Harry groaned as the doorbell rang. He'd just laid down on the couch to rest for a few moments while James took one of his five-minute naps he tended toward at irregular intervals. And now, yes, he was up and crying again.
Cradling the crying and squirming James against his shoulder, Harry opened the front door, and then wished he wasn't wearing lounge clothes and had combed his hair sometime in the last three days. "Sir," he said, running his free hand through his hair in an attempt to make himself appear at least slightly presentable.
"Potter," Jameson said, looking impeccable as always in his Ministry robes. A hint of a smirk shadowed across his face. "Bad time?"
"Um," Harry said, his mind racing as he bounced James in a vain effort to quiet him. "I don't think there are any really good times lately. Now's as good as any. Would you like to come in?" Thank god Neville kept up the cleaning, no matter how zombified lack of sleep made him. Harry almost considered bringing Kreacher back from Hogwarts for the summer so Neville, always a light sleeper at the best of times, could spend his spare time sleeping instead of tidying.
"Thank you. If it's not too much trouble." Jameson stepped inside and Harry led him to the living room, decorum the only thing keeping him from plunking down into a chair before his boss.
"Can I get you a coffee or anything?" he asked, trying very hard to cover the note of desperation gripping his throat. Jameson chuckled.
"Potter, you've got a one-month-old infant demanding every active brain cell you have. I assure you, you do not have to pretend to be a good host. I have four of my own, you know. I know exactly what it's like."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said gratefully, sitting down. "Ginny's at the market and Neville is sleeping, otherwise I'd hand him off..." he sighed as James hiccoughed and, having startled himself, began wailing again. "Do they ever stop crying?" he asked plaintively, feeling a bit wild around the eyes.
"Yes. And then you start dreaming that they're crying."
Harry stared. "Please tell me you're taking the mickey." In his dismay, he'd stopping the bouncing motion, and James increased his volume to let Harry know just what he thought about that.
"I'm here to bring you some unfortunate news," Jameson said, changing the subject briskly. "I'm afraid I have to take you off the Dark Objects case."
Harry stared blankly. "But, sir—I had a leave of absence—"
"Oh, it's nothing to do with that," Jameson assured him. "I was most satisfied with your progress on it. No, certain things have become clear over the last few weeks...it appears as though the entire situation was constructed to lure you into investigating it. When one of my men is targeted like that, it is my responsibility to ensure that it doesn't get anywhere. It would not only not be inappropriate to keep you assigned to the case, but also imprudent. Investigating the new evidence, it's almost as though there's a signpost that blinks 'COME HERE, POTTER' in great neon letters. To what purpose, I've no idea, and we're not going to poke that particular hornet's nest." He grimaced slightly, whether at the news he was imparting or a particularly shrill cry from James, it was difficult to tell. "I'm sorry to have to do it. As I said, I was most pleased with your progress. Willoughby is good, but he's much more...methodical. He doesn't go with his gut, like you do, and so he misses a great deal of opportunities. I imagine this case will stretch for quite a long time now."
"Why me?" Harry asked blankly.
"Why? I suppose because you're a very high-profile Auror. You did manage to kill the Dark Lord, after all...even in training helped put a dozen Death Eaters away...I imagine capturing or otherwise besting you would be a great morale-booster to those Dark witches and wizards who have remained elusive."
"And how are they luring me specifically? Couldn't it be any Auror on the case?"
"No," Jameson said flatly. "It's you. Were I not very familiar with your background, I may not have even recognized them as taunts. And because I know they are taunts, and because I am familiar with your background and how well you respond to taunts, I've determined that you are not to be told what the taunts are."
"Seriously?" Harry blurted. "I'm not a teenager anymore, I know how to handle—"
"I don't doubt your ability to handle it. The fact of the matter is, the case has become personal. I don't let any of my men work on a personal case. Understood?"
Harry sighed. "Yes, sir." At least James had finally receded into whimpers.
"Good. Much as I'd like this to become a social call, I have to return to the office. Good luck with your tadpole. I'll see you in three weeks."
"Three weeks?" Harry asked, startled. "My leave isn't up for another month and a half."
"Your wedding, Potter. You forget already?" Jameson offered a wry grin as Harry's mouth dropped. "I'd advise you to fix the date firmly in your mind. Neville's a good fellow, but I don't think he'd much appreciate being left at the altar." He stood, brushing wrinkles out of his robes. "I can let myself out. Have a good day."
