Chapter Text
Ginny rarely had the pleasure of seeing her Mama so utterly and entirely discombobulated.
“You and. . . . Admiral Potter? Harry? Our Harry?”
“Yes, Mama,” she confirmed, amused.
Her mother was gaping, actually, literally clutching at the pearls around her neck. “Oh, my dear—ten thousand pounds a year, but a sailor’s wife—how did this happen?”
She gritted her teeth. She didn’t like that the first response had been weighing how the match would affect Ginny—but that was of course Mama’s first concern. Her children. Always.
She softened. She hoped she would be even half the mother to her own possible children that Mama had been to her.
Now she turned her attention to the others, who, rather than focusing on her, had narrowed down on her fiancé.
Ron was the sole exception, looking almost comically surprised, wide eyes meeting Ginny’s. “When did you start returning his sentiments?” he demanded.
“When did she?” George questioned incredulously. “She always harboured that little affection for him.”
She went scarlet. “That was when we were children!”
“And that is why I question: when?” Ron added.
Charlie was glaring at him. “Taking advantage of our grieving little sister? Potter—”
“Enough,” Ginny stated coldly. “He isn’t taking advantage of me. It’s been a year. I am entirely myself and sound of mind enough to accept his proposal.” Her tone dared anyone to object.
Charlie shut his mouth but kept glaring balefully. Ron clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Potter. Although perhaps I should be offering my condolences, being shackled to Ginevra all your life—”
“The congratulations was enough, thank you.” Harry’s eyes found hers inquiringly—he would push back against the insult to her if she wanted.
She was touched by that, but shook her head to indicate that was unnecessary.
She’d said something similar to Hermione once upon a time, after all.
But it meant a lot that he would go up against his closest friend for her.
Mama immediately began fussing over the wedding and the breakfast, and how many people would be invited—
It all overwhelmed her.
She’d been planning on, about to reenter society as a widow—not as the wife of one of its most prominent figures.
Admiral Potter, master of Monte Hall, was a very popular figure in the ton.
She would have to be presented in court, she realized, horrified.
To the queen.
Clearly sensing her spiralling, Harry reached out to take her hand. His thumbs rubbed her knuckles comfortingly.
“I think we’d prefer it to be an intimate occasion, Mrs. Weasley,” he said softly. Mama stopped abruptly, turning to actually look at her.
“Ginny? You agree?” Percy asked, looking at her over his glasses.
Her wedding to Dean had been grand and ostentatious—funded, after all, by hush money.
She understood that it would be incomprehensible to the others that she didn’t want to put on a show, exceed the last time.
But she didn’t.
“Yes,” she said out loud. “I do.”
Percy looked reassured by this, eyes flitting between her and her fiancé.
“Very well,” her mother replied.
Victoire cleared her throat prettily. “So Mr. Potter will be Oncle, now?”
“Yes, indeed,” Ginny smiled at her niece.
Harry knelt before her. “It would honour me very much to be your oncle.”
Ginny coughed. “More than it would to be my husband?”
“This is why I am wedding you,” Harry told her solemnly. “So I can be Victoire, Dominique, Fred and Molly’s uncle.”
“Is Teddy not enough for you?”
Teddy’s indignant voice joined in: “Yes, Harry. Am I not?”
“We are with child!” Ron blurted out, when Harry looked panicked.
Hermione put her hand to her forehead and sighed, but looked fond.
Mama shrieked again. “Truly?! Such wonderful news!”
“This house has become an excellent source for the newsletters, it seems,” George murmured.
The crowd that had formed around them of family for the announcement began to disperse, laughing. Ron and Harry were talking, Ron gesturing jubilantly and Harry with a small smile on his face, holding Teddy to reassure him he was all he needed.
He smiled in different ways for different situations, Ginny had noticed.
He had a special smile for Ron and Hermione—whom she made a note to later congratulate, along with thanking them for taking the attention off her and Harry—another for Teddy but an entirely separate one for her—the one he’d bestowed upon her when she’d confessed her love, when she’d accepted his proposal.
It was as she was studying this one, determined to memorize it as she was all aspects of him, that she was approached by someone not her family.
The Earl of Grimmauld surprised her by catching her in a tight embrace. “Thank you,” he said, heartfelt.
“For what?” she asked, puzzled. “Agreeing to wed him? That is no great chore.”
He chuckled. “You’ll fit right in. But no, I meant for getting him out of the navy. Or at least on half-pay.”
The Earl disapproved very much of Admiral Potter’s occupation, it seemed.
She hated to disappoint him, but this had to be said. “I will support him no matter what,” she told the Earl coolly. “Even if he decides to enlist again. I might have been a factor in that choice, but I was not a willing one.”
He exhaled a laugh. “That’s all I can hope for, I suppose. My godson marrying someone who loves and supports him.”
He looked displeased with her response, however.
Well, tough for him. She meant every word.
But she didn’t want to start this marriage at odds with the only family Harry had left. Especially when she’d broken his godson’s heart, the heart which Harry had told her he’d tried so hard to mend.
So she offered a smile: “I am glad he will be safer, however.”
The Earl relaxed. “You will have to get ready to face the ton,” he warned.
She had the feeling he was testing her, trying to see if she would be intimidated out of this match.
She would not, and she told him as much.
