"Oh – Harry, honey – will you just –"

"What? Oh, OK, hold on." She was impatiently flicking a strand of hair out of her eyes – her hands were occupied with the stiff bouquet she'd been given. Harry tucked the strand behind her ear for her. He saw a light flash as he did so and squinted at the wedding photographer.

"Hey!"

"Sorry." The man shrugged, most unapologetically. "You guys look great together."

Ginny suppressed a grin and nudged him. "Hear that?"

"Mm-hm. We're gorgeous."

"I am. You'll do."

"Ha. You're the one who sent the leprechaun, don't forget."

She whacked him with the bouquet. "I can't believe you're bringing up such ancient history!"

"Hey, you married me. Not so ancient."

"Thank your stars I'm –" she dropped her volume just a little, "in a delicate condition, or I'd knock you right over, Potter."

"Oh yeah? Just try me, Potter."

The smile that lit her face was instant and unstoppable. The camera whirred on. Looking at her as she chewed her lip, that strand of hair falling stubbornly across her face, he felt different. For just these few moments, he was going to be completely, uncomplicatedly happy. Let the details catch up with him in a little while – in a few minutes. For now, he was going to look at his wife and that was all.

On the Wedding Side of the house (the twins' words), Weasleys were busy shepherding the guests toward a second marquee. This was the Mingling Marquee (the twins again), which would soon become the Dining Marquee. By the time everyone had finished eating, the first would be cleared for dancing and a makeshift bar. In the meantime, Harry and Ginny were having their photographs taken on the far side of the house, by a little cluster of trees.

In his peripheral vision, Harry saw something moving – someone. The figure's familiar straight-backed stride caused him to tear his gaze from Ginny and take a closer look. When he saw the sun glinting on white-blonde hair, he was glad he had. It was Malfoy, walking purposefully away from both marquees, broom in hand.

"Do we have enough?" Harry said shortly.

"Huh?" said the photographer, seemingly sunk deep in an artistic trance.

"Enough photos?"

"What's the matter?" asked Ginny. Harry jerked his head towards Malfoy, who now had paused and was scanning the sky.

"Are we done?" he asked again, and this time the photographer did not deign to reply.

He turned to Ginny again. She gave him another smile, smaller. "Go."

"Thank you."

He legged it across the field, suit-tails flying. Malfoy did not notice him until he was quite near, and even when Harry waved did not come towards him. Instead he swung a leg over his broom and waited, rather edgily.

"Hi," Harry called, and lowered his voice as he came closer. "Hi."

"Hello. Congratulations."

"You saw it?"

"I was standing in back."

There was a brief silence as Harry's gaze moved from Malfoy's leg-over-broom to his determined, almost defiant face. "So … what're you doing?"

Malfoy sighed. "You wanted me to come, so I came. And now I'm gone."

"What? But there's the reception, we –"

Malfoy interrupted quickly. "'We' nothing, Potter. That's the whole point. You know they don't want me here."

"Who, the Weasleys?"

"And the rest."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Oh, give it up, will you? I've had enough of this 'poor misunderstood me' shit. You fought on our side in the end and everybody over there knows it."

"They might know it, but they haven't accepted it and they won't."

"Not if you run away from every bloody opportunity to talk to them."

"Hey, I've tried, OK? I also tried to explain things to you, but you wouldn't take no for an answer. I've made plenty of efforts. I've done my best. Look what I got for it."

"You got me."

"And you've got everything," Malfoy said – not bitterly, but patiently, as though explaining things to a child. "You've got a family who loves you and a beautiful wife, and I really don't belong in that picture. I came to placate you, but I'm afraid I can't stay. Like I said, congratulations. I'll see you at work."

He pushed off. His feet barely left the ground before Harry had hold of his immaculate suit.

"Let go," Malfoy commanded irritably.

"No," said Harry. "You know I let you get away with a hell of a lot, but not this time. For once, this isn't about you. This is about Ginny and I. And we want you here. You know what that means? It means you're coming to my wedding reception whether you like it or not. So get off that broom, stand up and face it like a man."

