Chapter Text
“Y’know, mate, you can leave that for me and head out if you’d like?”
Harry stopped massaging his temples and opened his eyes. Ron was staring him down from the other side of their shared office. Harry rolled his quill slowly in his hand, trying to regain his train of thought to no avail.
“I’ve just got another few inches and I should be done,” Harry sighed. Just before he’d been set to head home for the evening, they’d received a tip for some smugglers he and Ron had been tracking for weeks. He and Ron had left immediately despite Harry having plans to join Ginny for the wedding of one of her fellow chasers. He hadn’t exactly thrilled at the idea of going with her; it seemed that any large gathering usually ended up with Harry being accosted by those wanting him to recount his ‘glory days.’ Harry remembered those days a lot differently than the general public.
“Ginny’s not going to be happy if you don’t show,” Ron persisted. “You know she likes a dance partner at those things.” He cocked an eyebrow, looking amused.
Harry did know. They’d been to what seemed like endless weddings since the end of the war; at each, Ginny’d insisted they make up for the strange dance they’d shared at Bill and Fleur’s wedding.
Placing his quill into his ink bottle, Harry surrendered. He wasn’t about to admit it to Ron, but he did quite enjoy dancing with Ginny. Even the dullest weddings were fun with Ginny. Watching her watching her swing and sway to the music never ceased to stir something in his chest -- regardless of how terrible Harry was at dancing, himself. “All right, but I owe you.”
“We’re partners. No need to owe me,” Ron offered with a smile.
“Sure,” scoffed Harry. “Remind me of that if Robards tries to send us out on Hermione’s birthday again!” Harry stood and threw his messenger bag over his shoulder and left the office. Ron waved him on with a laugh.
“See you on Sunday,” Harry called over his shoulder. “Thanks again.”
~~
Harry pulled the collar of his coat up around his neck as the icy wind bit at his face and neck. It was times like this he wished he’d still had his beard. It wasn’t until he got closer to the building that he realized what a strange sight this was: Neon lights streamed from and old, worn barn whose rafters were shaking from a loud bass beat. As he approached the entrance, the beat became louder -- and more oppressive. Harry supposed he should have known that this reception would be quite wild, considering the bride and groom were professional quidditch players whose first date had been a fist fight in a pub.
Harry stepped into a secluded corner of the barn, shading his eyes from the bright green lasers spinning around the dance floor. Taking off his jacket, he swept his eyes across the room, not unlike what he typically did to scope out a location as an auror. Six women around the bride, two men behind the bar, at least seven tables of ten seats each, three exits… and there she was. A petite woman with flowing red hair dressed in a long, green cotton dress. As one song faded into the next, he saw his wife’s face light up as she seemed to recognize the song.
She began to twist to the rhythm, raising her beer bottle to her lips to sing along with the woman’s voice as if it were a microphone. Her friends around her laughed and danced along with her, narrowly avoiding being whipped in the face by her hair, now violently shaking side to side with the beat.
Harry wasn’t the only one watching her exuberant performance. Guests began to gather around her, clapping and hooting encouragingly. Just as he was losing his view of her, he saw her kick her shoes off (to Merlin knows where) and hike her dress up above her knees. Then, to the crowd’s excitement (but not Harry’s surprise), she climbed onto the makeshift bar, beer still in hand, and continued her serenading.
Harry crossed his arms, holding his hand over his mouth, stretched into a wide grin. The swirling lights cascaded over her pale skin as she continued to sing, sway, and occasionally play air instruments as the music boomed through the barn. He adored seeing her like this. If there was anything that exemplified Ginny, it was her passion and all-or-nothing attitude when it came to life. Whether she was playing quidditch, cooking dinner, making love, or singing along to a song at a wedding, Ginny was going to give every ounce of her effort. Yet, he thought, she always makes it look absolutely effortless.
This was no exception. He knew well from years of knowing Ginny that whether she intended it or not, she was often the center of attention. She didn’t need to stand on a bar, be in front of a stadium full of fans, or be dressed to the nines for this to happen. She radiated wherever she went, and it wasn’t just because of her bright red locks. She was the most gorgeous and effervescent woman Harry’d ever met - bar none. Even at Fleur and Bill’s wedding in a marquee containing no less than ten part-Veela women, Ginny was the most beautiful (in Harry’s very biased opinion at least).
As the song came to a close, the crowd broke into wild applause for Ginny. One of the men Harry presumed to be a groomsman handed Ginny a pint, which she swiftly downed to the chanting of her teammates.
“Admiring anyone?”
Harry was pulled out of his deep concentration on his wife by a woman in a large white dress beside him. “Elena!” He turned to the chaser beside him and embraced her. “Congratulations, so sorry I was late to the festivities.”
“Ah, it’s no matter,” she assured him. “I had a feeling when I saw an owl flying by before the ceremony that someone would be late. Looks like you’ve missed some of the fun,” she said, gesturing to Ginny, now cautiously dismounting the countertop.
“I’m sure I would have just been a stick in the mud and held her back up until now,” Harry laughed. He then caught Ginny’s eye as she was talking to a teammate. “But, I suppose duty calls. Congratulations again, Elena!” She gave him a kiss on the cheek and thanked him, adding “just make sure she gets home safely!” He nodded to her and turned his attention back to Ginny.