He smiled a little, seeming impressed but still wary. “We shall see.”
Ginny would just have to prove that wariness was unnecessary, to both the Earl and Hermione.
And she would.
Harry was worth that.
Being presented in court meant a great deal, apparently.
Ginny had burst into tears at her wedding, when Harry had slipped the ring Dean had given her onto her right hand rather than remove it entirely, thereby causing a scene.
It was fortunate they had insisted upon it being a small gathering—the rumours hadn’t spread that much.
But apparently it had been enough that Queen Minerva peered at her sternly.
She had fidgeted and cursed and done things most unladylike on the way here and while waiting out of the throne room, and she had a feeling the queen could see all of that, right through that.
“Mrs. Potter,” she then said, and smiled suddenly.
Ginny’s heart lurched at the name, as it usually did.
Eventually she would get used to it, to not being Mrs. Thomas anymore.
She wasn’t sure if the thought made her happy or sad.
“It is very good to meet you,” the queen said, dragging her back to the present.
She dipped into a curtsy. “And you, Your Majesty.”
The queen herself was a widow, she remembered. King Consort Elphinstone had only died a few years prior.
She hadn’t remarried.
She wondered if she was going to be judged for her decision.
“Welcome to London,” the queen said with finality. “I hope you will find the society … well.”
It was basically a warning, the same as the Earl’s.
Her mental response was the same: that as long as she had Harry holding out his arm, supporting her, she would be fine.
Her outward one was as well: “I’m sure I will.”
A walk around places she had known her entire life felt very exciting with Harry by her side.
She wasn’t quite as familiar with London as she was Ottery St. Catchpole, but she had been a frequent visitor here.
“Without even courting her,” someone whispered, and she was reminded of the warnings.
She was going to be judged, and she had better get accustomed to that.
And soon.
“Ignore them,” Harry murmured to her.
Her husband.
The title belonging to someone other than Dean made her heart ache.
But she was also so hopeful and excited about life in a way she hadn’t been in such a long time.
“I will,” she vowed.
She was happy. That was all that mattered.
There was the tacit understanding between them that if Dean hadn’t died they would neither of them would be here, in this position, with one another.
But he had, and they had been given this opportunity to build a life together.
Ginny was going to make the most of it.
She quizzed her husband about the townhouse he owned in London—her family certainly didn’t have one. Its history, build, what it was used for when he was out of town.
“You seemed quite curious about Monte Hall in your letters as well,” he commented.
“Well, it is to be my home, is it not?”
Harry paused certainly, and tugged her behind a giant, ugly statue.
How it could be categorized as art, she did not know.
She assumed it was to steal a kiss or do something that would be inappropriate publicly.
But it was something she could never have expected.
“It doesn’t have to be,” he said, eyes searching hers.
“What do you mean? It’s too late for an annulment,” she teased.
“I mean that I could move into Snowdrop Cottage instead,” he told her.
Ginny was floored. It took her a moment to string words together, and even then only a single one came out: “Wh—what?”
“Well, it’s near the sea, and I desperately need to be near the ocean,” he grinned. “Sailor, remember?”
Ginny was struck speechless—a feat that didn’t often happen. “You—you. . . .”
His smile faded. “If you don’t want to stay in the house, I’ll understand—after Thomas and everything—but I merely thought it might be more comfortable and familiar for you.”
For her. He was thinking about her comfort and security, prioritizing them above his own, and everything else.
Not even Dean would have made a choice like this.
“It’s small,” she said weakly. “Not up to your standards.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I’m sure I could get used to cozy,” he offered. “And a hovel would be up to my standards if it had you in it.”
Her head spun. “Ginny?” His voice was gentle. “It was just a suggestion.”
“No, no, I would love to stay at home. But—how would you carry out your duties?”
“It’d involve travelling often, and a lot of correspondence. But I managed while in the navy, so I don’t foresee much difficulty doing so while still in England.”
He’d obviously put a lot of thought into this.
“It’s my choice?” she asked, small.
“Entirely,” he promised.
“Can we go back to the house? I need to think.”
“Certainly.”
Back at the house, he was reading on the chaise, Ginny lying with her head on his chest. Hearing and feeling his heartbeat.
Dean’s had stopped so suddenly.
Who was to say Harry’s wouldn’t tomorrow?
Even hers?
But what time she did have, she decided, she wanted to spend with him and at home.
She wasn’t sure she could properly express this, but tried her best.
His eyes softened and he pressed a kiss to her temple. “It’s settled, then.”
“Maybe, eventually, once we have children, we can move to Monte Hall,” she suggested.
“Might I suggest we expedite the process of making them, then?” he grinned.
“No, I need to write to Demelza,” she told her husband, attempting to get up.
He obstructed her, pouting. “Can I not even have your attention during our honeymoon?”
“You will have to climb the ladder of my priorities,” she said sagely.
“I can think of things you have to climb,” he retorted with a devilish grin, flipping their positions so she was under him.
It was quite a while before she was in her chambers in a hastily thrown over dressing gown, letting ink blot over the paper as she wrote her friend, describing the sights of London and that she would be seeing her soon after all, still living in her own house.
With a new lease on life.
She finished the letter with a flourish, with only an inkling of hesitation at the signoff.
G.W.T. Potter