As always, I own nothing of the Harry Potter fanfiction except the plot of the story.

So so sorry, my dear readers, for this immense delay. I'd been suffering from a bunch of different sicknesses, and there was barely any time or energy to even breathe.

Yes, I'm still alive and this fic's still very much alive, but updates will be slow - life's difficult, my friends.

Thank you for your patience (if you're still there). Let's continue, shall we?

Scene 5.1

The small, lonely chapel stood quietly in the outskirts of the big and busy London, its stone walls weathered by time but still standing strong. Within, a soft, soothing light filtered through the glass windows, stained with every hue known to humankind, casting a warm glow on the wooden pews, smiling down on the young couple. The air smelled faintly of old books and candle wax, he sniffled.

An anxious Harry Potter stood at the altar, horribly fidgeting with the cuffs of his dark suit. His messy black hair had never wanted to stay flat, and today was no different, even if it was supposed to be the most special day of his life. This wasn't how Harry had dreamt of getting married in his wildest dreams. Not that he didn't dream of this day, though. Every time, it was just a plain, faceless woman standing beside him, holding onto his hand for dear life. Just that now, he knew who the face belonged to: Daphne Greengrass.

Next to him stood the one and only Dudley Dursley shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Old habits die hard: Dudley was still the chubby, pig-shaped boy Harry remembered, just a tad bit taller and a lot more pleasant to talk to.

It had been hard contacting him again: Harry had to scan through what felt like novels of names, telephone numbers and addresses before he'd come across the Big-D name. It hadn't taken much time to confirm it was his cousin: the huge, swollen face that greeted him moments after he'd rung the big fat doorbell was all the evidence he'd needed. Dudley had been pleasantly surprised, and even happier when Harry had told him the crux of it all: he was marrying and needed a Best Man. He hadn't told him the whole thing, though. Any man in their remotest senses wouldn't have.

The creaking of the chapel door made Harry's head snap up from his daydreaming. Daphne Greengrass entered, wearing a simple white dress, laden with a few flowers here and there, all of very plain colours - red, pink and yellow. Her hair was loosely braided, with a few strands framing her face. Harry could just make out her swollen belly, their child, through that dress. It was well-hid, though, and nobody could be expected to notice it on their own.

She looked incredibly shy, her head swung downwards at her feet as she walked, but she eventually surprised him by looking up and giving him a warm smile, her glittering white teeth putting on a fancy show. She looked kind of cute doing that.

She walked slowly down the aisle, accompanied by Emily, Dudley's wife and impromptu maid of honor. A particularly jovial and energetic woman, she had a perpetual smile etched across her face, Emily was someone Harry had found it easy talking to. It was strange: how the hell had someone like Dudley got such a good catch?

Harry's breath caught in his throat. To hell with the circumstances that brought them here, Daphne looked beautiful. With those tiny, blue eyes, that sharply pointed, small nose and that meticulously bundle of hair, Harry found himself literally drowning in her looks. Their eyes finally met, and Harry found a small, nervous smile playing on his lips - maybe feeling a tad bit more eager to get married to this woman.

As Daphne reached the altar, the priest - a kindly old wizard who'd agreed to perform the ceremony discreetly after great persuasion and substantial 'additional payment' - began the service. "We are gathered here today to witness the union of Harry Potter and Daphne Greengrass..."

The words washed over like the least entertaining music piece as Harry instead turned to his would-be wife, staring at her shamelessly. It was true: this wasn't how he'd imagined getting married, but as he looked at her, fidgeting with her fingers and shooting him shy looks out of the corner of her eye, he felt a surge of protectiveness, fierce protectiveness and... something else - something intense he couldn't quite name, just feel. What was that? God knew…

"Do you, Harry James Potter, take Daphne Greengrass to be your lawfully wedded wife?"

Harry swallowed hard. "I do," he said, his voice a tad bit more hastily than what he'd expected. No harm in being a little happy while getting married, right?

"And do you, Daphne Greengrass, take Harry James Potter to be your lawfully wedded husband?"

Daphne's blue eyes looked down at her feet the moment those words were uttered. Harry caught his breath in his throat: he knew he was being stupid, but not like he could help it.

"I do," she said softly after a seemingly gigantic pause, and that was when Harry finally took a deep breath or relief. He was a married man now.

