A/N: Soo… this is an odd mix of canon and utterly, completely not-canon… Basically, I tried to make this sound kind of/sort of believable… Like it could have happened? You'll have to, of course, let me know what you think ;)
Disclaimer: I do not own these characters—they belong to JK Rowling. Also, much of the three year interim between the war and H+G's marriage is strongly inspired by L.B. Fleury's Inner Demons fic which is just… amazing. Gosh. You should really go give it a read. It's just fabulous. But read this one too, of course!
Chapter 1
Ginny had worked with painstaking diligence to make sure everything was ready for tonight. Hands on her hips, strands of hair sticking to her sweaty neck, she surveyed the small main room of the flat she and Harry had shared for an entire year now.
It was a small place, but comfortably furnished with the best pieces Harry's gold could buy. No matter how many brightening charms Ginny cast, the place was always dim in the corners, but she didn't mind so much. It was part of what made it such a cozy place, she thought. Of course, Grimmauld Place was still available if need be, but Harry had insisted on making a fresh start after they'd taken their vows.
The small table in the alcove off the kitchen was laid with the nicest tablecloth Ginny owned—a richly elaborate fabric she'd bought on one of her many, many shopping trips abroad. It was wonderful to be able to visit any and every shopping capital in the world, with an easy flick of Floo powder, or the well-executed turn of a body, though Ginny was much more like to use the Floo as opposed to Apparating. She still wasn't a fan of the sickening tightening.
As well as the brocade cloth, the table was laid with every piece of the china and silver cutlery they'd received as (late) wedding gifts. The family hadn't been particularly thrilled to learn of their elopement, but it seemed, finally, a year later, that the dust had begun to settle.
Ginny smiled to herself, glad that everything was turning out just as they'd hoped—and known—it would. A year ago, it hadn't seemed like her family—especially George—would accept the happily ever after Ginny and Harry had made for themselves. She admitted that their decision to elope may not have been fair on everyone, but after all the hardships—and the long separation—they'd gone through to finally find their way back to each other, neither of them had wanted anyone to intrude on or skew some of the most important moments of their lives. They knew eloping was one of the only ways to avoid a flurry of reporters and paparazzi on one hand; not to mention the smothering overbearing nature of Ginny's mother on the other. She'd seen the way Molly had involved herself in both Bill's and Ron's weddings before hers—and they were her sons. She knew it wasn't completely fair for the only Weasley daughter in seven generations to run off to Gretna Green, but Ginny had never been one for glamour and frivolity.
Of all things, marrying Harry had seemed the simplest, most straightforward decision she'd made in a long, long while—to do it in the most simple and straightforward of ways had been obvious.
Shaking herself from her thoughts, Ginny inhaled deeply through her nose. Supper was still in the oven—she had nothing more to do until the timer went off—, the champagne was chilling in the refrigerator, and every surface had been polished to gleaming proportions. Satisfied that the equation was missing only one thing—her husband—she turned toward the bathroom. After all the hard work she'd done to make the evening as perfect as possible, she thought she deserved a nice, long bubble bath before he was due home from work.
The opportunity to soak in a hot tub, and to cook a hot meal—both of which she enjoyed doing immensely—didn't come often for Ginny. Harry's job as an Auror was stressful and busy, with long, sometimes unpredictable hours, but Ginny was just as busy as he was, in her own ways. As one of Holyhead Harpies' lead Chasers, she spent five days a week in practice, and every other Saturday afternoon in the air, competing against a different team across the Continent. Sundays might have offered an opportunity to relax, except that those were the days Mum summoned all of her children to the Burrow for supper, and that time was spent chasing nieces and nephews around, and helping Mum with the cooking and the dishes.
So yes, between practice and family affairs, a moment to her self was far and in between for Ginny Potter, and each time she managed to grasp onto one, she fully intended to make the most of it.
In the bathroom, she ran the water as hot as she could stand it and added a generous amount of her favorite bubble bath before stripping out of the leggings and old jumper she'd been wearing to clean in. Pulling her wand from where it had been holding her hair out of her face, Ginny set it by the sink and climbed in.
"Ooooh," she moaned contentedly as she settled against the backrest. There was nothing like sinking into a freshly run bubble bath. The hot water enveloped every petite inch of her, instantly relaxing the muscles she hadn't realized had been so tight.