The sun was, thankfully, shining. Ginny of all people had been fretting about it for a week, as though it really mattered whether it was sunny or raining when there was a marquee the size of a small village for them to be under. Harry was relieved to see that the number of chairs was definitely only in the double digits; the number was still rather larger than he or Neville had particularly wanted, but it was not the guest list two feet of parchment long that Augusta had originally put forward.
Ginny fussed with his boutonniere, which wasn't pinned perfectly straight to his lapel, until Harry was fairly certain she was going to decapitate it. "Get off, Ginny," he said finally, waving her away. "It's fine. Who has got James?"
"Mum does," Ginny said, her hands twitching as the boutonniere shifted ever so slightly back to the left again. "I expect I'll go feed him again in a few minutes, before the ceremony starts...are you nervous?"
"Nervous? Why would I be nervous?" Harry looked at her, confused. "We've wanted to do this for years. What's there to be nervous about? And what is that reporter doing here?" he asked, more sharply, as he recognized a reporter from the Daily Prophet taking a seat in one of the back rows. "I said no reporters."
"Would you rather a reporter get the story right or a can't-be-arsed 'speculative journalist' making up lies for some unscrupulous rag?" Augusta's voice asked behind him. Harry spun, mouth open, but she talked right over him, as usual. "This is a big event, the two heroes of the war finally marrying. I won't have your name or my grandson's besmirched in order to sell papers." She patted him on the shoulder, wrinkled her brow in an expression so much like Neville's that Harry almost laughed, and brought out her wand and tapped his boutonniere, which immediately straightened smartly. "I know this reporter. She has integrity. She'll do the ceremony justice and give it proper gravity."
Harry puffed out a sigh, not willing to admit that this solution probably was better than the alternative. Like it or not, he and Neville were fairly public figures, and a huge event like this—the first high-profile marriage between two wizards—was not going to go unremarked.
Ginny laid a hand on Harry's arm. "I'm going to go feed James," she said softly. "I'll be back."
"Sure," Harry said, squeezing her hand before she slipped out of the room. Augusta watched her go.
"Sweet girl," she commented, then turned her sharp gaze to Harry. "Are you still...keeping company with her?"
"What? No. I mean, she lives with us, but...no. Not like you're, um, asking." Harry felt a flush creep up his neck. What kind of question was that to ask on a bloke's wedding day?
Augusta nodded briskly. "I thought it was something like that, but I wanted to be sure." She looked Harry up and down appraisingly. "I suppose you'll do," she said, a smile belying her grudging tone. "I can't say I expected things to be this way, but I do have to say that Neville chose quite wisely." She gave his shoulder one more pat. "I'll see you up the opposite aisle, Harry. You have your vows? And the ring?" Harry nodded, patting his breast pocket. Augusta gave one more nod and left the room, presumably to go to Neville's.
A knock sounded at the door, and Ron slipped in. Harry grinned. "All right, Ron?" he asked.
"Harry," Ron responded, slapping him on the back. "Did you seriously just buy the same dress robes again in a different size?"
"What's wrong with these?" Harry asked, looking down at them. "I like them."
"Never mind." Ron lowered himself onto one of the beds. "So this is it, huh? Tying the knot for good?"
"The knot's been well and truly tied for some time now," Harry pointed out. "We're just going to go make sure that—how many chairs?—eighty-four people also know it's tied. And everyone who reads the Social section of the Prophet, I suppose."
"Social section? Nah, this'll be front page, you'll see," Ron said. Harry stared.
"Is it really that big of a deal?"
"Are you serious? Of course it's a big deal. Everyone in England's been waiting for it ever since you snogged Neville in front of the whole school in the Great Hall. Even Malfoy's sent you a wedding present—but, er, I wouldn't open it myself, were I you. Just to be prudent."
Harry walked over to the window and looked down at the lawn, where the marquee stood over the chairs that circled the round podium in the middle, broken into thirds to make three aisles. Very shortly, he was going to be walking down one of them. "Well, I'm nervous now," he said, mostly to himself.
"No need to be, mate," Ron said, clapping Harry heartily on the back. "All you have to do is read off a little card and say 'I do' at the right time. And not trip, I suppose."
Another knock sounded at the door, and Harry turned away from the window as Mrs. Weasley bustled into the room. "Harry, dear," she said, giving him a warm hug. "How are you holding up?"
