"Shit-bugger-wank-tit-fuck," said Harry.

"I understand what you're getting at," said Ron, "but now's not the time for histrionics."

"Look at all those people."

"There's not so many."

"There are many. Your mother – Merlin love her, but did she have to invite them all?"

They were watching wedding guests arrive from Ron's bedroom window. Ginny had taken over their room, along with her friend Jenny and a frazzled Hermione, as a pre-wedding drinks and dressing boudoir. Harry and Ron had been relegated to the best man's rather cramped digs and, having long since finished dressing themselves, were now watching avidly the goings on downstairs.

"I think I see Filch," Harry groaned.

"No!"

"And his cat – Merlin's balls."

"Maybe it's – a carry bag."

"Shut up Ron."

Ron prodded a finger against the glass. "Is that McGonagall?"

"I don't know. Hey, it is!"

"She looks smaller. She looks smaller, right?"

She didn't look smaller to Harry, just less intimidating than she might at work. It could have been the passage of years lending him a new, mature outlook; it could have been the funny purple hat she had on. "I think we're bigger, Ron. You know, older."

"Maybe you," Ron grimaced. "Hermione thinks I'm still in the early stages of puberty."

Harry looked at him sidelong. "You talked about the fight?"

"Not the fight per se. But when I came home drunk, with bruises on my stomach the size of quaffles …"

"You're exaggerating."

"… I think she surmised the rest."

"What did she say?"

"Let's not talk about this now, Harry."

"Why? Because it's my wedding day?"

"Yes, because it's your wedding day."

"Well, sod that. I'm nervous about the guests. I need distraction. Give it up."

"She asked where Richard was. I said I didn't know. And you know what she said after that?"

"What?"

"Absolutely nothing."

Harry put a steady hand on Ron's shoulder. "Can I say something, then?"

Ron avoided his gaze. "Sure. I guess."

"That whole thing about showing him you're not afraid – I don't know if fighting him is the right way to go about it. Maybe that's telling him more about your fears than anything else. And besides, maybe I was wrong."
Ron looked at him with narrowed eyes. "How d'you mean?"

"Maybe it's Hermione who should know you're not afraid."

He spluttered a little. "But – but I fought for her! Isn't that proof?"

"You don't need to, do you? She's yours."

"But – she might not always be."

"You would never have said that a year ago. Don't you remember that feeling you two had?" Harry eyed him sternly. He was on some kind of groom-high. He was imparting romantic wisdom and it felt so good, so scary, to think he wasn't going to have to go through these kind of problems anymore, these dating problems. "Don't fightfor her. Just – stand up for her. Be sure of her. That's what she needs, I think. She needs you to – believe she's yours, because then she can really believe it. The more insecure you are about it, the more insecure she gets, and the more Richard reels her in, because he's never had a doubt in his life. You know what I mean?"

Ron shook his head slowly and spoke in wondering tones. "Who are you and where is Harry Potter?"

"Funny."

"You know, Harry Potter, crippled with self-doubt and self-loathing, kissing girls while they cry under mistletoe? I seem to have misplaced him somewhere between seventeen and twenty."

Harry began a laugh and was about to agree when he saw, from the corner of his eye, a familiar car pull up at the front gate. Several owls had been flying ahead of it and now settled on the Burrow's front gate-posts. From the car emerged two figures. One was tall and bony, the other short and round. In near unison, they looked up at the white marquee and rambling Burrow, and then at each other.

Harry put a hand to his head, feeling for his faded lightning scar. Suddenly he could not agree that his old, more tortured self was just a memory – because when he looked at Vernon and Petunia Dursley he felt all the fears and horrors of his childhood come rushing back at him in a nauseous wave.

Ron hadn't seen them. "Hey, did you hear me?"

"I have to go," Harry breathed and was out of the room before Ron could say another word.

Harry seemed to reach the pair in moments. He didn't see Mrs Weasley shepherding guests under the marquee; he didn't see Fleur chase her stumbling Fergus across the yard; all he could see was the family that had never been his family, and the past he'd never asked for. His blood was throbbing fiercely. He tried to compose some kind of righteous speech but nothing came. He stopped perhaps two metres from them, without words, without anything.

"Hello Harry," said Petunia.

The last time he had seen her was before he began his seventh year at Hogwarts. She and Vernon had opened the champagne when he left them. The small glint of guilt in her eyes had been no comfort to Harry.

Since then, she had become an old woman. She was very lined about the face and stood with a slight stoop. He looked at Vernon Dursley, who was the same and silent. He seemed to be clenching his jaw.

"What do you want?" Harry managed.