Though she loved playing Quidditch, it was hard on the body.
I need to work in more of these soaks, she thought to herself as she closed her eyes and sighed.
Ginny allowed her mind to wander as bubbles crackled in her ears, and the soft slosh of water against the lip of the tub made a soothing rhythm.
When her family and friends—all but Ron and Hermione, who had stood up with them—had first learned that she and Harry had gotten married, Ginny had understood why they'd been upset—some disapproving, others downright enraged. It had been a long three years of back and forth, hot and cold, between her and Harry since he'd defeated Voldemort.
Finding their way back together had been no easy feat for Harry and Ginny. There had been many a row, a slip and slide into a deep depression, a proposal, an interim of illness and hardship, a returned ring, and a two week long Missing Persons Case that had left her frazzled and more than a little mad for Harry's safety—all of which had culminated into some of the worst years of Ginny's life.
But she wouldn't take any of it back, because it had led them to this. Often, Ginny wondered if they would be as in love as they were now, if they hadn't gone through everything they had back then. Though they'd jumped the gun on the wedding, they'd spent the better part of the year since working on the deeper levels of their relationship—including being open and vulnerable with each other, the lack of which had mucked things up in the first place.
Ginny was a far different woman than the girl she'd been four years ago. She found it strange that both Harry's presence and his absence had accounted for the climb toward victory for her, but her Mind Healer had assured her that it made perfect sense.
The first year after the war had been difficult for all of its own reasons—having the paparazzi and the papers put hers and her family's grief and trauma on display for the whole world to see was just the cherry on top to make things even more difficult than they had already been while already dealing with more trauma and pain than she knew how to cope with. Insecurity and flat-out panic—over stupid articles in Witch Weekly, heedless headlines in the Prophet, and more than a few insinuating questions from the most brazen of reporters—had driven Ginny away the first time, but the reprieve had been short. While she hadn't known it at the time, that first big row had been the beginning of a steep slide downward into a pitch black hole she'd struggle to climb from for almost three years.
There were a number of things Ginny ought to have dealt with over the years but hadn't. Keeping all of it bottled inside, where the pressure only continued to build, had finally caught up with her. Riddle's possession in her first year, the interim years of Harry coming to danger again and again while she struggled to convince herself she'd gotten over her feelings for him, Voldemort's return, Snape's rule and the Carrows' torture in her sixth, the long separation from Harry, thinking he was dead, and then all of the aftermath once the war had ended—the media, the stresses of finishing school, Harry's accelerated admittance into the Auror program and all the danger and risk that presented, grieving over Fred's loss—had finally built to its highest peak.
As her mental health had begun to deteriorate as that first autumn had melted into winter, Ginny had pushed away everyone who'd mattered to her. Even now, she couldn't explain why, other than the guilt she'd felt over burdening everyone with her illness, afraid that if she kept friends and family too close, they, too, would be drawn into the black hole that was quickly becoming her life.
With the help of her friends and family after a very dark instance that had involved an 'accidental' fall from her broomstick, and an extended stay within St. Mungo's highest Mind Healing wards, Ginny had slowly begun to feel her way out of the shadows.
It had taken many more months after that, a lot of therapy, an offer from every Quidditch team in the league, a sustained maintenance of Sunshine potion, and a lot of hard work, for Ginny to find herself again, and the bravery to face the prospect of a life with Harry once more.
At that point in time, Ginny had all but given up hope of ever seeing Harry again, regardless of the fact that she knew she'd be in love with him for the rest of her life. He'd accepted a big ticket Auror mission in the Continents and, between the snippets of articles she'd read and the glimpses of pictures she'd seen in the Prophet and Witch Weekly, Ginny had assumed Harry had all but gotten on with his life.
It had been complete chance that the two had stumbled into each other's paths that fateful night just over a year ago…
Getting a pint at the Glowing Goblet after practice on Fridays had become somewhat of a tradition for Ginny and her teammates—some of her closest friends, fellow Chaser Kat, and Beater Shelby. It had been an entirely normal evening at the pub she and her friends often frequented.
They'd sat at their normal high table in the corner, drank their Butterbeers and laughed and joked and gossiped. Because of the ladies' statuses as Harpies, it wasn't an unusual occurrence for various reporters to crowd them with questions, for fans to beg for autographs, and for a few bold wizards—and some witches—to try a line or two.
