It's almost four o'clock and very soon a new dawn will break over the small, isolated Caribbean island. Our simple bungalow, the only building in a radius of fifty miles across sea and land, is silent and, thanks to quite a few masterfully applied charms, pleasantly cool, although outside, even at this late – or should I say early? - hour the temperature must be well into the high eighties. A few Muggle solar lamps, aluminium-coloured rods two feet high pricked into the fine, white sand around the bungalow, glow with a faint yellowish light.
The shadow of dozens of palm trees - dark, sharp, eerie contours - can be clearly distinguished from the blackness of the endless skies; black velvet embroidered with myriads of distant stars pouring their light upon us.
I can hear your deep, even breathing in the huge, soft bed beside me and feel your protective arm carelessly draped over my stomach. My skin tingles under your touch. Although it's almost four o'clock, I still can't fall asleep. Thoughts and memories are racing through my head as I mentally replay all events of these completely mad, utterly crazy, painfully wonderful past twenty-four hours.
There are so many things that happened this past day, things that changed the lives for many of us, forever; I don't remember half of them, I just swim with the current.
Six bridesmaids, Fleur, myself, two of France's best dressmakers, half a dozen hairdressers, stylists... Fleur insisted on having the best of the best on my wedding day. I can't remember how they finally managed to squeeze my ass into that dress; I could hardly breathe until my ribcage got adjusted to the strapless top embroidered with thousands of pearls. I didn't even dare to look at my mirror self first, but when I finally did, I got awestruck. I didn't even recognize myself in that sparkling dress that made my boobs seem one size bigger and my waist at least one size smaller, with that intricate hairdo, and I had to pinch myself in order to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Only the sharp pain caused by my fingernails tearing into my own skin made me realize that I must have been wide awake and all this was really happening to me.
I took a deep breath and cast a second look at myself in the mirror and I liked what I saw. I did hope you would like it as well, although Michèle reassured me that you could but hardly wait to peel the dress off me because you still liked more what was underneath. Boy was she right.
Fleur walked me to the door of the small chapel, then kissed me on my cheeks wishing good luck and left to pick you up. The door opened and my Dad stood there, proud and beaming, offering his arm to walk me to the altar. I wanted to smile, laugh, cry, all at the same time, as we walked down the aisle, feeling hundreds of eyes drilling holes in my back; for a split second it seemed as if I were the centre of the Universe. This feeling had passed, however, pretty soon, only to be replaced by the wish to be the centre of your Universe, for all eternity.
Mum was beaming at me, sitting on the front bench, although her still moist eyes and her battered handkerchief were a tell-tale sign of her emotions having recently taken control of her. Beside her an empty spot – Dad's place, temporarily vacant – and two huge portraits, those of Lily and James Potter, my soon-to-be in-laws, happily waving at me as I was passing them by.
You were late when the door of the chapel opened again and you entered, followed by Fleur a few steps behind, with a slight flush on your cheeks. Not late enough so that I would want to hex you for being late even on the day of your wedding; I knew punctuality was not one of your strongest sides and I saw you were just as excited and overwhelmed with all that was bound to happen pretty soon as I was.
I saw Bill following Fleur's every step until she occupied her place, that of the maid of honour and I saw that swift glance and brisk smile she sent him. All the love of ten years was poured into that simple gesture and Bill answered her with the same smile. Did you realize, my dear Harry, did you see it in my eyes how much I loved you when our eyes and hands found each other and we made a tentative step forward, towards the altar?
I don't recall much of the long ceremony either. I was, of course, bloody nervous, most probably more nervous than during my N.E.W.T.-s and my heart was thumping in my chest. When the priest asked in his heavy Aberdonian brogue whether I wanted to take you as my wedded husband, at first I didn't catch a single word of his question. I didn't have to think twice in order to answer with a firm "yes", though; I couldn't answer anything else to that stupid question, could I?
When I uttered that single word, I was fully aware of what I had just committed to. To love and to protect, in good and bad, blah, blah, blah... Wait a second, hadn't I been doing that all these years? Hadn't you been doing that? Hadn't we loved each other ever since I fixed your broken spectacles on the Hogwarts Express? Of course we had, but we were too thick to realize, too blind to see what all this time had been obvious, too busy complying to the expectations that had been laid upon us. What could that simple word possibly change then?
Was I afraid to make that commitment? Of course not, I knew I loved you with all my heart and nothing could possibly change that. I knew I would always want to be by your side no matter what new adventures might come across your path. Was I afraid to expect from you to make that commitment? Yes, because I knew I didn't have the right to expect anything from you, and no, because I knew you loved me well enough to make that commitment on your own. I felt your love every single moment I was spending with you and I knew I would be making damn sure you would feel the same, until the End of Days.
My train of thoughts was interrupted by your excited "Hell yeah!", a very Potterish answer on the priest's question, that elicited roaring laughter from the public. Then there was a kiss, a kiss neither of us would ever forget, our first kiss as a wedded couple. The loud cheering and wolf whistling that followed never made it to my ears; I slowly melted in your arms wishing this kiss would never end. It had to, however; a muffled, polite cough of the priest broke the magic of the moment, a patient reminder that we, unfortunately, weren't alone.
