Work Text:
Harry stared at the blank piece of parchment in front of him.
‘Have you still not written anything?’ Ron asked, as he joined him at the table. ‘You know you’ve only got a few more days to get this done, right?’
‘It’s just really hard to know what to write! All I’ve got is the classic stuff thanking people for bothering to show up.’
‘Yeah, as if people would miss your wedding. It’s a wedding speech, just put in a few more cliché remarks and then say how much you like your new wife. You tell me plenty when you’re drunk. Why don’t you have a few fire whiskey and ginger root spritzers and then write it?’
‘Well that’s the problem, I like loads of things about her. But not all of them could or should go into a wedding speech, especially not one your whole family will hear.’
‘Urgh. I don’t need to think about it now either you know.’ Ron grimaced.
‘You’ll get over it. Now use your best man powers and help me write this speech.’ Harry offered him the quill as he spoke.
‘Not a chance mate, I’ve got my own speech to write.’
Harry groaned and slid further into his chair.
‘Remind me why I’m doing this?’ He asked miserably from his sunken position.
‘Because for unfathomable reasons you love my sister and want to be bonded to her for life?’
‘We should have eloped.’
‘Probably, but it’s too late now isn’t it. Now write your bloody speech. If it helps at all, Charlie said that Bill spent ages thinking back on all his favourite memories with Fleur before he started writing.’
Harry sighed and leaned his head back, thinking on some of his happiest memories with Ginny, and what it was about her that made them so special.
***
The first memory wasn’t even a happy one.
‘Lucky you.’ She’d said, coolly. Starting him down like she didn’t fear anything he could throw back at her.
He had forgotten how close she’d come to dying to Voldemort. How her mind and body had been overtaken by his malice. She’d withstood a closeness with evil that had made Harry question his own sanity, but she’d borne it much better than he had.
She understood him.
She understood him better than he understood himself sometimes. She knew when he needed comfort, and she understood when he needed space. And most importantly, she knew when he needed perspective and tough love, to get out of his own head and start dealing with his emotions rather than storing them up. He thought back to another moment, her calm acceptance of him breaking off their relationship to run off in search of horcruxes. She’d not only understood, she’d anticipated and accepted it.
They weren’t happy memories, but they were important. He scribbled some notes onto his parchment.
***
He wouldn’t mind a happier memory this time, and his thoughts readily obliged.
In his mind’s eye he saw the glittering surface of the lake and felt the hazy warmth of early June. He also felt the heat of Ginny’s body, pressed up against his own in a secluded area of trees. Too close to the forest for most students to want to go near it, but not close enough that they would get in trouble for being there if they were caught. Although there’d certainly be other embarrassments if they were caught right now.
He ran one hand through her hair as they kissed, using a tree as support to stop them falling. She’d untucked his shirt so she could reach his chest, while he curled her loose cardigan around his hand, pulling her closer.
When they’d paused for breath, they’d have jokes and parts of conversations, sometimes serious and sometimes ridiculous, and he could see the sunlight dapple over her face as it scattered through the leaves above them. He’d stare into her eyes and notice the slight changes in their colour, with dark brown circles that melted into a warmer chocolate colour. She’d laugh and tell him off for being soppy.
She really did have lovely skin, although a memory of a mistaken attempt to talk about his crush with Ron made him shy away from that particular thought.
She was certainly the better looking of the two of them. He smiled at the thought and added a note to his parchment.
***
Her beauty had got him thinking of all the times she hadn’t looked quite so put together. Although those moments didn’t make the slightest dent on his opinion of her good looks. If anything, they made him more attracted to her. She had an air of self-assurance that he admired.
He thought of all the times she’d come in from training or a match. Drenched in rain or sweat, often both. Sometimes blood, although he usually didn’t let her get away with ignoring her injuries. He recalled her joking tone calling ‘it’s not sweat it’s water!’ after an annoyed Percy when he’d mentioned she needed a shower and instead she’d let her hair down and shaken her head like a dog.
He loved that she didn’t go straight to the shower, she always wanted to come to chat to him first. Catch up with his day and give an overview of hers. She didn’t care how she looked, she just wanted to see him. He didn’t know what he’d done to deserve someone loving him like that, but there she was, prioritising spending time with him over basically everything else.
This was especially true when she’d won or done particularly well in a match. She’d come up with cheesy and ridiculous phrases about her matches to make him laugh, regardless of what sort of day he’d had, she seemed to take great pleasure in coming up the lines that were simultaneously terrible and hilarious.
She’d stood by the sofa, almost head to toe in mud, giving him a play-by-play account of her game, even though she knew full well he’d listened to it on the wireless as it happened.
‘And then, when I got the quaffle, well…’ She said, with a grin so huge he knew what was coming. ‘they should call me Shakespeare because those were some great plays!’
He’d groaned dutifully, but they both knew he’d found it funny, because she made sure to carefully craft silly lines she’d never say in front of anyone else. Just to make him smile.
Looks good even when caked in mud, and she knows it. He scrawled onto his parchment. Skilled and powerful without being big headed (mostly).
***
Harry considered how long it had taken him to tell her he loved her. She’d never had an issue telling him, but she’d also never pushed for him to say it back. Another part of the self-assurance he guessed, but there was more to it than that.
She accepts him for who he is. And sometimes, who he is happens to be someone who bottles up their feelings, has outbursts of anger, and he cried. A lot. She said it was to do with his trauma, and that she knew the anger was never aimed at her in a scary sense. Which was nice, because that was true. He’d get bitter and snappy, but never violent or nasty. But he knew not everyone would be able to manage him when he was like that.
Not that he blamed them, and not that Ginny was a saint – she had her moments too. But she accepted all of him, even the rough parts, the bits that still need work.
He wrote it down.
***
Finally, a more recent memory came to him.
A two-year-old Victoire wailing at the top of her lungs for reasons they just could not figure out. Harry had just wanted the little girl to be ok, working himself up over the idea that there might be something actually wrong with her and they should take her to St Mungo’s. Hermione had suggested it was a tantrum, Victoire was at that age, and perhaps they should just ignore it. Ron just wanted some peace and quiet.
Ginny had stepped in. Swooped the crying toddler into her arms, seemingly immune to the tears and the noise. She had walked into the situation with a calmness that none of them had managed; they’d faced dragons and inferi, snatchers, a war. Ginny had faced her own battles too, as a young child and then again in Hogwarts during that year. Horrors that Harry cringed away from thinking about.
She’d come out with a strong sense of pragmatism; she didn’t get worked up or resentful. She solved the problem in front of her, calmly and competently… that is, when her temper didn’t get the better of her, but it never seemed to with children.
Her ability and approach soothed him. He could face anything with Ginny by his side.
He smiled and wrote it down.
***
‘… in conclusion, Ginny feels like home. A permanent home. And one we can build together.’