This, coupled with Ginny's long fiery hair, warm brown eyes, and creamy skin beneath a blanket of rose-colored freckles, had long become fair reason for her to brush off too many requests to buy her a drink, or more.
She'd been all but beating off one of these not-unusual requests when she saw him come through the Floo across the room. He was with two men she didn't know—probably fellow Aurors, though none of them were in uniform.
Harry and his friends made their way toward the bar, leaving Ginny to wonder why no one was harassing him. But as she looked closer and tilted her head, she could see the vague shimmer of some sort of force field he'd cast around himself. Some sort of shield to fend off reporters and unwanted attention, possibly? Why hadn't she learned to do that?
The words the over-zealous, inconsequential wizard had been saying in her ear fizzled into the background. In fact, everything around her seemed to do the same. Ginny could focus on nothing but the man she'd loved all her life, standing across the room, waiting for his drinks. His back was turned to her, but that didn't matter. She was willing to admire him from this vantage point just as easily.
In the years since they'd broken up, he'd obviously gained more lean muscle than he had the year he'd joined the Auror program. He'd also grown his hair back out, which was knotted on the back of his head into a small bundle, with a leather thong. When he turned his head to catalogue the crowd, she could see the shadow of stubble along the sharp edge of his jaw, and the stormy sparkle of his green eyes.
He looked… Different to Ginny, but also, inexplicably, so much the same as she had remembered.
In that instant, everything that had mattered before in her mind, every obstacle that had separated her from him, vanished as if Obliviated from her memory. What had mattered to her three years ago seemed like juvenile trivialness now, though she knew it wasn't that exactly—just that she'd worked enough through things for herself with her Mind Healer, that she'd grown used to the attentions by the media, had become—almost—comfortable with it, that she'd lain down enough of a foundation for herself—her career, her passions, her hobbies—that she no longer felt as lost as she had in the beginning, without Harry. And though she had by no means become used to the highly dangerous risks of Harry's career as an Auror, time and exposure had given way to a quiet acceptance that, well, he was still around, wasn't he?
In a way she hadn't been for a long time, Ginny was suddenly frozen with indecision. Was this fate intervening, or was it simply a coincidence that Harry Potter, the man who'd spent the last two years in Austria, or Russia, or where-the-hell-ever had stumbled into Ginny's Friday night hangout?
She was still trying to decide whether or not to approach him when Shelby tugged on her elbow, wanting her opinion on something in the latest issue of Witch Weekly she was holding.
When Ginny had turned back a moment later, Harry was gone.
She was surprised by the way her stomach had plummeted, by the way the disappointment had filled her chest like a sodden, heavy weight. If he'd been here for only one night, stopping in maybe just to visit Ron and Hermione, or Teddy, she'd entirely missed her chance. It was something she knew he'd done on a regular basis, keeping in touch, it seemed, with everyone except for her… And now her chance was gone.
Dejected, Ginny had turned her attention back to her girlfriends, fiddling with her empty glass and trying to push away the ghost of despair and heartbreak that was oh-so-difficult to ignore, when someone spoke from over her shoulder.
"Hi, Gin."
She'd rotated on her bar stool as if caught up in a whirling charm, feeling the heat suffuse her neck and face. Harry was standing there, of course, looking just as delicious, if not more so, as he had from across the pub. His viridian eyes twinkled behind the rims of his glasses, and his lips were turned up in a half-smile that Ginny remembered very well.
Before she could bring her self to think about the repercussions, Ginny had flung herself off the bar stool and into Harry's arms. His whole front was rock-hard with muscle, she realized, as she wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him close. The woody yet fresh scent of him filled her nose, and a million memories spun through her brain, wrapping her up so completely, it was as if she'd just dunked her head into a Pensieve.
Not totally aware of herself yet, Ginny couldn't help but follow her body's guidance. One instant her arms had been wrapped around him in a familiar, friendly embrace, and the next, she'd tilted her head up and pressed her lips to his.
She could hear her friends' gasps of righteous shock from behind her, and knew, with a hint of resignation, that this would be all over the papers tomorrow, but in that moment, she didn't care, because the man in front of her was kissing her back, and he tasted like Firewhiskey and Pepper Up, and Harry bloody Potter…
Beneath the Confundus shield he'd cast around himself, Harry slumped on a bench in back of the Leaky Cauldron, putting off going home, his head in his hands.
