The day after their engagement announcement was published in The Daily Prophet, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley received no less than 37 letters from wedding venues across the country, inviting them to tour their properties for what had been heralded as the "wedding of the century."
Harry snorted at the pronouncement – it was only 2002, two years into the 21st century. He was perfectly happy with a Burrow wedding, which he'd always felt was his home away from home, but Ginny had other ideas.
Thus began a great search for the wedding venue that would witness the nuptials of Harry James Potter and Ginevra Molly Weasley.
They began at Merlin's Mansion, a sprawling property with gardens to rival Queen Mary's. Merlin's Mansion was advertised as the "premier, luxury option for the finest in magical society." Harry was immediately against the idea of being married there; their tour guide and possible event planner, one Pansy Parkinson, greeted them with the same familiar, pug-faced sneer Harry had almost forgotten. She haughtily explained that if the Potter-Weasley wedding were to take place there, it would be the first wedding of a "different" nature to be celebrated at Merlin's Mansion.
"What does that mean?" Ginny asked, tightening her grip on Harry's arm.
"Oh, you know," Pansy said, smirking. "Merlin's Mansion serves only the worthiest of magical society…your fiancé's fame makes up for his…deficiencies."
"Deficiencies?" Ginny screeched, stomping her foot angrily. "Excuse me?"
"Gin—" Harry began, but Ginny shook him off.
"You are speaking about my future husband," she spat. "Be more respectful!"
Pansy's eyes widened, feigning shock. She began a half-hearted apology, but Ginny cut her off.
"You and Merlin's twats can shove it up your arses. We're not interested." Ginny took Harry's hand and dragged him back to the front door, stomping angrily through the gardens, uncaring that they were trampling over prized plants.
"Wait!" a voice called from behind them. "Come back! Mr Potter! Miss Weasley!"
Harry tugged Ginny back. The tall, lanky figure of another one of his old classmates, Theodore Nott, was coming towards them.
"Wait!" he shouted. "Don't go!"
"We're not interested," Ginny said flatly. "Merlin's Massive Moron in there ruined it for us."
"We have Morgana's Manor," Nott said, wheezing. "It's smaller…cozier."
"If you wanted our wedding, you wouldn't have treated us this way," Ginny said, her eyes blazing with the radiance of the setting sun. "It's not about size, it's about integrity." She eyed Harry, who felt slightly uncomfortable at the mention of size, but without brooking any further input from the staff of Merlin's Mansion or Morgana's Manor, they set off for their next destination.
Camelot's Corner was located on a generous plot of land in Bedfordshire. There were no extensive gardens or posh landscaping; what had once been an old Muggle farmhouse atop a hill had become a popular wizarding location for special occasions. According to their letter, Camelot's Corner prided themselves on being the "reasonably priced option for the budget-conscious witch or wizard."
Harry and Ginny were pleased with the location. With plenty of trees, the fall foliage would provide a lovely backdrop for their wedding pictures. Camelot's Corner was large enough to host the dozens of guests they wanted to invite, but not as huge or ostentatious as Merlin's Mansion.
Everything was going perfectly well, until they tried the food. Ginny didn't seem to mind the dry roast or the flavorless potatoes. She didn't seem to notice the lackluster mushy peas or even the inexplicably rubbery Yorkshire pudding. She winced slightly at the treacle tart, but Harry was outright offended at the offering.
"We are not having our wedding here," he grumbled, spitting out a bite of tasteless, gritty treacle tart. "I'm not eating this."
"But it's pretty here," Ginny countered, eyeing the trees longingly. "Mum could help with—"
"I'd rather be eating Kreacher's maggoty Christmas present than this rubbish."
Harry stood from the table, offended that anyone could ruin treacle tart so spectacularly, and walked out of the house at Camelot's Corner, where he cast Aguamenti and let the water pour into his mouth directly from his wand tip.
"Really, Harry?" Ginny asked, with a hand on her hip.
"I did not die twice and come back to life for bad treacle tart," he grunted, feeling his stomach convulse with what he was sure would become a mighty, painful bowel movement.
They took a quick break to relieve themselves and returned to their search early in the afternoon.
The next venue, Madam Rosmerta's new, high-end wizarding restaurant in Diagon Alley, The Painted Porlock, looked quite promising. The food was outstanding, but the restaurant was small, and even with magical expansions, it would be too tight a fit for the Potter-Weasley wedding. The Weasleys alone would take up half the space.
The Galloping Gargoyle came next. It was right on the edge between Diagon Alley and Knockturn Alley, which wasn't entirely a problem, except for the cart outside the restaurant that sold the skulls of the game slaughtered for supper.
Neither Harry nor Ginny fancied the idea of being gifted with the skull of their dinner, a "perk" of booking their wedding at The Galloping Gargoyle, and so they politely declined before moving onto the next location.
As they moved through the list of venues, their options became worse.
A surprising amount of people had written to Harry and Ginny, offering their homes as wedding venues. While many were welcoming and kind, it became clear that their hosts either wanted an autograph from Harry (which he denied, unless children were asking for it) or from Ginny (which she always agreed to, but signed as Goonie Wazlib).
Near sunset, they approached Priamus' Pigpen, a locale near Cambridge. Above the pigpen was a sign that read: "You're here to get married," with the image of a pig in a bride's dress on one side of it and a matching, tuxedo-clad groom pig on the other side. Below the sign, in rougher writing, read: "Name your wedding pig for only 10 Galleons!"