Malfoy stared at him incredulously. It seemed to take him a little while to find words. "Is that – an order, Potter?"

Harry squared his shoulders. "Yeah. Yeah, I think it is."

There was another loaded silence. Harry held his eyes ferociously. The Weasleys – and 'the rest' – had to know that Malfoy was a part of Harry's life and that this circumstance wasn't likely to change any time soon. Sneaking around, making excuses, each party pretending the other didn't exist – it wasn't going to cut it. They would just have to take it on the chin. The Weasleys (he crossed his fingers inwardly) were good enough people to understand that Harry wouldn't make such an effort for nothing and that Malfoy, against all odds, had really changed.

Malfoy groaned and dropped the few inches back to earth, shaking off Harry's hand. "Merlin and Morganna," he muttered, and then tucked his broom under his arm. "I'll stay for an hour. Hell, it's your wedding. If you want to see me get beaten to a pulp, then I suppose I'll indulge you."

"That's the spirit," Harry said wryly. It was the best he'd get out of Malfoy, and he knew it. They walked back to the photographer together. Ginny was leaning against a tree and even from a distance he could see she was fed up. He raised his hand to her and she smiled back exasperatedly. The photographer clicked on and on.

"Good thing you bucked up your courage there, lad," Harry said conversationally.

"Oh yes?" said Malfoy, in a voice dripping with sarcasm. "Why's that?"

"I was beginning to think I was back in third year."

"Third year?"

"Sure. Because I haven't seen you so scared since third year, when Hermione decked you with that killer right hook of hers."

"I wouldn't say she decked me."

"You ran like she'd decked you."

Malfoy had the good grace to snort back a laugh and by the time they reached Ginny had a polite smile at the ready. Fortunately, so did Ginny.

"Hello there," she said calmly.

"You look lovely."

"Thank you." Her voice went up a few octaves as she frowned at the photographer. "Hey, enough! I've had enough! I've got a reception to go to, you know."

"Just one more ..."

She marched out of the frame before he could take 'just one more' and took hold of Harry's arm in a relieved kind of way.

"You abandoned me," she said lowly.

"I had to."

"I know." She set her smile upon Malfoy again. "Did you hear? We're married."

He pretended to look surprised. "Really? I thought we were here for the christening."

At the word 'christening', Ginny coloured and laughed rather wildly, and Harry fumbled for a change of subject before Malfoy's shrewd gaze noticed the bump in Ginny's stomach to match their awkwardness. His eyes fell upon Mrs Weasley half-running toward them, Ron, Hermione and the twins in her wake.

"Look," he said and they did. Mrs Weasley waved enthusiastically and increased speed. The others fell back somewhat behind her.

"Oh, you two!" she shouted, crushing them in a tandem bear hug. "You two looked so beautiful!"

"I looked beautiful, you mean," said Ginny, voice muffled against her mother's best velveteen dress robes. "Harry looked handsome."

"Handsome, beautiful, what's the difference?" She thrust them out of her embrace and held them at arms' length. "My first one," Mrs Weasley said and then repeated it like a prayer. "My first one. Oh, I must be off, Arthur can't possibly man the guest book on his own! Just wanted to be tell you how – how proud I am of you both!"
She gave them both a peck on the cheek, and Apparated before they could see her tears. Moments later, Ron and the others reached them. Unlike the Weasley matron, they were not so caught up in wedding hysteria that they did not notice Draco Malfoy standing awkwardly behind Harry. The twins stopped in their tracks and glanced meaningfully at one another. Ron and Hermione hovered – the former unwilling, the latter unsure.

Ginny rescued them all.

"Hermione!" she said, eyebrows raised. "Are you going to hug me, or scared you'll get married germs?"

"Oh my God!" Hermione squealed, as though she had forgotten. "You're married."