Damn it all to hell, he thought to himself, If there weren't a worse time to tell her this…
In hopes of easing the blow, Harry had ducked out of work early and picked up a bouquet of flowers. But the Florwitch hadn't taken nearly as long arranging the lilies and honeysuckle as he'd thought she would, and now he was only procrastinating matters. He knew every gift in the world would not soften the news he would have to tell Ginny tonight; he also knew he was only making matters worse by just sitting here like this.
Despairing and frustrated, Harry dropped his head into his hands, conjuring the images of the night they'd reunited to ignite that Gryffindor flame of courage underneath him—absolutely essential to get him home…
In a way that had been ingrained in him, Harry took inventory of the pub as soon as he, Lonny and Brant stepped through the Floo.
The place was busy, which was what gave Harry the excuse of not having seen her sooner. But when he did, he felt as if his shoes had suddenly been glued to the floor with a sticking charm. In no other realm but one to summon his very worst, most torturous of nightmares, would Ginny Weasley be sitting in the far corner, head ducked down as she listened to whatever the git next to her was saying.
It had been three years since he'd seen her, and every time he remembered it, it was like a physical dagger, piercing his heart. She'd been so thin, so frail and gaunt, arms wrapped around herself as if to hold herself together, eyes rimmed red, hair lank and dull… The day she'd sent him away…
He'd promised himself he wouldn't do anything else to hurt her ever again, even if it meant living with the haunting images of her behind his lids every night for the rest of his life. Nothing could take away the pain of leaving her when she'd been so ill and unstable.
Except this. Seeing her here, now, softened the pain just a little. To see her sit so tall, to see her hair—long and shiny, swaying down her back, to see the curve of her hips in the Muggle jeans she was wearing… Quidditch had been good to her, he thought to himself.
From here, her eyes looked bright, her face carefree and free of any sign of the tension and misery he'd witnessed all those years ago.
Some emotion he couldn't quite explain tightened a knot in his stomach as Lonny and Brant went to grab a table while he headed toward the bar to order them drinks.
Every stubbornly stacked brick in the fortress he'd built around himself, vainly attempting to convince himself he no longer loved her, that he'd be better off without her, crumbled down around him. Who was he bloody kidding?
The next few minutes occurred without him okaying his own actions. He hadn't known if it'd been lust, desire, longing or friendliness that had drawn him across the bar to her table, where he'd dropped his Confundus Shield and said her name for the first time in three years.
And, Merlin, had it felt good to say her name.
It had felt even better to hold her in his arms again, to have her lips on his, to know that she had initiated the kiss. He still couldn't remember what he'd said to her when she'd finally peeled her mouth from his, or what she'd said in return, but it was only minutes later that they'd left the pub together.
They'd spent almost the entire weekend in his bed at Grimmauld Place—not only making love, but talking, too, bringing each other up to date on where they'd been, what they'd done while they'd been separated.
And then, on Sunday, in a way that had seemed very obvious from the beginning, Harry had suggested they Floo to Scotland—Gretna Green, Scotland, specifically—so they could be married.
Harry opened his eyes, the rolling hills of Ireland fading away to be replaced by the steadily-growing cacophony of Tom's bar. Remembering the blissful weekend they'd spent together made his decision for him.
Though it didn't give him the resolve to summon his Gryffindor courage, it did set into motion the course of plans he'd carry out tonight. He wouldn't tell her—at least not until tomorrow morning. Not when she'd probably gone out of her way to set everything up at home. He couldn't ruin this night for her.
If he was being honest, Harry knew his decision wasn't entirely based in the selfless basis he claimed it to. He knew that if he told her tonight, there would be supper, but no dessert… And he'd been waiting all day for this…
Snatching up the flowers and his cloak, Harry headed toward the Floo. Two seconds later, he was standing in the grate in the empty living room, shaking green ash from his pitch-black hair.
He was immediately inundated with the smell of baking shepherd's pie, one of his favorites. The table in the little alcove off the kitchen was set for two, candles lit, but Ginny was nowhere to be found.
However, he didn't need to use magic to find her. The flat was small, and there were only so many places she could disappear to.
As he cracked open the bathroom door, finding his wife serene, beautiful and blanketed in sweet-smelling bubbles, he knew he'd made the right decision in holding off the news until tomorrow.