Petunia glanced at Vernon again. Vernon was clearly pretending not to be in the midst of so much magic (swooping brooms, apparating guests, decoration charms still flying) and avoided her eye.

"You invited us," Petunia said.

"Actually, I didn't. Mrs Weasley did."

"Oh." She pressed her lips together. "Well – we'll go."
Vernon huffed and mumbled, "About bloody time."

"It's just that we – I came to see you," said Petunia.

Harry almost fell over. Instead, he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Oh yes?"

She narrowed her eyes and he saw the old snappish Petunia in them. "If you didn't want us to come you should have written to un-invite us. We wouldn't have bothered."

"I – was busy."

The truth was, he had thrust all thought of the Dursleys' RSVP to the very back of his mind. He'd rather hoped that if he didn't remember they were coming, maybe they'd forget too. And then with all the drama of recent weeks, he had forgotten – and they had come after all.

"Fine," said Petunia, irritation dying in her voice. "I only really came to say a few words and to let you know …" Here she paused and appeared to be struggling to go on.

Harry didn't know what to make of it all. His head was spinning and his eyes were watering, despite all his efforts to stop them. It was seeing them again, like this, as a grown man in his own territory. As he watched her fumble for words, the knowledge that they couldn't hurt him struck him like a blow. They just looked so pathetic: Vernon muttering nothings and practically hugging himself with fear, Petunia all wrinkled and in a dress she'd worn for fifteen years.

"Where's Dudley?" he said shortly.

Petunia swallowed before speaking. "He's dead. He died last year. He was racing cars with his friends and – some sort of drug was involved – he hit a telephone pole. They kept him alive in the hospital for a few days but – we pulled the plug –"

"Oh for God's sake, Petunia!" Vernon interrupted loudly. Several wizards craned their necks to see who had spoken and he lowered his voice to a hiss. "For God's sake. The boy doesn't need to know. He doesn't need to know that."

"Yes he does!" Petunia replied, rather shrilly.

"It's not his business. He's not ours."

"Don't you think I know that? Don't you think it hurts me to see him doing all this – getting married – getting older – while our boy – our boy –" She stopped and breathed. She wasn't crying (perhaps she hadn't any tears left) but it was clearly an effort to compose herself. Harry was reeling. Huge, indestructible Dudley – dead?

"You wouldn't have a clue, Vernon," she said eventually. She turned her desperate gaze upon Harry, who had never felt more confused in his life. He couldn't feel pity. He couldn't. Not for Petunia Dursley, the woman who swore never to care for him, who treated him for years with the utmost disdain. But if he couldn't, then what was this sad pressure in his chest? Was it just that in her green eyes he saw his mother?

Vernon looked from his wife to his nephew and then spoke through gritted teeth. "Right. I am getting in the car. I'm driving home. You'd better get in too, before you embarrass yourself."

"We only just got here," Petunia said.

"Get in the car!" He threw the passenger door open, sending the gatepost owls into a flurry. "Get in now!"

"I'm not done!"

"PETUNIA!"

"Oi!" Harry heard Charlie's voice and turned – his brother-in-law-to-be was walking towards them, rubbing his knuckles rather dangerously. Behind him was Ron, and behind Ron was Bill, and behind Bill a number of wizards drawn by Vernon's shout. From the marquee, Mrs Weasley was watching with one hand raised, shielding her eyes from the sun like a pirate.

"P-Petunia," Vernon said, attempting to maintain his bravado. "Get in, please."

"I can't," said Petunia. "I'm not ready. You go."

"But – how will you get home?"

"I'll manage."

"But –"

"I only asked you to come because I can't drive! Get out of here!"
Vernon stared at her, white-faced, and then at the wizards surrounding Harry. Within moments he was scrambling for the driver's seat and feeling with trembling hands for the key. He started the car and practically ran it off the driveway in his haste to turn tail. As he drove away, he leaned out the window to shout something. As soon as he showed his face, Bill hexed the moustache off him. The car swerved wildly and then righted itself and increased speed.

"Alright?" said Ron anxiously, a hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Fine," he muttered and looked sideways at Petunia. She was out of breath and rather bug-eyed. He didn't say a word to her until Charlie had shepherded all but Ron away from Harry's general vicinity. The weight of Ron's hand was reassuring and he was glad his best man hadn't left him alone with her.

"Why did you do that?" Harry asked lowly.

"I don't know," said Petunia. She twisted her hands together awkwardly. "I still had something to say and he – he can be unbearable."

Harry didn't bother to agree. He simply waited.

"I'm sorry," Petunia said then.

I'm sorry. The words he'd needed for years had just come out of her mouth but he didn't feel anything. It didn't sound quite real.