Then, he and his wife proceeded to exchange a pair of simple gold band. Harry's hand was noticeably trembling as he slid them down her hand, his fingers brushing against Daphne's.

"You may now kiss the bride," the priest eventually announced with a gentle smile, looking up, apparently wanting to get a full view of what was about to unfold. Of course, who doesn't like to see two people kiss? Even if they're priests.

Harry looked at Daphne staring right into his eyes, her lips quivering. Well, it certainly wasn't their first kiss, Harry chided himself before leaning in. Their lips met and had just enough time to swap spit before Harry, alarmed for no apparent reason, pulled back.

Yes, it'd brief, Harry thought as he smacked his lips, but hopefully not the last one they'd be having.

A polite cough from Dudley broke the long session of Harry and Daphne looking at each other with an expression somewhere between fondness and uncertainty.

"Congrats, mate," the fat, swollen cousin said, thumping Harry on the back ceremoniously.

Emily didn't waste too much waiting though. Within seconds, she'd run forward to Daphne to give her a powerful hug. Harry flinched at that, and exchanged a look with Daphne; they couldn't let anyone know about the baby at any cost, not even if they were Muggles.

Four pair of feet were seen walking out of the church when Dudley quickly struck up a conversation. "So, uh, how's work at the Ministry, Harry? Still chasing evil wizards?"

Harry nodded, grateful for the attempt at some much-needed normalcy. "Yeah, though it's been quieter lately, without Voldemort and the others. How about you? Still at your dad's company?"

"Nah, started my own business. IT consulting," Dudley said, his chest swelling in pride before eliciting a gentle chuckle. "Who would've thought, eh? Me working with computers all day. Sounds revolting!"

Harry dutifully laughed at that. It wasn't like Dudley was funny, but from what he'd seen so far about this grown-up Dudley, he seemed to be a nice man. Add to it the fact he'd agreed to be his Best Man, even after he'd put no effort to keep in touch, and you get an utterly grateful Harry.

He still missed Ron, though. Kind of his missing piece. He felt incomplete without him.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry noticed Emily and Daphne chatting. Harry caught Daphne glancing at him a few times, her expression a mix of uncertainty and something that might have been hope. He couldn't be sure, though.

The two women were a pure shades of contrast, so much so that Harry was almost scared Emily's liveliness was too much for his quiet, shy Daphne to bear. For the moment, Daphne seemed to do just fine, but he ought keep a close look to ensure she was doing okay.

As it turned out, Dudley had already told Emily about his cousin's "strangeness" and the Magical World that existed beyond the Muggle one. From the few conversations he'd had with her, Dudley had greatly missed him - a knowledge that certainly didn't help ease Harry's growing guilt for not keeping in touch.

"Listen, Harry," Dudley said, his voice dropping to grab Harry's attention. "I know we didn't always get along much as kids, but I'm really, really happy for you. And I'm glad you asked me to be here, to be your Best Man…"

The big man took a deep breath before continuing, "Let's be friends from here on, shall we?"

He sounded emotional.

Harry felt a lump in his throat. Was this really the same cousin who used to make his life hellishly miserable every single day when they were kids?

"Thanks, Dud. It means a lot," Harry found himself replying in a hollow tone.

Dudley shot him a grin, then gestured to Emily, who'd slowly walked towards them alongside Daphne.

"We've got some news too, actually," he said, his whole face now beaming.

"We're having a baby!" he said excitedly, proudly patting his wife's slightly swollen belly.

Emily deeply blushed as she muttered something like "moron", but Harry barely noticed any of that - his head had swung around, almost on impulse, to meet Daphne's eyes. They exchanged a quick, meaningful but pointless look.

"We're due in about six months," Dudley continued, trying his best to ignore the sharp nudges Emily was giving him.

Harry proceeded to give their congratulations, of course. When Daphne too managed to mutter a thanks, he felt a surge of warmth flood across his chest.

Eventually, Dudley and Emily took their leave after both of them had gently but sternly reminded Harry to keep in better touch from now onwards. Harry had nodded frantically at that - that was the least he owed them.

Stepping into the warm summer air, Harry's thoughts were beginning to wander to the Weasleys when he felt the warmth of tiny, soft hand slip into his unsuspecting ones. He looked at Daphne, surprised at this little bit of PDA.

"Well, husband," he was greeted with a soft smile tugging at her lips. Her voice was low, but kind of sweet in its own way.