Ginny felt the presence of her husband in the flat long before he opened the door to the tiny bathroom in the hallway off the bedroom. She opened her eyes to find him standing in the doorway, still in his tight black t-shirt and work pants, gazing at her with the kind of awe-struck adoration that always made her feel self-conscious.
The smile that curved her lips up reflexively mirrored the expression on his own face. "Happy anniversary," she murmured. "You're early."
Harry produced the large bouquet of fragrant flowers from behind his back. "Happy anniversary." His voice was deep and quiet, heavy with some sort of poignant emotion she couldn't put a name to.
When she was dry and dressed in a simple three-quarter sleeve velvet dress—one of Harry's favorites on her—she severed the ends of the flowers with her wand, and then arranged them in a vase on the counter as she bent to pull the shepherd's pie from the oven.
Setting it on the table, she turned toward the cupboard above the refrigerator, straining to reach the two single champagne glasses they owned. Having left her wand across the kitchen, she pushed up onto her tiptoes. At five foot five, Ginny was the literal example of 'petite'. But it had never affected her in other areas of her life, and for what she lacked in height, she made up for in confidence and temper.
No one had ever crossed Ginny Potter in reference to her height and had not lived to regret it.
In fact, the only person able to get away with that kind of thing, was Harry.
She felt his arms wrap around her waist from behind now, and the fresh scent of him, just showered, washed over her shoulder.
"Need some help there?" he murmured, flicking a finger to levitate the glasses from the shelf so that he wouldn't need to let her go.
Ginny turned in his arms and tilted her head back so she could gaze into his face, reaching up to run her fingers through his thick, still-damp hair.
"Just can't help showing off, can you?" she teased him.
Wandless magic wasn't something all witches and wizards could do—in fact, not even some of the most talented in wizarding history had been able to do it—but it was something Harry had been able to do for a couple of years now.
"Not for you," he replied, smirking, as he floated the glasses over to the table while Ginny went to pull the bottle of champagne out of the fridge.
"Well, you're lucky I'm very impressed then," she said, heading toward the table.
Harry pulled her chair out for her and helped her sit, and she smiled up at him.
"Thank you."
He leaned over her, brushing his lips softly against hers, just for a second. "You're welcome."
Though dinner was hot and the champagne cold, Ginny suddenly didn't feel hungry. She lifted one hand to cup the back of his neck, pulling his lips more tightly against hers. His hand tightened around her waist, nearly dragging her from the chair…
That first weekend had seemed a dream.
At first, there wasn't much talking—but as the sun rose outside the window, and the couple lay coiled together, half-dozing, the talking did come.
They shared the achievements they'd taken part of in the recent years, Harry confiding he'd attended every one of her games under the influence of a Disillusionment charm or dose of Polyjuice, expressing just how proud of her he'd been, and how he'd always believed that she'd make it as a Quidditch player. She'd shared a little of the hardships she'd gone through after he'd left, but made it very clear that it hadn't been in vain—and that, for all the darkness had taught her, it made the victories of getting back to living that much better.
Harry shared little of what he'd spent his years doing, but not because he was avoiding vulnerability; Ginny knew many of the Auror missions were confidential. But his face lit up when he spoke of his work, and she knew, as she always had, that he'd chosen the correct path for himself.
In a way, it had been a lot like getting to know each other all over again. They'd been apart for so long, had each grown so much in maturity and confidence; so much had changed. But there still remained the quintessential Harry and Ginny underneath it all. The same core characteristics that made them their unique person, the same fundamentals they'd both fallen for in the first place.
Surprisingly, they'd both stayed quite up to date with the goings on of Ron and Hermione, and Ginny's family. Come to think of it, it had been quite a surprise that they hadn't run into each other sooner. When he wasn't away on business, Harry had made it a routine to visit the Weasley house on Tuesday evenings, and visit Ron and Hermione at their flat on Thursdays, seeing Teddy and Andromeda on Saturdays, and visiting the orphanage for war orphans he'd funded mere months after the war on Sundays.
In between Quidditch practice and matches, Ginny had done much the same, except that her routine had merely differed in timing, saving the two from laying eyes on each other for almost three years.
But now that they had been reunited, they'd both agreed that it had been silly to avoid each other for so long. What had they been trying to prove, after all?