"Everyone keeps acting like this is something I should be nervous about," Harry said, somewhat bewildered. "Or that I should be dreading."
"Not dreading, of course not dreading, but...yes, a bit of nerves would be normal," Mrs. Weasley assured him.
"Well, I'm fine," Harry insisted, although now a tiny tendril of nerves seemed to curl up in the pit of his belly and twitch.
"Well, that's good," Mrs. Weasley said, pulling a comb from seemingly nowhere and attacking his head. Smiling slightly, he let her attempt to make his hair lie flat, a battle she'd been waging for years.
"By the way," he said, wincing as she dragged the comb across the tip of his ear, "Thank you. For letting us use your home."
"Of course," Mrs. Weasley answered distractedly. "Not much room at Grimmauld Place, and the Longbottom Estate is mostly woods, after all, no room for a ceremony. Oh, Merlin's beard, I thought your hair might outgrow this stubbornness."
"No chance of that," he said with a grin. "I haven't, after all."
"Well, there is that," Mrs. Weasley said fondly. She patted him on the cheek. "It's just about time, dear. Are you ready?"
Harry looked out the window again, at the gathering guests, the musicians tuning their instruments. "Yeah. I'm ready."
Ginny squeezed his arm as she took it, her hand shaking slightly. Harry offered a half smile.
"I think you're more nervous than I am," he said.
"You're not wrong," Ginny said. She glanced over at Ron as he took his place at Harry's other side, flanking him. Ron offered a single nod.
"The music's started," he said, jerking his head toward the flap of the marquee they were to enter through. "You know the cue?"
Harry nodded, a flame of anticipation licking at his chest. Ron linked arms with him, and there—right there, the cello—
Ginny and Ron reached out, opened the flaps, and Harry stepped through with them.
At precisely the same moment, Neville, his grandmother and Hermione on either arm, entered on the other side of the tent across from him. He caught Harry's eye and a shy grin, a grin like when they had first begun getting used to each other, spread across his face. Harry felt an answering grin take over his own lips as well, felt almost as bashful as after that first kiss they'd shared so long ago.
They stepped up to the podium, dropping arms with their attendants, who stood back along the aisles they had just come down. Harry gazed slightly up into Neville's eyes, a slight flush coming to his cheeks as Neville licked his lips and glanced to McGonagall, who had cast off her normal ugly tartan robes in favor of deep, unrelieved black velvet. The music reached a crescendo and faded away, leaving the tent in silence.
"Today is a continuation, a new chapter in the lives of Harry and Neville," McGonagall began. "And yet, it is also a beginning, because life is full of new beginnings.
"I watched, from afar, at the very first beginnings of Harry and Neville's relationship. They were, at the very start, friends—inseparable, and, rather more often than I would care to admit, in trouble." Harry and Neville both smirked as a chuckle rippled through the guests. "Those who knew them best were not surprised when, at last, they found one another, though some were surprised it took as long as it did. Many of those people are gathered around today, to witness something else that should also not come as a surprise, as Harry and Neville share vows that will Bond them together in marriage.
"I could continue, with the standard speech about what marriage means, but I trust that you two have had enough of my lectures by this point, am I correct?" She exchanged a wry glance with both of them as they grinned in response. "At any rate, I know that you both have already prepared words of your own as to what this marriage means, and those words are far more powerful than anything I could recite from a book. Neville, we shall begin with you."
Neville licked his lips as he pulled a bit of parchment from his pocket and unfolded it. First, he turned slightly, addressing the crowd gathered around them on all sides. "Understand, first, that I'm a Herbologist," he said, with a sheepish grin. "I have to be very careful when I present my data. You could say this is a sort of a peer review of my work up to this point, and so I need to be rather exact." Harry could see Professor Sprout chuckling and shaking her head before Neville turned back to him, and everyone else seemed to vanish as Neville looked deeply into his eyes before looking down at the parchment. "Harry," he read, glancing up often as he scanned the words. "Thirteen years, eleven months, and five days ago, I laid eyes on you for the first time. I had no idea that at some point in the next seven years—the data is unclear—I'd fall madly, desperately in love with the boy in front of me on the train.
"Seven years, three months, and three days ago, we finally made that love known—to one another, and to ourselves. And to some surprised onlookers who, according to McGonagall, weren't that surprised at all. I dunno, I think Ron was, don't you?" Harry laughed, twisting around to look at Ron, who waved once in embarrassment.
