending the night in London and had Floo-ed himself away. They'd become fairly used to this bickering between the twins. It had picked up the past fortnight, and it was all due to Fred's refusal to move out and see Angelina, but Fred was steadfast - he was staying put until he knew it was safe to retreat.
Harry was alone, pleasantly enough. Fred was moping in his room, Ginny had gone to have a shower, Hermione and Ron had disappeared for a walk (Harry was sure they were off to the gazebo, they're old rendezvous point, but wisely said nothing), and Mr and Mrs Weasley were sitting on the front lawn, watching the summer stars.
He was onto the last chapter of his book, feeling calm and sleepy and full, when a thump and a shout from the hall made him start. He sat up in time to see Ginny launch herself at him through the door between kitchen and living room, waving a fistful of papers and wearing a livid expression. She was also saying something along the lines of: "Why? Why?" He stood and got hold of her arms in time to stop her slapping him, but she continued to struggle.
"What are you talking about?" he demanded finally, when he could get a word in.
"What, don't you remember?" she retorted.
"Ginny, what?"
"These, Harry!" She pushed his hand from her arm and thrust the papers under his nose. He took them from her, desperately trying to think what he'd done to make her angry, and then felt his jaw drop as he understood what the 'papers' were. They were letters. Wedding R.S.V.P.s to be precise. And the first one read:
Harry
We accept your invitation.
Vernon and Petunia Dursley.
"Oh Merlin," he said faintly, as Ginny poked him in the chest.
"Why?" she demanded. "Why would you invite them, and behind my back?"
He couldn't reply yet. He turned to the next page. Filch, the Hogwarts caretaker. Obscure Weasley relatives. No terrible acquaintance had been left untouched. There was even a page-long acceptance letter from an obviously deranged Gilderoy Lockhart.
"Gin," he said finally, his voice hoarse with shock, "I didn't send these."
She narrowed her eyes at him.
"I didn't! I swear I didn't! Why would I want the Durselys to - to come to -" He trailed off, feeling anger building in the region of his chest. He hadn't seen the Durselys since seventh year, and he thought about them as little as possible. Remembering his years living with them was not something he enjoyed, and more often than not he tried to pretend he hadn't grown up with them, that he'd only lived at The Burrow or Hogwarts, and that there were none of those eleven long years and six dark summers in his life. But seeing this brought it all back - the hate and the hunger and the horrible things they'd said and done to him. Nobody had the right to invite those bastards to his wedding, those nightmare figures of his past.
"You didn't?" Ginny was saying. "Well then - who?"
Harry clenched his jaw. He knew exactly who - and walked out to find them.
When Mrs Weasley saw him coming, saw the determined stride and livid expression, she sat up properly and raised her eyebrows questioningly. Ginny hurried along behind, but he hardly noticed her. He hadn't felt this angry in a long time.
"Why did you do this?" he said when he reached Ginny's mother, holding up the letters.
"What are they?"
"R.S.V.P.s! From people we didn't invite!"
"No need to shout, dear," Mrs Weasley said reasonably. "I didn't think you'd mind. And I thought it might be nice for -"
"For the Durselys to spoil our wedding?"
"For them to see what kind of man you've become!" she said. Her tone was more protesting now. He could see that she obviously hadn't believed he'd be upset, and was taken aback by his anger, but he couldn't restrain himself.
"This is a disaster! It's a disaster, and it's your fault!"
"Now, Harry," Mr Weasley began firmly, having up until now kept his peace.
"No," Harry said, eyes fixed on Mrs Weasley. "You have to stop interfering! This, the dress, everything. It's our wedding, not yours, and this" (he waved the letters) "isn't any of your business. Don't make it your business."
"But I was only -"
"Don't! I don't want you to!"
Without another word, Mrs Weasley walked past him and back into the house. She was totally silent, her face strained. She was trying to maintain her composure. Mr Weasley followed her, giving Harry the evil eye as he went, and it was as he turned and watched their retreating backs that he felt the sudden rage fade, and a heavy weight of guilt in his stomach.
He'd shouted at Mrs Weasley. He never shouted at Mrs Weasley. Perhaps once, when Dumbledore had died, but that wasn't like this. This had been wrong of him, no matter how angry he was. It had been wrong of her to invite those people, true, but she never meant to hurt him. She didn't know. And now - he'd hurt her instead.
"Oh fuck," he said lowly, and Ginny rubbed his arm.
"It's my fault, I worked you up," she said miserably, and Harry shook his head.
"Don't. It's mine. I can't believe I yelled at your mum."
"Neither can I," Ginny admitted.
"She'll never forgive me." This was a panicking thought, and he spun to face Ginny as it came to him.
"Don't be ridiculous," she said decisively, putting a hand to one of his cheeks. "She will. She loves you. She'll forgive you."
He dropped his head. Maybe she would forgive him, but she wouldn't forget it, and that's what mattered. She'd always remember the time he shouted at her when she'd tried to help, and it would tarnish things between them from then on.
"I suppose - it's not so bad," Ginny said, looking resignedly at the acceptance letters in Harry's hand.
"They can't come," he said, more despairing than furious now. "The Durselys I mean. I can't see them again. And Filch? And - who is this, Great Aunty Mabel?"
"She's totally mad, thinks she's a metamorphagus" Ginny said, and sighed. "What else can we do? You can't just retract a wedding invite."
"You can."
"It's impolite - and that's one thing we're not." He said nothing, and she nudged him.
"Harry?"
"Yes?"
"We'll manage. It'll be OK."
"How come you're so calm about this suddenly?"
"One of has to be."
She had a point.