The sudden flare from the fireplace across the room startled Ginny and Harry apart. Both turned their heads toward the grate, where the unmistakable voice of Ginny's brother, and Harry's best friend, resonated.
"Oi, anyone home?" he called through.
"Ron," the couple groaned in unison.
Ginny remained stiff in her chair, feeling Harry's breaths burst across the crown of her head.
"Shh," he susurrated, "Maybe he'll go away."
"I saw you go through the Floo at Tom's, Harry," Ron called into the apartment. "I was hoping to catch you… Can I come through?"
There was a moment of silence, and Ginny squeezed her eyes shut, praying that her brother would remember what day it was and leave them alone for once.
The resulting green flash beyond her closed eyelids told her this was one prayer that would not be answered. A moment later, she heard Ron stepped from the grate, brushing ash from his cloak.
"Go see what he wants," Ginny said to Harry. "But if it's about work…"
Harry kissed her softly on her upturned forehead. "I'll be right back," he promised her, and stepped away from the table.
"Hey, Harry. Hey, Gin!" Ron called through from the living room.
Ginny closed her eyes and poured herself a glass of champagne. If she could drown the acidic words rising in her throat, maybe she could spare herself the irritating back-and-forth that would undoubtedly ensue with her brother.
Just let Harry deal with it, she thought to herself. It'll only take a minute.
But when had Ron ever been in and out with the two?
The two spoke quietly for a short time on the sofa, and then finally, finally, she heard the crinkling sound of parchment being folded and tucked back inside a cloak. The couch creaked as Ron stood, and he groaned luxuriantly as he, most likely, stretched his arms over his head.
"Mmmm—dinner smells amazing, Ginny!"
"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Ginny questioned pointedly when Ron preceded Harry through the kitchen door and sat, summoning another plate from the cupboard.
"Nope—nowhere that I can think of," Ron chirruped, reaching for the serving utensil and helping himself to the steaming platter in the middle of the table.
Harry took his pre-appointed seat across from Ginny, catching the irate glare she directed at him and merely shrugged in response.
"'Mione's working late tonight," Ron explained with his mouth full. "Didn't really want to go back to an empty flat."
Ginny sat back in her seat, folding her arms tightly across her chest and focused her baleful gaze on her brother, waiting for him to look up at her. When he continued obliviously shoveling mashed potato and mince into his face, she pursed her lips against the cruel words she wanted to say and began bouncing her foot in irritation.
Harry reached across for Ginny's plate in order to serve her first, and she sighed, rolling her eyes. She was pretty hungry after spending the afternoon cleaning the apartment from top to bottom, and she hoped, once fed, Ron would be satisfied enough to leave them on their own for the rest of the evening.
For the first few minutes, no one spoke, instead enjoying his or her hot meal.
It was only halfway through that Ron paused to pour himself a drink that he noticed the elaborate lay of the table. "Tablecloth? Champagne? What's the special occasion?" His grinning face turned first toward Harry and then toward Ginny, and then back again.
Harry's expression was patient, trusting that his best mate would put the pieces together momentarily. Ginny's was fundamentally less understanding, and just more than a few degrees colder as she, once again, glared at her brother. Now he was going to drink her champagne, too?!
Ginny saw the realization dawn on her brother's face a beat later. His cheeks, bulging with food, lost their color immediately, and his blue eyes widened with horror, humiliation, and then fear.
He swallowed hard.
"Uh… I think… Erm…"
He stood clumsily, leaving the last two bites of food on his plate—which showed the seriousness of the situation, truly—and reversed, tripping over the chair he'd been sitting on.
"You were just leaving?" Ginny prodded through gritted teeth.
"Er, right! I, uh… Just remembered I owed George and Ang a visit, and I, uh… Really should be going…"
He staggered quickly toward the doorway to the sitting room, and disappeared through. She heard the tinkle of the Floo powder jar's lid on the mantle as Ron scooped a hasty, clumsy fistful out.
"Ha-happy anniversary, you guys!" he called just before Ginny heard the telltale gust of his departure.
When she turned her eyes back on Harry, she found his eyes dancing with amusement.
"I knew he'd get it sooner or later," he chuckled.
Ginny rolled her eyes. "I swear, that man couldn't remember an important date if a bludger thwacked him over the head with it."