"Nine months and twenty-two days ago, I learned that love doesn't always feel good. I learned that sometimes, it hurts, and sometimes, you can do the wrong thing because it hurts. But over the next three months and twelve days, I learned that just because love hurts doesn't mean it's wrong, and just because it feels like there's nowhere left to go doesn't mean the love's gone. And so, I made some adjustments to my previous theory and, six months and nine days ago, you and I once again became one, and the world was right again.
"Exactly ninety-two days ago, an opportunity arose, an opportunity that had previously been unattainable. On that day, I asked you if you would share the rest of your life with me, to be my husband, to let me give you every tomorrow that I have to give.
"I apologize now, because I have insufficient data to extrapolate the precise number of tomorrows that we will spend together. But, if the inexactness doesn't bother you...I hope that 'forever' will be sufficient."
Harry swallowed; there was a lump in his throat that threatened to turn to tears the moment he tried to say anything. "How come he got to go first?" he asked. "Now I'm a mess." The friends and family around them laughed as he knuckled away a tear before it could fall and took a few deep breaths to compose himself before taking his own folded bit of parchment from his pocket. He cleared his throat, suddenly quite nervous. "In the past, you've accused me of being overly dramatic. I'll admit that I do have that tendency. But if there is a time and place for drama, it's wedding vows, and I'm going to play it up for all it's worth.
"Neville, you've been in my life for fourteen years. For all of that, I've had the utmost privilege and honor of calling you my best friend. But I do know the exact moment I fell in love with you, even if I didn't admit it to myself until much later.
"We were in a long-unused bedroom, the one that's now ours at Twelve Grimmauld Place. I'd just spent entirely too long yelling at you, and you—well, you'd punched me in the face to shut me up." Neville bit back his smile as everyone laughed. "And then you reached out and pulled me off the floor, and you hugged me. And it was right then—in your arms, face developing a lovely bruise—that I truly fell in love with you.
"And then we took so long. I'd say you have no idea what it was like, looking at you and feeling that odd little twinge in my chest, denying what it was. Having to catch my breath every time I caught your eye. And every day, trying to tell myself it was something else. Well, I would say you have no idea, but I know that you, of all people, understand exactly what it was like. You understand me like nobody else can. And you know exactly what it was like when you realized what it really was. I don't know when it happened for you, but for me..." Harry paused, reached into his pocket, and pulled out another folded piece of parchment. He waggled his eyebrows. "I told you I was going to play it up," he said. This time Neville openly laughed. God, that smile. He'd do anything for that smile.
"I'd been without you for months. I didn't know if you were still alive. I was exhausted, and lonely, and terrified, and there was a night ahead of me that I wasn't sure I was going to survive. And then...you. You stepped out from behind that portrait, and everything just snapped into place. And suddenly, I had even more reason to live through the night than I did before. We both did huge things that night, things that changed us forever—but in the end, the greatest victory was to finally have you hold me and be able to live together on something other than borrowed time.
"The past seven years have been more special to me than I could put down on paper, and I tried for a very long time. But words just aren't enough, and really...that's okay. Because you're the only one who can look inside my heart and see exactly what you mean to me. Anyone else can only guess, and they'll probably come close, but you...I can never tell you how much you mean to me, and I don't have to. You know. You know that everything I am is yours, that you're my heart and soul and everything to me."
He swallowed, took another deep breath to steady himself. He could hear someone sniffling behind him—Ginny, probably. "We're standing here together, about to commit our lives to each other, but I've been standing with you for fourteen years, and I promise, here and now, that I will stand with you forever."
Silence rang through the tent, broken by quiet sniffles on all sides. Neville and Harry shared a long look that spoke volumes more than what they had just said, and Harry felt warmth suffuse his entire body.
"Better and more poignantly said than anything I could have possibly come up with," McGonagall said finally, and even her voice was somewhat shaky. The silence changed from celebratory to attentive once more. "There is much symbolism that surrounds marriage, but perhaps the most immediately recognizable is the exchange of wedding rings. Neville and Harry have both told me that the rings they are using hold an even deeper meaning than usual; the bands they are about to exchange as a symbol of their love once belonged to their fathers, neither of whom could be here today." Harry looked up in surprise at Neville; he hadn't told Harry that he was going to be using his father's ring, too. A little half-smile said, quite plainly, that Neville had intended it to be a surprise. "Neville, if you would place your ring on Harry's left hand." Neville reached out to take Harry's hand; both of them were trembling slightly, not from nerves, but from holding back the flood of emotion that threatened to drown them both. He slid the gold band onto Harry's ring finger, pushing slightly to get it over the knuckle. Harry almost sighed with relief as the band slid into place; he'd not been wearing the engagement ring all morning and his hand had felt oddly naked. "And Harry, if you would place your ring on Neville's left hand." Harry fumbled a bit as he drew the ring from his pocket, placed it carefully on Neville's finger. It was slightly large; oh well. That could be fixed later.