"For what?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"What are you sorry for?"

"Well – you know."

"I'm not sure I do."

"Easy there," Ron murmured but Harry shrugged him off.

"I'm sorry – about the way we treated you."

"And?"

"The – the way it was for you at our house."

"And?"

"Harry, what do you want me to say?"

His eyes were watering again and he brushed a hand across them angrily. He wasn't a boy anymore, he wasn't The Boy at Privet Drive, and he refused to cry. "I want you to say: I'm sorry I didn't love you like I loved Dudley. I'm sorry I locked you in a cupboard. I'm sorry I hated you for being different. I'm sorry I abused your mother and father's memory. I'm sorry I lied and lied and lied to you. I'm sorry I fucked you up so badly."
Petunia was open-mouthed and speechless. The silence went on so long that Harry thought she might not be able to form a response. But, finally, she gave a slow nod. "Alright. I'm sorry for those things. I already had a son then and now I don't, and I – I'm not making excuses. I just hope you forgive me."

"I don't," said Harry stiffly. "I can't. But stay if you want to."

He spun on his heel and strode back towards the house, leaving Petunia standing alone and aimless in the drive.

Inside, Harry stopped in the middle of the stairs. Ron didn't know what to say. He told Harry he'd wait for him in his room and Harry let him go. He tried to think about what had happened but couldn't. It was too much for this day – it was too much for any day.

He went to Ginny's door and leant against it. He started when he heard her speak, very close.

"Harry?"

"Ginny?"

"What are you doing? I could hear you breathing."

"Sorry."

"It was a little creepy. Hey, don't come in, I'm wearing my dress."

"OK."
He pressed his forehead to the door. He could near feel her warm body on the other side and his heart slowed a little.

"Are you alright?"

"I don't know."

"You're not – losing your nerve?"

"No!" he said fervently. "No."

"Then what's the matter?"

What was the matter? Everything, when he thought about Petunia Dursely. Nothing, when he thought about his beautiful red-headed girl in the next room. He pictured her hands, her skin, that dress on her familiar body. He pictured her face when he moved to kiss her, the way she closed her eyes.

"What is it, Harry?"

"I love you."

There was a brief silence and then her voice, calm, with the hint of a smile.

"I love you, too."

He felt like he'd just married her. And he stopped thinking about Petunia.

"You're crapping yourself, aren't you?" said a voice in his left ear.

"No."

"You're sweating, right?" said a voice in his right ear.

"No. I'm fine."

Fred and George looked at one another. "Here that?" muttered Fred. "He's fine. Some men, you'd think they wanted to commit."

They were all standing at the altar – Harry, Ron and the twins, who had refused to walk down the aisle 'like girls' (their words). Harry felt something of a git in front of so many people, but had otherwise settled into a sort of unearthly composure. All the heat from his morning encounter with the Dursleys had left him feeling clean and sure. Not even the twins could wind him up.

He glanced toward the altar. Mrs Weasley had spent a great deal of time bedecking it in little wild-flowers. Fidelius Rosethorn was standing behind it with his book, rubbing his nose. Harry hoped he wasn't allergic. Fidelius caught him looking and shot him a warm smile.

Harry could suddenly hear music. The crowd turned in their seats and quieted. It was 'Here Comes The Bride', a muggle tune taken up wholeheartedly by the wizarding community for their ceremonies. It was especially appropriate for the dress code Ginny had arranged – the boys were dashing in their suits, and the girls – here came the girls –

Hermione led the way, almost regally, in a red dress. It was the colour of recently picked rose petals and her shoulders were bare and rounded. She smiled excitedly at Harry and then stopped herself, assuming a more solemn expression for the benefit of the congregation. Harry could hear a sharp intake of breath nearby and knew without looking that it was Ron.

Behind Hermione was Jenny, in a similar dress, the same colour but halter-necked. Harry had always thought she was a little uptight, but she looked relaxed and lovely. He wasn't paying much attention to her, though. He was practically craning his neck to see what followed behind.

There was Ginny, a goddess in that dress, her hair pulled softly back from her face, with strands falling out here and there. She wore a long veil, so light as to be almost nonexistent. Through it, he could still see familiar freckles at the base of her neck and a smile that was somehow shy and somehow brave, all at once. She walked on Mr Weasley's arm (he had submitted gleefully to suit-fittings and made quite a handsome picture) right up to the altar, where he released her with a kiss on the cheek and a firm look into Harry's eyes. Harry knew exactly what that look meant and nodded once, reassuringly. Mr Weasley seemed satisfied and took a seat beside his wife, who was already pressing a handkerchief to her mouth.