“Hey there, handsome,” Ginny smirked. “Enjoying the show?” Without giving him time to answer, she pressed her lips sloppily against his. No matter the time, place, or circumstances, her kisses made him positively melt. He felt the stress and strain in his body ease, taking comfort in her presence and contact.
Harry finally broke the kiss, coming up for breath. “Why, yes,” he answered, catching his breath. “From the looks and taste of it, you’re enjoying yourself quite a bit too.” He let a sly little half-smile creep onto his face. She swept hair from her face and behind her shoulders, rolling her eyes.
“I was,” she said, “but I am relieved that you made it before the end so we could get a dance in.” She stumbled a bit on her feet, steadying herself on his arm. Harry raised his eyebrows. “Is that so?” He feigned offense at her assumption, receiving a huff from Ginny with hands on her hips.
“Yes. Dancing with you disguised as my cousin scarred me for life, so now you have to be my partner until the very end of time.” These words suddenly hit a nerve for Harry. They were too familiar, and while all was okay now, they reminded him of a time that he thought he may never see this beautiful woman again.
Ginny thankfully took no notice of Harry’s pause, dragging him unceremoniously onto the dance floor. A slow song began to play, the sound of a piano echoing through the room. Ginny slung her arms haphazardly around Harry’s neck, now rocking back and forth to the words of the song. Ginny closed her eyes as they swayed, humming quietly along with the song.
Harry took this opportunity to take advantage of the view once more. Her hair was a mess of wavy red, framing her face, freckled and pink. The flush continued down her neck and to her breasts, which were perfectly framed by the scoop of her neckline. Her dress was a dark olive green, perfectly complimenting her ivory skin and bright hair, and hugging every curve of her body perfectly. Harry’s hands moved slightly downward from her waist to her hips, which were toned and from hours of riding each day…
“Harry?” asked Ginny. “You alright up there?” She tapped on his forehead twice in quick succession, a silly smile on her face.
“Yeah,” Harry blushed. “Just… really attracted to you at the moment.” Ginny wrapped her arms tighter around his neck and pressed herself into him. “I can tell,” she grinned, turning her head and pressing her cheek to his chest.
Harry’s arms curled protectively around her, brushing the bare expanse of her back. This really is a great dress, he thought. He rested his head against hers, taking in the intoxicating smell of her hair. It was the same smell he remembered from long ago in the Burrow. The same smell that came wafting from a cauldron in Slughorn’s classroom in his sixth year. It was the same scent that broke through all the dust and ash and death that surrounded them the day he went to die… and the scent that welcomed him into her arms each time he woke in a panic from seeing that day again and again.
She was, in Harry’s estimation, the main reason he was still alive today. This compassionate, fierce, silly, passionate woman had reminded him time and time again that he was worth loving. He could never thank her enough for what immeasurable gifts she had given him.
He hadn’t noticed the song had changed until Ginny nudged him with the top of her head. “Are we going to keep slow dancing here, or are you going to take me home -” she hiccuped, “and do something about that attraction you’re feeling?” She perked an eyebrow up at him playfully, causing him to chuckle.
“Well I suppose I’d like to get you home, Mrs. Weasley.”
~~
It became quite apparent to Harry that there would be no fooling around to be had that evening. As the couple said their goodbyes on the way home from the wedding, Harry noticed that Ginny had become increasingly unsteady on her feet, to the point that Harry chose to floo instead of apparate home. As they arrived in their flat, Ginny slumped onto the couch, drunkenly humming a song Harry couldn’t quite recognize.
Harry summoned a bottle of water from the kitchen and knelt by Ginny’s side. “Gin?”
“Hmmm?” Ginny hummed, her eyes fluttering open lazily.
“I’ve got some water for you here, it might be good if you’d…”
“Yes, yes, drink some water,” she slurred. “Y’know, Harry, I’ve been a professional quidditch player for years. I know how to keep myself from getting a hangover.” She pushed herself onto her elbows, grabbed the bottle and smiled cheekily.
“Yes,” said Harry, unbuttoning his shirt sleeves. “I’m aware. I’m also aware that you’d do the same for me and have before.” He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. “I am just returning the favor.”
She replied with a goofy, lopsided smile before taking a sip of the water. It dribbled down her chin messily and he grinned. “Maybe just try to get it all in your mouth, yeah?”
Ginny removed the bottle from her lips and shot him what she imagined to be a mean look, sticking her tongue out at him. “Yes sir!”
He stood to walk to the bedroom. “There’s no need to call me sir,” he said, winking. Harry finished changing out of his dress clothes, went to the loo, and returned to see his wife sprawled across the couch, bottle of water slowly draining of its contents in her hand.
With a wave of his wand, the spilled water was returned to its container and set upright on the side table. Harry scooped Ginny up from the couch and carried her into the bedroom. He rid her of her extra garments, causing him to take a sharp intake of breath as he removed her brassiere. Another time, he thought, thinking of her propositioning from earlier.
Harry tucked her into the covers and made his way to his side of the bed. Ginny stirred slightly as he got under the covers, grunting as she threw her arm over her head. Her hair was splayed across the stark white of the pillow beneath her head, the pink of her cheeks still visible from the dancing and alcohol of the night’s festivities.
Harry smoothed a strand of hair off of her face and marveled at her sleeping form and decided he could wait just a little longer until he put out the lights.