With that, she leapt forward to embrace Ginny and exclaim over her dress and her glow, and Ginny took her turn to pay Hermione compliments. This seemed to shake Ron from his immobility, and he hugged his sister while Hermione hugged Harry (just the same as she hugged him when they were kids, forceful and warm). Ron and Harry shook hands, and embraced with manful slaps on the backs.

And then they looked at Malfoy.

Hermione held out a shy hand and said, "Hello." She and Malfoy had never got on, of course; they barely spoke when they visited Harry at Hogwarts. There was something very uncomfortable and unfinished between them. Now, at the sight of a civilly extended hand, Malfoy was quite taken aback. He hesitated just a moment, and then grasped her hand firmly and said: "Hello again" with not one trace of his usual defensive sneer. In fact, he seemed anxious to appear cordial and shook her hand for rather too long.

Ron quickly interrupted.

"Malfoy."

Draco dropped Hermione's hand as though it had become very hot, or very cold. His manner immediately stiffened.

"Weasley."

"Malfoy," repeated the twins, in a fair imitation of their little brother's gruff tones. Draco acknowledged their jest with the barest flicker of a smile.

"Weasleys," he said, inclining his head.

"I invited Draco," Harry said then, in an effort to curb any sudden rude remarks or blows. He wasn't quite sure how to say what he wanted to say (Please don't bash up my co-worker on my wedding day) and so stumbled over himself for a while. "And – well, I know you all have a lot of history – we all do, of course – I just mean that – while he's here, at the Burrow, at our wedding –"

"Potter, it's fine," Malfoy muttered, clearly embarrassed. Hermione looked at Ron, who looked at his brothers, who looked at Harry with matching expressions of mock solemnity.

"What I mean to say is …" Harry trailed off and now looked hopefully at GinnyShe seemed to have expected this. Fondly, she touched his chin and then faced her family. "What he means to say is, let's all behave ourselves and try to get along. Right, Harry?"

"Right," he agreed thankfully.

"Right," said Fred. "Except we're off to organise, you know, something, and we don't have time to baby-sit any more of your lovely guests."

"Guests?" Harry repeated, bewildered, and then remembered Petunia.

"Your muggle's a bit tense," George said breezily, "but not too bad a bird, once we fed her a few Blissful Bonbons."

"Blissful – what?"

"She's lying on Mum's bed," Ron clarified, "pretending to fly."

Harry didn't know whether to be concerned or relieved. He decided, alternatively, to be oblivious. Petunia was not where he wanted his thoughts to be – and now she was out of sight and out of mind, for the time being. He would have liked to thank the twins, but they'd already started for the house at a speedy jog.

"They're fairly ingenious, aren't they?" Malfoy murmured, watching after them. Harry wasn't sure if he was being truthful or polite. He saw Ron eyeing him carefully.

"Yeah," the red-head said at last. "They're alright.

He glanced at Harry and gave him a tiny shrug. Harry understood. Ron might not like Malfoy, but he cared about Harry, and he'd try.

About the twins, he wasn't so sure. They'd had a distinctly sharp gleam in their eye at those words, 'lovely guests'. Harry hoped they weren't going to corner Malfoy when he wasn't around. It'd be just their style to pull a prank like that, and if they did, Malfoy would never dream of admitting it to Harry.

"Don't worry," Ginny said softly, lips against his ear. "He'll be OK."

Funny how she could say it and he believed it. Funny how her hand touching his was such an immediate comfort. Funny how badly he wanted to take her upstairs and to bed.

"Come on, let's eat," said Ron, after a lengthy silence.

"Oh yes!" said Hermione. "They've just put out the tables."

"My tables. I did fix every Merlin-cursed leg on them."

"But I bought them," Ginny reminded him.

"Let's not go into particulars," Ron said sagely. Hermione laughed and hooked her arm through his. Ron looked absurdly happy and suddenly insensible to the presence of an ex-Slytherin, or the sweet mumblings of his sister and her husband.