The word 'husband' sounded strange to his ears, though, but by no means unpleasant.

"Shall we go to your home?" she whispered into his ear, not letting go of his hand. Was that what people call flirting? Harry couldn't be sure.

"Yes," Harry told her gently. "To our home."

Scene 5.2

A slightly trembling Harry Potter stood in the dimly lit hallway of Grimmauld Place for what felt like the first time in his life all over again. The house seemed to creak and groan all around him, as if reluctant to welcome a new resident - a resident it had seen just once before, back on that drunken night.

Harry quickly shook his head. He didn't want to think about it. It was so awkward a tale.

Behind him, his wife, Daphne Greengrass, no scratch that, Daphne Potter, hovered uncertainly, her trunk floating in the silent air beside her.

"So, this is it," Harry croaked in a frog-like voice, desperately trying to make her feel welcome. It wasn't like she was coming here the first time, but God, it felt like that, at least to Harry.

His voice echoed in the vast, empty air spaces of the houses as he continued. "Home sweet home."

Daphne looked at him and nodded, her eyes just a little bit scared as they darting all around nervously, taking it every tiny detail.

"It's... charming," she managed, though her muttered-out tone and narrowed eyes suggested otherwise.

Harry couldn't blame her. It wasn't like he'd bothered much about keeping the place clean all these years - all he needed was an abode to sleep and drink in the nights but then, who knew he'd get himself married so quickly and suddenly?

Harry led her up the stairs, which had the decency to creek under the weight of their steps as they climbed up.

"Your room is just here," he said, pushing open a door. "I mean, our room, I suppose, if that's okay with you. What do you want?"

Daphne looked down, and they refused to meet eyes for several big, booming moments. Some things are better unmentioned.

"It's okay," she muttered into the air between them, her tone mortified. Harry noticed a distinct warmth creeping up her necks as she said that.

Anyways, back to the room…it was sparsely furnished, with a large bed dominating the space. Harry had hastily cleared out some drawer space and moved in an extra wardrobe from one of the other rooms. It stood awkwardly in the corner.

He was desperate to make her feel comfortable, feel at home. That was the least he was supposed to do.

Daphne set her trunk down and perched on the edge of the bed. "Thank you," she said quietly, her hand moving to her still-flat stomach. Probably a subconscious thing, Harry convinced himself over and over again.

He shuffled his feet, unsure what to do next. "I'll let you get settled," he finally squeaked. "I'll be downstairs if you need anything, okay?"

In the kitchen, Harry busied himself making tea, his mind racing faster than any light. He'd taken a leave from work, clinging on the same old "personal reasons". Nobody in this world seemed to bother with finding out what was wrong with Daphne but… that was also a boon in disguise. That was why they'd managed to keep her presence and this recently updated relationship status a total secret till now.

But how long before people figured out they were living together? How long before they linked Harry's public support for Daphne to whatever was happening in broad daylight? How long before people started asking questions? How long before the Daily Prophet got wind of this hasty marriage and started weaving the most ridiculous rumors ever known?

The kettle whistled loudly, hastily startling Harry out of his thoughts, who jumped off his feet. After the giant, grey clouds of steam oozing from the kettle had finally died out, he poured the hot, brimming tea into two cups. A moment's hesitation and he reached out for one of the cans in the upper drawers, and added a plate of yellow biscuits to the tray.

Behind him, he heard the sound of some soft, timid footsteps and turned back to find Daphne. She was still walking, her movements slow and methodical. When she noticed him looking at her, a small smile flickering across her face.

Slightly blushing, Harry looked away. He needed to come out of this schoolboy mode quickly.

"I thought you might like some tea," he offered gently, setting the tray down on the table as he pulled out one of the chairs.

Daphne nodded before taking a seat of her own at the other end of the table.

"That's kind of you," she replied, reaching for a cup. Their fingers brushed as she took it, and they both jerked back slightly.

"I… I suppose we should get used to it," Harry let out a short, half-hearted laugh, immediately feeling like the greatest fool on the planet.

"We should," she agreed, albeit a little too seriously.

They sipped their tea in silence, the awkwardness looming thick in the air. The silence was gruesome; it was gross. Harry's mind was working overtime, desperately searching for anything, anything to start a conversation with. They were married, for heaven's sake!

As always, Quidditch came to his rescue.