McGonagall smiled and drew her wand. "And now, please join your left hands, the hands closest to your hearts, for the Bonding."
Neville grasped Harry's left hand tightly, twitching up the sleeve of his dress robe as Harry did the same. Both took a deep breath simultaneously and looked at each other expectantly, completely unable to wipe the smiles from their faces.
A miniscule globe of golden light wafted around their clasped hands like a tiny hummingbird as McGonagall gestured over their hands with the tip of her wand. "Harry and Neville, will you take vows here before all of us which will manifest the symbolic vows you have already made and will continue to make to each other throughout your lives?"
"We will," they said together.
"Do you, Neville, take Harry as your friend, love, and husband, beside him and apart from him, in laughter and in tears, in conflict and tranquility, asking that he be no other than himself, loving what you know of him, trusting what you do not yet know, in all the ways that life may find you?"
Neville licked his lips. "I do," he said seriously. A tiny chime emitted from the golden light and a wispy thread of finest shining gold wrapped around their hands. It felt like the warmth of an embrace, and Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.
"And do you, Harry, take Neville as your friend, love, and husband, beside him and apart from him, in laughter and in tears, in conflict and tranquility, asking that he be no other than himself, loving what you know of him, trusting what you do not yet know, in all the ways that life may find you?"
"I do," Harry said, a great feeling of elation bursting in his chest, and again the light chimed, another wisp of golden silk wrapping about their hands warmly. The globe of light paused above their hands, pulsing slightly in time with Harry's heart—and Neville's, he realized, feeling it through the grip, beating in time with his own.
"All gathered," McGonagall said, raising her eyes to address the friends and family surrounding them. "Do you bear witness to this Bonding, as vows of marriage are made manifest, to become inseparable from blood and bone and life and love?"
"We do," the people around them murmured. The golden light pulsed very brightly and held, a tiny sun that then raced along the twined threads around their clasped hands, consuming them faster than the eye could follow, leaving a glowing afterimage in Harry's vision before flying to the roof of the tent and exploding into thousands of dancing golden sparks.
"May this couple, just Bonded in matrimony, draw strength from their agreement. Understanding, even in moments of despair, the virtues found in each other. Solace under fire, encouragement when life becomes a trial, sharing one another's joy and pain. Welcoming life's mysteries through the optimism found in their love. Growing wise instead of old, accepting the unwanted stranger that no one knows. Sharing today's inspiration, beyond the present, may this union only add to the goodness and joy of life." McGonagall smiled warmly. "I pronounce this Bonding complete. All gathered, please rise and join me in celebrating Harry and Neville's first kiss under their Bond of Matrimony."
The crowd leapt to their feet, some applauding, others shooting sparks into the air jubilantly, all cheering as Neville drew Harry to him and Harry reached up to pull Neville's head down, bringing their lips together in the most triumphant kiss they'd ever shared.
And it was...different. Harry couldn't put his finger on it, but he was somehow more aware of Neville, more invested in the kiss and in the embrace than he'd ever been before, more sensitive to Neville's myriad reactions to his touch. It was as though a thin curtain he'd never known was between them had suddenly been raised. As they separated, Harry looked into Neville's eyes, saw that he mirrored Harry's own slight bemusement; it wasn't just him.
"That'll be a temporary aftereffect of the Bonding," McGonagall said in a low voice. She winked. "There's a reason we celebrate that first kiss." She put a hand on each of their shoulders, beaming at them. "Now, are you ready to take your first steps as married men?"
They both nodded, grins spreading unchecked across their faces as Neville took Harry's hand and they stepped down off the podium, walking slowly down the exit aisle to the music they barely heard, thankfully not stumbling as they gazed at each other in something close to exalted disbelief the whole way down the aisle and out of the tent. They'd done it, and nothing could ever come between them again.