And Malfoy walked beside Harry with the beginnings of a real smile on his face.

ooooo

The speeches began after the main course and ran right through dessert. Many of the strange friends and relatives invited by Mrs Weasley felt compelled to address words of wisdom to the couple, who took it all with characteristic cordiality and several glasses of mulled wine. Harry hoped they couldn't tell that his ears were closing over. It was becoming more and more difficult not to touch his wife in a most inappropriate manner. She kept glancing at him with that hard, glimmering look he knew so well. He stroked her knee under the table and she flushed. His fingers ran up her thigh and she, very reluctantly, pushed it away.

As Grandmother Weasley stood to begin another pronouncement on the virtues of the virgin wife, Harry lay a hand on the back of her neck and pulled her ear close.

"If you don't come with me right now, I swear you're not getting anything tonight."

The fleeting panic in her eyes was enough to set him laughing into his wine glass. Was he drunk? Was it the heady scent of Fred and George's endlessly blooming roses? That was some invention. The flowers somehow, impossibly, maddeningly, smelt very precisely of Ginny's hair after a wash.

Somebody shouted for Grandmother to take a hike. One of Ginny's incapacitated team-mates struggled to his feet and demanded a toast to their quidditch victory.

"Alright," Ginny whispered. "Alright."

Nobody said a word as the bride and groom slipped out. In fact, Harry was sure they hadn't even noticed.

By the time they reached the house, they were moving at a half-run. Harry tugged on the kitchen door handle. It was locked. He swore and charmed it open. Usually the hub of the Burrow, the kitchen was eerily silent. The caterers were operating out of their portable kitchen near the marquee. It didn't matter. All that mattered was the fact that nobody was looking at them.

"Harry," Ginny murmured and he was kissing her before he could think of any words. She tasted like the spiced wine and like Ginny, and her hands were already inside his jacket and untucking his shirt.

"Wait," he said, pulling away with an effort, entirely out of breath. "Upstairs."

They went upstairs. It was rather a difficult trip – they were trying to kiss as they climbed and it held them up. Once in the corridor, it was easier. They stumbled along to Ginny's room, but on the threshold Harry stopped her.

"What?"

"Wait," he said again. "Put an arm round my neck. Go on."
She did so, eyeing him suspiciously. As soon as she had a hold, he swept her up into his arms and she let out a startled peal of laughter. He grinned and told her to shush. She put a hand across her mouth but he knew she was still smiling.

"Are you going to take me inside?" she whispered, her eyes doing that thing they did.

"Yes," said Harry, "like this." He kicked the door. Fortunately it had been left slightly ajar and swung open as dramatically as he'd envisioned. Once inside, he kicked it shut behind them and set Ginny on her feet.

"We're here," she said.

"So we are," he said, and exhaled. "Let me look at you."

She stood up straight and put her hands behind her back. "Well?"

"You're lovely." She pressed herself to him, tugged his jacket off, kissed his mouth and cheek and chin.

"So are you."
They didn't even make it to the bed and made love against the door, half-dressed. When he thought back on it, they'd been reckless – anybody could have heard them. At the time, he was beyond sense. Here was his wife in his arms, stifling moans into his neck; here was the girl he had fallen in love with one summer, so hard that he still had the bruises; here was the little girl in the Basilisk chamber, near death; here was the mother of his child. Here was Ginny, every Ginny he'd known, and here was Harry. Here they were together and it still blew his mind.

When they were done, there were a few moments of breath and silence. Light through the curtained windows was a warm afternoon yellow. Her hair was glowing and a mess. He pulled all her clips out until it went tumbling to her shoulders.

"They'll all know," she said and he shrugged.

"I don't care. They won't. Tell them you got tired of having it up."

"Harry," she said, not for the first time, and leant her head on his chest. He held her there. He didn't want to go back outside, not yet. He wanted to make a memory of this, but couldn't quite get his brain in order.

Two pairs of feet on the stairs forced them into awareness.

"Shh," said Ginny, unnecessarily. He was quiet and listened hard.

"I think it's Fred and Angelina …" Harry said, and she put a finger to her lips. They listened again. It was definitely Angelina, and probably Fred – Harry occasionally still found it hard to tell when the twins weren't together. Of course, if Angie were there, it had to be Fred, and he knew it was once he heard them speak. They seemed to be standing very close, probably at the end of the corridor, a metre or so from Ginny's door.