Harry laughed, reaching across the table to cup her face in his hand. "He's gone now," he assured her. "And rest assured, Hermione will figure out where he's been, and she'll give him a proper dressing down for you."
"Not if I get to him first," she muttered grumpily under her breath.
"Hey." Harry lifted his other hand, cupping her other cheek, and pulled her face around so he could look into her eyes. "You're not going anywhere tonight. It's just me and you now."
And to make sure of it, he rose from the table and strode to the fireplace, quickly blocking off the Floo so they truly would not be bothered for the rest of the night.
Ginny smiled as he returned to the table. "Now why didn't I think of that?"
The two of them had talked for almost two days straight after that—the easier things first, and then the not-so-easy stuff. The stuff they'd kept hidden from each other, the truths they hadn't been able to bring themselves to tell before.
It was the evening of the third day that Harry had remembered the ring in his pocket, the ring that had been there for over two years, since she'd given it back to him. Until now, he couldn't really discern why he'd done it—the only explanation he could come up with was that keeping the ring with him kept Ginny close to his heart while she'd been so far away.
As dusk gave way to night, he slipped the ring onto Ginny's delicate fourth finger while she slept. Feeling the cool of the gold against her skin, she'd woken with a soft sigh and blinked a couple times at the emerald set between diamonds.
Finally she said, "That looks familiar."
When she locked eyes with Harry where he was stretched out atop the bed next to her, he said, "I think we should get married."
True, the proposal was graceless and left, well, a lot more to be desired, but the conclusion had come to him like a whisper in the night. It was a simple resolution, the obvious next step in their, until now, very stilted relationship.
He stared at her, still waiting for her answer. Her dark eyes danced with a million different emotions. Finally, she stretched across the foot of space that separated them and kissed him softly.
"Now, why didn't I think of that?" she murmured.
It hadn't come without its own set of deliberations and inflections. In the wizarding world, making an Unbreakable vow with another was taken quite seriously. But the both of them had surmised that it had meant something if it had been so long and they still hadn't given up on the other—that there must be something worth fighting for there. If they knew they were as committed to 'the cause' as it seemed, then why not take the plunge? They'd only end up there sooner or later, right?
So the decision had been made, quickly but not without serious thought, to arrange a hasty wedding in the small hamlet of Scotland. Harry thought back on the day with affection, remembering how Ginny had looked coming down the aisle of the tiny church they'd managed to find, how her face had glowed as they'd spoken their vows and linked their lives forever…
"How was work?" Ginny's softly spoken words distracted Harry from the memories swirling blissfully through his head. Unfortunately, with reality came the crushing reminder of the news he wore heavy on his shoulders today, and Ginny's reminder of work hadn't made it any easier.
"Fine. Slow." It wasn't a lie. Work had been slow today. He'd been restless all morning through the menial paperwork and the few relatively unexciting investigations he'd gone on, only wanting to get back home to Ginny. He knew, after finishing at practice that morning, she'd head home and begin to clean the space, getting it ready for the romantic evening they'd been talking about for almost a week and a half.
A sudden flare of indignation lit in his chest when he remembered how the afternoon's meeting had ended, and his heart twisted violently when he was reminded of what he would need to tell her tonight… No, he'd already decided. He'd tell her tomorrow morning. He didn't want to ruin the evening…
"You seem… Distracted about something." Ginny's voice was closer, her breath soft against his jaw as she slid her way into his lap and looped her arms around his neck. "What are you thinking?"
When she pulled back to look at him, chocolate eyes wide with warm affection and trust, he felt another stab of pain. It had been a general rule that they be as open as possible with each other. It had been something they'd agreed upon before they'd taken their vow exactly one year ago. But he couldn't bring himself to ruin a moment so perfect, an evening so divine.
In a way that had been drilled into his brain, Harry put his compartmentalizing skills to the test, pushing away the looming storm cloud of bad news as best he could. He smiled tenderly into his wife's face, and reached up to cup her face, run his fingers through her thick red hair, stirring up the honeyed, floral scent of her and inhaling it greedily, seeking its anesthetizing properties, its mellowing capabilities.
"Just thinking about how lucky I am to have you as my wife," he told her, his voice low with emotion. The words weren't a lie. In fact, they were as true as his own name, but he hated to fib to her like this, to skirt around the dragon in the rom.