"Too bad Pigwidgeon's already been taken," Harry said wryly, watching Ginny roll her eyes.
"These are prize pigs," the proprietor, a man called Harold, said in an accent that reminded Harry of Hagrid. "The lot o' them. Ter die for."
"And we get to choose our own?" Ginny asked. "That's very important to us, that we get to choose our dinner."
"'O course! Come here," Harold said. He brought Harry and Ginny around to the other side of the pen, where many piglets were oinking and squealing loudly in the spring mud.
"They were born las' month," he continued proudly, gesturing at the piglets. "By October they'll be fattened up real good an' they'll be ready. Yeh can pick one out if yeh like."
Ginny's eyes flew open. Harry stood next to her, holding her hand, mildly uncomfortable at the thought of choosing his dinner six months in advance.
"Harry, we can save one," Ginny said quietly. "Want a pet—"
"Sir," Harry said politely, "what else comes with the wedding package?"
Harold tucked his hand into his pocket and pulled out a grimy, bready blob. "One free sandwich. Just one!"
"I…" Harry stared blankly at the proprietor.
"Till death do yeh part," Harold said wistfully. "'S a tradition in our family tha' when a couple gets married, they share a sandwich. I made this one today an' I'll save it fer your wedding day."
"That sandwich is our," Ginny shook her head lightly, "wedding sandwich?"
"Beautiful, innit? Bacon smoked jus' this week!" Harold beckoned for Harry and Ginny to follow him into the kitchen, but the smells emanating from it were overwhelming.
"On second thought," Harry said abruptly, "I've just remembered I'm Jewish. Can't have any of this, I'm afraid."
"Jewish?" Harold asked, surprised. "Is tha' the one that likes cows?"
"Love them," Harry replied, his lips and jaw twitching as he tried to keep his expression neutral. "If I could be an Animagus, I'd be a cow."
Ginny leaned against him, shaking from laughter. They slowly extracted themselves from Priamus' Pigpen, managing not to take a piglet home, and returned to their home to prepare for the last wedding venue.
"This one's only accessible by broom," Ginny said, pulling out the last letter. "Merlin's Merry Marriages, for the couple on the go."
"Fly-through weddings," Harry read aloud. "Satisfaction guaranteed. Broomsticks not included."
Ginny shrugged and grabbed her Firebolt, a gift from Harry upon becoming a Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. Harry grabbed his, and the two went flying together towards Scotland.
They reached the Grampian Mountains, where the pamphlet directed them, until they saw the ring of blue light, indicating they were near.
"They do weddings on the spot!" Ginny called from her broom. "After today, I reckon—"
"Get married now?" Harry grinned at her, watching her flaming red hair fly behind her as they flew through the mountains. He would never know what he did to win Ginny's heart, but he felt like the luckiest man in the world, thinking he might just be married tonight.
A figure emerged near the blue flames, dressed in resplendent purple robes, reminding Harry of Dumbledore. The long, white beard nearly made his heart jump in his throat, but it couldn't be—
"Good evening and welcome to Merlin's Merry Marria—"
"Luna?!" Ginny sputtered. "Is that you?"
"Oh, hello," Luna said, pulling the fake beard down her chin. "Are you here to get married?"
"Luna, what are you doing here?" Harry asked, close enough that he could see her familiar, wide eyes and radish earrings.
"I'm here to help you get married, of course." Luna pulled the fake beard over her chin and tapped her wand on her eyebrows, making them thick and white to match the beard.
"But Luna," Ginny said, regaining her composure, "why? Why are you doing this?"
"Well, you see, people want to get married and I can marry them." Luna spoke so matter-of-factly that Harry struggled to find anything intelligent to say.
"For an extra Galleon, I shall tell you of all my sordid, illegal marriages of ages past."
Ginny dug into her pocket and gave Luna a Galleon, commenting, "We might not get married here, but will you tell us the tales?"
Luna beamed underneath the fake beard and began telling the tales of lovestruck vampires, fairy-werewolf romances, and even a troll who had fallen in love with a giant. Not a word she said was believable, Harry thought; however, Luna told the fantastical tales with a passion unlike any other.
"Are you ready to be married now?" Luna asked. "I always had you down to be married in the forest."
Harry glanced sideways at Ginny. The only forest he knew of was the Forbidden Forest, and considering his history with the place, he thought that getting married among centaurs, Acromantulas, or even the old Ford Anglia was not in his best interest.
"You know what I just thought of, Harry," Ginny said slowly. "That story about the poetic troll and fairy artist reminded me – what if we got married where your parents did?"
"Godric's Hollow, you mean?"
Ginny nodded enthusiastically. "Then the Burrow for dinner?"
Harry felt his lips curl into a smile. "I think coming here is just what we needed," he said, turning to Luna. "Thank you."
"Another happy couple," Luna said, beaming brilliantly, as she rained down a shower of sparks over Harry and Ginny. "Merlin's Merry Marriages wishes you a lifetime free of wrackspurts!"
Harry and Ginny flew back to their home in happy spirits. They'd investigate Godric's Hollow the following morning, but Harry had a good feeling about it. They'd be married in his first home, and celebrate in what he considered his second home after Hogwarts. Though they wouldn't choose their own pig – much less name it – at least Harry knew he'd have the feast of a lifetime from his future mother-in-law.
He couldn't wait.