"Here? How's here for you, Frederick?"

"Merlin, don't get the full name out, Ange. Come on."

Harry nudged Ginny. She shrugged helplessly. It didn't feel quite right to listen, but if they moved they might be discovered, and it would feel worse to have Fred ribbing them to their deathbeds about how they couldn't wait till the wedding night for a shag.

"Angie," Fred was saying now, "I thought we'd sorted this out. I thought we were cool."

"And I thought I understood you. Silly old me, hey?"

"Don't be like that. What did I do? You came back for me, didn't you?"

She groaned. He must have attempted to silence her next words with a kiss, but she wasn't buying it.

"Don't. You told me you were sorry. I thought if I went along, you might – you might admit that you – God, but you have to say these things, Fred!"

It was clearly a strain for the twin to keep his voice down. "What things?"

In a manly, mimicking voice, she said: "They're sickening, aren't they? We'll never be like that."

There was a brief silence and a mumbled protest from Fred. "Come on, I didn't mean –"

"You meant Harry and Ginny, and you meant exactly what I think you did. So don't lie to me, Weasley. You know I've always seen right through you."

She took a steadying breath. Harry felt awkward eavesdropping and at the same time very curious about how Fred would respond. He still hadn't said anything and Angelina carried on.

"I thought if I came back and kept my mouth shut for a while, you'd admit you wanted to be with me."

"I do!"

"Not just be with me," she said sharply, cutting him off. "I wanted you to want to, you know – all of this – because I want you, and all of it – oh, I don't even know anymore."

Harry had never heard Fred sound quite as worried as he did at that moment. "Ange," he said lowly, "don't you dare fucking break up with me."

"Why not?"

"Because – I love you."

"So you say."

"Hey! I mean it."

"Oh yeah?" She almost spat the words. "Prove it."

She was gone in a sudden rush of feet on the stairs, leaving Fred to linger for almost a minute before descending.

Ginny finally allowed herself to breathe. "That was close."

"And intense. Fred's in trouble."

She plucked at Harry's hair. "Men. Why can't he just admit that she's the one? He knows it. We all know it."

"You're forgetting he's a Weasley boy," Harry pointed out. "It took Ron seven years to admit he even had feelingsfor Hermione."

"True. Well, it's none of our business."

Harry knew she was right. He still couldn't help wanting to pull Fred aside and shake him for a while. Once he confessed, even only to himself, that Angelina was it, he'd feel the weight of a Hippogriff lifted from his shoulders. Personal experience had taught him that. And it was Dumbledore who had taught him that love was more important than anything.

Harry wished his old headmaster had lived to see this day – Harry Potter, happy, soliloquising about love. Sirius would have laughed hard and long, and told him he was a lucky man. His father – well, who knew what his father might have said. But he would have been happy too. And his mother would have hugged him and told him to take care of Ginny, just as James had taken care of her.

"What's the matter?" said Ginny quietly.

"Nothing."

"Really." It wasn't a question. She didn't believe him.

"I was just thinking – that I'm going to take care of you." It was a half-truth, but he didn't want her to know he was thinking about the people they'd lost on their wedding day.

Her face softened. She fetched his jacket for him, unbidden, and buttoned it up.

"And I'm going to take care of you."

"Thank Merlin."

They poked their heads out the door to find the corridor deserted and crept back downstairs, only slightly dishevelled.

ooooo

A/N –Lots of loose ends to tie up, and I'm trying to get there naturally, without rushing. Sorry it took me a while – I am moving and crazy busy, plus it was my birthday. Thanks for the birthday wishes, by the way :) Of the Half-Blood Prince, I will only say that I don't know if I can bear another three years wait. What incontestable genius. So good it kills me … Anyway, thank you for all your lovely reviews and comments and suggestions, they are so appreciated! Keep a lookout for me, a few more chaps in this one yet… S.