Superman

"Harry?"

"Mm," you sigh sleepily as you spoon me in our marital bed. A couple minutes earlier we had done 'it' for the very first time, and if we are lucky, there will hopefully be a mini-Potter growing inside of me.

"I love you," I say, meaning those three little words with all of my heart.

You wrap your arms around my waist and from the tender and gentle homage your thumbs are playing to my tummy, I know you are also hoping for a mini-Potter in nine months time. "As I love you," you respond.

We snuggle closer together and the scent of you, of us, is all around me making it hard for me to focus and think. It must be affecting you too because it is not long before I am cheekily remarking: "Is that a wand in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?"

"I'm not wearing any pockets, Gin," you wink.

I blush at your lewd comment like the used-to-be-virgin that I am but the de-viriginized me boldly reaches out and touches your bare skin to check the truthfulness of your words. "Oh," I say. "You're right."

"Like always." You slip down into a more comfortable position, and I quickly join you.

I would reply to your cocky statement but my mum taught me it's not polite to talk when my mouth is full.

.

.

For our honeymoon, we're vacationing down in the Mediterranean with most of the focus of the trip on the islands of Greece and Italy. There's so much sun and sand and fresh, salty air that always has a breeze. June here is like a whole new world from June in Britain. Wildflowers aren't blooming on the beaches of Greece; instead, sea glass glitters along the pristine white shores. And I swear I have never seen such a beautiful, clear blue! Blue is all over the place: on clothes, sparkling in the ocean, reflected in the sky . . . everywhere.

Our trip to America when I graduated Hogwarts made me fall in love with beaches and sun and summer when we travelled to Malibu. My love for everything beach-y has been reawakened during this trip to the beaches along the Mediterranean Sea.

"I want to live here for forever and ever," I say wistfully as we watch the glowing pink blush of the sun fade away into shimmering stardusted and moon-kissed inky darkness on our fourth night here.

You come and stand behind me on the patio of the beach cottage we're renting for the few days that we are in Greece. "I know, darling. But you'd miss your family and Britain. And our children wouldn't be able to go to Hogwarts."

I sigh. "Damn."

You hum your opinion into the side of my neck before kissing me gently. "Maybe a vacation home, Gin. It's only a nights' broom ride away from London."

I turn to you happily, eyes wide with hopefulness. "Really? You'd buy us a little beach cottage here?"

"For you, love, I'd buy you the world if it would make you as happy as you are now."

.

.

Our honeymoon is cut abruptly short when an owl comes in the middle of the night bearing news of our new niece, Charlotte Aubrielle Weasley, Percy's and Audrey's daughter. We leave immediately by Floo Network to go see her and offer our congratulations to my brother and his wife. For a fleeting moment, I see a look of disappointment cloud your features as we hastily pack up the cottage and use our wands to shrink all of our belongings to fit into our pockets. I, however, don't mind having a shorter honeymoon than we originally planned – the way I see it, the rest of my life is going to be a honeymoon with you.

.

.

"Oh, Harry, look at her!" I squeal excitedly as we wave at our niece who is tucked carefully in her mummy's arms. Charlotte blinks clear, big grey eyes at us, obviously wondering who we are.

Audrey smiles wearily from her resting position on the bed in the maternity ward at St Mungo's. "She may look an angel but she's the devil whenever she messes in her knappy."

I laugh and teasingly roll my eyes at Percy's wife. "No, I think you're the sweetest and bestest girl in the world, aren't you?" I coo at Charlotte. "You don't trouble your mummy at all, do you?"

Charlotte gurgles happily at me and then promptly spits up half of her morning milk.

"See?" Audrey sighs but lovingly cleans up after her firstborn. "A devil, I tell you." There is absolutely no sting in her words when she says this.

I look at you and smile winningly. "Now I want my own baby," I say.

You laugh and tug me closer to your side. "You've always wanted a baby," you grin. "And darling, I'm trying my hardest."

Percy immediately yelps. "Aah! I don't want to hear about your sex life! And neither does my daughter, you horny people!"

"Aw, Perce, lighten up," I chuckle. "Don't get your knickers in a knot. And look – Charlotte' s asleep. She could care less about mine and Harry's perfectly wonderful shagging life."

Percy scowls. "Shut up, Ginny."

"Oh, don't be such a prude," I tease which only encourages my brother's face to turn the colour of a ripe tomato.

"Gin," you say and squeeze my hand gently, nonverbally telling me to stop giving my brother a hard time. I pout and shrug. Whatever. No matter how much Percy's changed since his Ministry days, he is still and uptight git about some things.

"Can I hold her?" I ask Audrey.