Ron, Hermione and the rest of the wedding party took a few steps away from the bride and groom as Fidelius opened his book. Harry and Ginny turned toward him. He began a fairly casual welcome as precursor to more formal Celtic vows and Harry seized the opportunity to take Ginny's hand.

"Are you allowed to touch me yet?" she said out of the corner of her mouth.

"Try and stop me," he whispered, rather feverishly.

They looked at one another and grinned the same grin.

The ceremony was a short one. Fidelius spoke about commitment and love and the other things they need to discuss at weddings. Harry felt it washing over him in a wave. He almost didn't hear some of it because he was waiting so carefully for the words, the big ones, the lead-up to the vows that had been spoken by couples for thousands of years. It was history, what they were doing – they were making themselves part of history. Harry felt a shiver slide down his spine as Fidelius finally said:

"Now, let these two offer to the world, and to one another, their promises."

Harry and Ginny faced each other, hand-fasted. Once upon a time their hands would have been tied with cloth to symbolise their union, but nowadays the rings would serve that purpose. Before that, they had to speak. Ginny was first and she gave his hand an encouraging squeeze before opening her mouth.

"I vow to you," she said softly, "the first cut of my meat and the first sip of my wine."

He had been worried he wouldn't remember what to say, but it was like the words had been waiting on his tongue for hours.

"From this day," he said, just as quietly, "it shall be only your name I cry out in the night and into your eyes that I smile each morning."

"I shall be a shield for your back, as you are for mine."

"No grievous word shall be spoken about us, for our marriage is sacred between us and no stranger shall hear my grievance."

"You cannot possess me for I belong to myself, but while we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give."

"You cannot command me for I am a free person, but I shall serve you in those ways you require, and the honeycomb will taste sweeter coming from my hand."

"Above and beyond this, I will cherish and honour you through this life …"

Her voice was a little choked on the word 'life'. He pressed her hands together before finishing: "And into the next."

Fidelius Rosethorn read aloud from his book. "And now speak together the final rites of marriage."

And they did, in near enough to unison:

"Ye are Blood of my Blood, and Bone of my Bone. I give ye my Body, that we Two might be One. I give ye my Spirit, 'til our Life shall be Done."

There was a brief silence. It seemed a lifetime to Harry. He could only look at Ginny and wonder at the things they'd said to each other – such grown up things, Capital Letter things – and hope that every promise they'd made, they'd keep.

"The rings, please."

Strangely grave, the twins stepped forward, each with a silver ring. One was tipped with a little pink diamond. The other was a plain silver band. Harry and Ginny each took a ring, and then a left hand.

"With this ring, I marry you," Harry said and slid the ring onto her fourth finger. It glimmered quietly alongside her engagement ring.

"With this ring, I marry you," Ginny said and gently, gently pushed the ring over his fourth knuckle and onto his finger. Her eyes flickered over his face rather searchingly. He smiled, not quite believing it all; she bit her lip; he smiled even harder and, barely thinking, threw back her veil, leant forward and kissed her.

There was a general 'aww' and cheer from the congregation, while Fidelius fumbled for words. "Oh, it's a bit – you're rather early – alright, kiss the bride."

He was kissing her. She smelt like lilies.

Fidelius went on over the loud murmur of the crowd. "I now ask that those gathered here bear witness to the marriage of Ginevra Molly Weasley and Harry James Potter on this 21st of August. May they have a long life together, and all that they need. Harry, Ginny – I pronounce you husband and wife."

The Weasleys were on their feet in the first row and Ron was surreptitiously wiping his eyes and Hermione was beaming fit to burst and the twins were whistling and catcalling as though they'd hit midnight on New Year's.

"Merlin," Ginny whispered against his skin.

"Tell me about it," said Harry. He stroked her cheek, then her belly, and then they turned to face the crowd and walk the long walk out into the sunshine.

They were Mr and Mrs Potter and that true, unshakeable fact was something else. It was something else.

AN/ Whew! Sorry that took me so long, it was a difficult chapter to knock up, especially the bit with the Dursleys. I wanted him to have a little resolution before he embarked on this whole new journey but I didn't want it to put too much of a damper on the day. So forgive me if you thought it was a little too much cheese but I do love a wedding. Please review, I'll be back with the reception and much more drama, so don't go away … buzzing like neon Shezzly PS – The vows they spoke are part of a real Celtic ceremony! Pretty huh? And I finally pulled myself together and called Ginny by her REAL full name (ie. Not Virginia). PPS – It's my birthday! See how much I love you, I'm even writing on my BIRTHDAY. Just thought I'd share that ;) PPPS – TWO MORE SLEEPS TILL HARRY6! xx