He knew his motivations were hardly honorable. He knew that if he were to tell her what he'd learned today now, it would only lead to a row, which would lead to a long evening of arguing and yelling, which would lead to him sleeping on the sofa, which would mean—well, it was suffice to say Harry wouldn't be receiving the most anticipated anniversary gift of all from Ginny.
Besides that was the underlying anxiety that fueled in him a need to drive the thought away for just a few moments, an hour, a night. Losing himself in the passion and love shared between the two would make a thorough job of it. So he pressed his mouth against hers, letting one hand drop from her hair to her thigh, fingertips skimming along the sliver of skin beneath the hem of the velvet dress she wore—one of his favorites.
For a long while, the kitchen was absolutely silent, except for the sound of their heavy breathing, and the lush sound of lips parting and coming back together.
Finally, Ginny whispered, "I should do the dishes."
She started to stand, reaching for the empty dinner dishes on the table, but Harry tightened his hold, yanking her warm, sweet-smelling body back against him, burying his face in her hair in the process.
"They can wait." He moved her hair out of the way, gaining access to the smooth, pale column of her perfect throat, and laid his lips against the pulsing spot just below her jaw. He brushed his lips back and forth, kissing and nuzzling here and there, until he was rewarded with the perfect small sound Ginny always made when he knew she'd given in to his supplications.
Before either of them could take a breath, he'd turned on the spot, his arms still tight around his wife, and they reappeared in the bedroom across the apartment with a barely audible pop. Ginny gasped at the unexpected, slightly jarring sensation, as they toppled together onto the bed.
They shared each other in a way that never grew old. Their adoration and passion for each other was boundless, opening opportunity after opportunity to learn more about the other. No single time was like the last—every time they made love, it was like new, except that they knew the others' body so well, its signals, its cues, its patterns. It seemed oxymoronic to pair the familiarity with which they knew each other with the unyielding passion that made each lovemaking session completely different from the last.
But somehow, it worked, and awhile later, they lay together in the sheets, damp with the sweat of exertion, and limp with the aftereffects of matchless bliss.
However, sinking quickly through these layers of idyllic forgetfulness was the truth of what made Harry's heart heavy with guilt, sadness and the fear of the unknown. In a way he could avoid no longer—after all, there were no more distractions—he knew the time had come to tell her… There was no more lollygagging, no more beating around the bush. In a way he'd resigned himself to since he'd left the Ministry that afternoon, he'd known this night could end only one way, no matter how much he'd convinced himself otherwise.
He sighed heavily, accepting that tonight would not end in the peaceful, angelic way it had begun. The longer he waited to tell her, the more upset she'd be with him for not telling her sooner. He'd only known for a matter of hours, but he knew Ginny would despise the time lost already.
Harry licked suddenly dry lips, feeling the satisfied weight of her against his chest, her lips, every so often, puckering to plant a lazy kiss against his shoulder, or the edge of his jaw. The first time he tried to speak, no sound came, and he had to try again.
"Gin." His voice faltered uneasily, the emotion portrayed somewhere between despairing misery and inimitable guilt.
She hummed musically in response, and he wondered how conscious she was.
He pulled back to look at her, rolling onto his side so that he could see her eyes. He hated to do it, knowing he would see each emotion as it hit her, but he needed to know that she heard him, every word of what he was about to say.
Seeing the seriousness in his face, Ginny propped herself on an elbow, dark eyes sparking with sudden intuition. "What's wrong?" Her voice was quiet, but sharp as a whip; and immediately suspicious.
"I need to tell you something." Harry lifted a hand to rake it through his hair, thankful he'd left his glasses on the end table. At least from this angle, her face was slightly blurry, which lent a sliver of forgiveness to the pain he knew he'd see in her eyes in just a few minutes.
"Is everyone—everything, okay?"
"No, no—nothing like that," he assured her, reaching for the hand that lay between them on the sheets, her wedding and engagement rings glittering in the diffused light of their bedroom. He brushed his fingers across her knuckles, and then paused, pulling back his hand. He knew the last thing she'd want would be to touch him once he told her this.
"Harry—you're scaring me. Tell me what's happening."
Harry took a breath, bracing himself for impact, and then spoke, slowly and carefully, enunciating each word so that she'd catch it all: "We had our Quarterly meeting today, and, well, I… I have to leave for a six-month deployment mission in three days."