Audrey nods slowly, her eyes carefully watching me as she passes her freshly-cleaned-of-spit-up daughter over to me. Despite being only a few days old – Percy had sent Errol, that old stupid owl of Ron's, and the idiot birdbrain got lost on his way to Greece delaying the message of Charlotte's birth by a couple of days – Charlotte is heavier than I expected her to be.

"Gin, move your hand under her head; she doesn't have the proper muscles yet to support herself yet," Percy instructs me.

I do as he says and tuck Charlotte securely against my chest. "Oh," I say softly. She cuddles up to me in her sleep. I wish I could know what her new little mind is dreaming. I close my own eyes and rock us gently. I can easily imagine a not-so-distant future of me holding my own child against my breast like so. Looking up at you, I see you've got this tiny smile on your face like you also cannot wait until the day we can hold our own child.

"She's enchanting," I tell Percy and Audrey, eliciting proud smiles from them.

We spend an hour or so in the maternity ward of St Mungo's talking to Percy and Audrey and watching Charlotte. You even hold Charlotte for a bit, and damn, that image of you cradling a baby is so much sexier than watching you shirtless and surfing in Malibu. As we leave, I glimpse the room housing the little premie babies in their tiny incubator cribs. Babies, so many cute and adorable babies with lovely button noses and a world of possibilities waiting for them.

I want my own baby so badly.

.

.

I return to Quidditch practise the following Monday that we come back to Britain from our honeymoon. The team ooh's and aah's over the ring you gave me more than a regular workmate would – which is quite understandable since you kept up with the Quidditch theme you had going on. My engagement ring sits in all its ruby glory on my right hand's ring finger. It is a goblin-and-custom-made golden ring with a ruby the shape of a miniature sized Quaffle signifying the whole 'You are the Chaser who is the Keeper of my heart' idea which you got engraved on the stone/Quaffle ball. My wedding ring on my left hand is even more impressive, though – at an astounding twenty-five karats, the gold ring is crowned by an actual golden Snitch that has been shrunk down to fit atop the ring. And due to the Snitch's flesh memory, the ring only fits on my finger since I am the first person to touch skin to the golden ball. The delicate tiny wings flutter every now and then, tickling my pinkie and middle fingers, and the Snitch is engraved with the words 'You have the portkey to my heart' in flowing, elegant script.

Days later, I find your whole idea of Quidditch-themed rings has been copied by the general Wizarding public who all wants wedding rings just like the celebrities Ginny and Harry Potter. The whole idea of being famous has yet to sink into my mind, and this breach of my privacy has opened my eyes to how reporters like Rita Skeeter will stop at nothing to exploit our 'war hero' lives now.

Whatever, though. I know we'll be able to get through it because we're Ginny and Harry Potter and nothing can stop us when we are together – not even Lord Voldemort. Literally.

.

.

"Hey, Superman, Mum invited us over for Sunday brunch. You up for that tomorrow morning?" I ask you as we're getting ready for bed one Saturday night.

You hold up one finger, signalling me to wait, and finish brushing your teeth. You spit out your toothpaste and run the tap water. After you wipe your face, you nod. "Yeah, sure. It's just a Sunday brunch, though, right? No birthdays or engagements or anniversaries or whatever?"

I shrug from where I am in our closet, changing into my pyjamas. "I have no bloody idea. It could be anything or nothing." I step out of the closet to see you grinning at me. "What?"

"Superman?" you ask with a shit-eating grin. "That's what you've been calling me all this time?"

Self-consciously, I nod. "Yeah, so?" Your reaction to finding out your nickname is making me feel embarrassed.

"May I ask why?"

My eyes widen, horrified. "Abso-bloody-lutely not!"

"Is that a challenge?" you ask me, your eyes darkening in anticipation.

I shake my head furiously and flee to our bed, knowing that now you'll never give up from the chase of finding out the meaning behind your nickname. As predicted, you come running after me with a predatory grin and pounce-tackle me onto our bed. Your fingers tickle me mercilessly, and soon I am begging breathlessly for mercy.

"Alright, alright!" I cry out, gasping for air. "You're Superman because you are my superhero. And because you always seem to be saving me from some danger or another. And maybe because you have an alter-ego like Clark Kent – with me you are goofy and adorkable Harry while in public you're the confident war hero – in this case, superhero – who saved the Wizarding world and is the Boy Who Lived. And you look like that Muggle cartoon character. And because you have this hero complex. And because you're Harry and I love you," I rush out to stop you from tickling me anymore.

"Yeah?" you blink down at me, your fingers still, and your face smiling tenderly.

"Yeah," I say and kiss you before turning out the lights and wrapping myself in the blankets as I prepare to go to sleep.

"I already knew that," you admit casually some few minutes later.

"WHAT?!" I screech and bolt upright to flip on the lamp switch. "How?"

You smirk at me, eyes closed nonchalantly. "You had 'Superman' engraved on my wedding ring. I deduced the rest."