Mum and Dad, both proud and all teary-eyed, hugged me tight to themselves, only now finally making peace with the inevitable; that I was grown up, independent, and as of today would be having a family of my own. I was trying to convince them – and myself – that nothing would change, but I knew I was lying to them – and to myself. Of course, nothing on Earth and in Heavens could diminish my love to my parents, but I knew deep inside that my simple "yes" had changed just about everything else and, even if I had been quite independent ever since I'd gone to Hogwarts, these changes scared the Hell out of me.
Fleur and Ron, the maid of honour and the best man and the two of us and the light bulbs of photo cameras – Wizarding and Muggle alike – flashing like the sky in a summer thunderstorm. Luna, very beautiful and very much pregnant and a beaming and proud Rolf. Handshakes, kisses, hugs, congratulations from families close, extended and adopted, friends, the whole of the Hogwarts staff. Kingsley, half of the Ministry, the DMLE, my St. Mungo's staff. Our cheeks covered with multiple layers of lipstick on all colours of the rainbow, our right hands trembling from those numerous handshakes and my boobs bruised by all those hearty hugs.
I was drunk with joy and love, but suddenly sobered up when Ginny hesitatingly stepped up to you. Your hand instinctively found mine and I felt you were wound up like a spring, waiting for something to happen. Ginny, however, just planted a strawberry on your lips, and then drew away, the fingers of her right hand lingering on your cheek for a moment as if trying to memorize the touch of your skin. Then she, half-heartedly, pulled me into a one-armed hug, carefully avoiding my eyes, then, sharply turning around, fled the church.
When there remained nobody else to be kissed or hugged by, Fleur gave me the signal and I sent my bouquet flying through the air. It, somehow, stayed longer in the air than the laws of elementary physics would have suggested; it made a few curious curves on its trajectory – I saw more than one wand pointed at it and trying to control good fortune. Finally, it made a sharp U-turn, only to land in Gabrielle's hands and from the corner of my eye I caught Fleur's almost imperceptible wink that washed away the last of my suspicions as to the source of this good fortune.
With the end of the wedding ceremony the handful representatives of the Wizarding press took their leave, being given understood that the reception was a family-and-friends-only event. Of course, this didn't apply for Mr. Lovegood, being a close friend, and the grandfather of my godchildren due any day now. His Quick-note Quill, for a change scribbling its almost undistinguishable lines not of non-existing six-legged and winged giant snails and the like, but of latest tendencies on magical push-up bras and the alarming tendencies of Muggle clothing elements appearing in Wizarding apparel, floated around him in mid-air. A few guests had also left, escorted by house elves to the heavily warded Apparition point specially set up for this single occasion.
And then, there was the dinner – exquisite food and 50-year old wines – and the dance all night long and by the time the clock struck midnight I had already kicked off my shoes and swirled around the ballroom barefooted, slightly drunk of joy and alcohol and with a huge grin on my face. Of all guests I was most delighted about seeing George again, after many years; he waltzed me around with flare, while Angelina – due, just like Luna, any minute now – waved happily to us while sitting on her chair, her hand draped over her huge belly. He was his old self again, although his hair was greying prematurely, never having gotten over the loss of his twin brother completely. He joked, he flirted, he bowed a la d'Artagnan after the waltz – God, how happy I was to get my old friend back!
The band switched over to a slow dance and you were making your way towards me, closing me in your arms. I felt home, I felt wanted, loved and cherished as we slowly circled around, totally out-of-rhythm with the music, and you kissed me again - the way only you are capable of kissing, the way that always sets me on fire - before you reached in the pocket of your tuxedo for the Portkey that stole us away from the middle of the crowd.
***
Michèle was damned right about that dress. You could hardly wait to peel it off me and I could but hardly wait to get rid of that freaking corset. I was trembling with desire to be yours, but you took your time, kissing it off me with tantalizing, agonizing slowness. And then, it was pure bliss, with bells and fanfares as Lady Chatterley would say, when you finally claimed me as your lawful and wedded wife. I was floating in the skies screaming out your name as the fire of your body and your love slowly consumed me with its roaring flames.
And then – emptiness. No strength to lift a finger, no strength to move, our breathing slowly returning to normal. Not a word uttered – our touches, gentle caresses spoke more than thousands of them. The only noise in the bungalow was that of the sudden breeze gently brushing the palm trees on the beach. I snuggled into your embrace and laid my head on your chest, listening to your even breathing as you slowly drifted off into the realm of dreams.
Sleep tight, my husband, my lover, my friend, my big child, my rock, the other half of me.
Sleep tight, my dear Harry.
And I will sleep now as well, knowing that when I wake up, your protective arm will still be draped around me and I will feel safe, content and at home in your embrace. But before I fall asleep, I will have to make one slight adjustment. I will have to award this night, with the greatest pleasure, the first "factor five" ever.