"So," Harry began, running a hand through his hair, "do you like... Quidditch?"

Daphne looked up at him, her eyebrow raised in a peculiar way.

"Not particularly," she said. Harry sighed as he looked down at his closed fists placed on the table. What on Earth could they talk about?

"You were good at it, weren't you?" Harry looked up to find Daphne smiling a bit. "You have no idea how dearly Malfoy hated you for it. Do you still play?"

Harry shook his head, feeling just a little cheerful for no reason at all.

"Not really," his voice trailed off. "Too busy in work and all. Now, I've got a family to look after, too."

Daphne nodded, followed by both of them looking down at her stomach.

"I prefer reading, myself," she whispered faintly, her hand coming to rest on the table, just inches away from Harry's trembling ones.

Should he take those in his hands? Harry argued with himself. This was the exact dilemma he'd been all those years back, at that so-called "date" with Cho Chang.

Some things never change, isn't it?

"Oh?" Harry eventually perked up when he realized Daphne was waiting for him to make a comment. "What kind of books?"

And so they talked, haltingly at first, but Harry could definitely smell the growing ease in the air.

From what she'd told him, Harry learnt that Daphne enjoyed history, both Magical and Muggle. That was impressive, considering she was a Death Eater's daughter.

Daphne, in turn, listened as Harry spoke about his work as an Auror. He found his voice greatly animated as he described in length some of his more interesting cases, and Daphne even bothered to raise eyebrows in shock at the twists and turns of those tales.

To be honest, it kind of felt like teaching a junior which was, not entirely false, was it? They were still colleagues… colleagues who've found themselves married by the most remarkable turn of events.

By the time Harry finally realized it was evening, Daphne was positively laughing. The sight made Harry proud - that's called progress.

"I should probably start on dinner," he said, standing up.

"I'll help," Daphne offered meekly, poised to follow him.

"You don't have to," Harry argued, trying to gesture at her swollen belly by his eyes. "It's okay. I'll manage."

She sighed, defeated, but didn't get up from the table. Instead, she sat right there the whole time Harry fought with pans and stoves and plates, trying to get the dinner done under her vigilant supervision. Once or twice, when he looked at her, she was smiling at him, and Harry returned a smile of his own.

A strange, distinct gurgling occurred somewhere deep down his stomach at that.

After dinner, they retired to the sitting room. Harry lit a fire in the grate, the warm light softening the room's harsh, cold edges.

They sat on opposite ends of the sofa. Daphne had a book in her hand: "Napoleon: A Legend".

Finding his curiosity intrigued, Harry got one of the other "Napoleon" books from her suitcase, and began reading after she'd convinced him it was a brilliant read.

Brilliant read or not, it barely mattered to Harry, as all he did the entire time was looking up from the book to stare at Daphne's contorted book, her eyes glued to the book as she read intensely, her lips moving just a little to frame some weird gibberish.

Harry tensed. That was exactly how Hermione looked while studying.

A sharp pain hit the side of his chest. How much he missed her!

As the clock struck ten, Daphne yawned. "I think I'll turn in," she said, slipping a pink, cute-looking bookmark into the book.

Harry nodded, suddenly nervous again. "Right. Me too."

Half an hour later, Harry found himself standing at the threshold of his bedroom, dressed in his pajamas, his considerably anxious eyes eyeing the bed with his newly-wed wife on it.

It was going to be their first marital night… but he dare not expect much. After how selfishly he'd used her that night… he had no right to expect anything.

Harry eventually slid into the bed, hyper-aware of Daphne's weight on the other side.

"Goodnight, Harry," Daphne murmured, her back to him. He was sure she was thinking about the exact same thing.

"Goodnight, Daphne," he replied, staring at the ceiling.

As he lay there, listening to Daphne's breathing slowly even out, Harry couldn't help but wonder what all of it meant.

This wasn't how he'd imagined his life would turn out, but as he glanced over at Daphne's sleeping form, blissfully immersed in the world of dreams, somehow, all of it felt… just… right.

So, I hope you liked it. I appreciate your time. If you liked it, please please consider leaving a review/comment. It really makes my day, and brings a smile onto my face that's very hard to rub off. 😁 Anything you liked…. even a one word review will be greatly appreciated from my end.

By the way, don't worry about leaving a review even if it's years since I published this story. No, this isn't creepy - it's heartwarming.