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The day had turned out perfectly. The weather, although threatening a downpour earlier in the week, merely sprinkled in the morning, leaving the sky perfectly overcast as their photographer clicked away capturing the blushing brides after the ceremony.
“I can’t believe you actually wore those beat up trainers, Ginevra,” Pansy pouted, glaring accusingly at her new wife’s feet beneath the yards of satin and lace.
Ginny rolled her eyes good-naturedly and dropped a kiss on her wife’s shoulder. “They’re brand new and you approved them yesterday, Parkinson.”
“Excuse me, it’s Weasley to you now,” Pansy sniped back, eyes glittering with joy.
“Pansy Weasley, I can’t believe you actually decided to change your name. It's so…traditional of you.”
“What can I say, I’m a sap for you,” Pansy glanced around conspiratorially, “just don’t let anyone else know it.”
Ginny tilted her head back in a full throated laugh as the photographer clicked away. Anyone could see they were both mad for each other, and had been for longer than either were willing to admit.
They had run into each other years after Hogwarts on a pub night. Over the course of three hours and thrice as many drinks, they went from frosty greetings, to cautiously catching up, to lingering looks. By the time Draco stumbled into her stool, nearly knocking her off, insisting Pansy take him home before he hexed “that beautiful Harry Potter into next week,” they had been practically eye-fucking.
It wasn’t until Pansy was outside the pub, propping up Draco while he complained about his legs not listening to his brain, that she realized Ginny hadn’t asked for her number. Before Ginny knew it Pansy barged back inside shouting at her about not trying to keep in touch or asking for her Spellfone number, while a confused and then bemused Ginny sat on her stool eyes sparkling as Pansy dressed her down. When Pansy had finally run out of steam Ginny simply smirked at her and said, “Did you forget we’re witches, Parkinson? I was already drafting the owl I was going to send you in the morning.” Pansy, speechless, had simply grabbed Ginny’s face and smashed their lips together.
That night had set their dynamic in motion and now here they were, married.
From across the garden they could hear their guests ambling in pairs and groups towards the enchanted tent, glittering in the fairy light as the sun descended over the horizon.
“We should probably head over, it’s almost time for our first dance,” Pansy mused, leaning into Ginny’s warmth.
“Mhmmm,” Ginny murmured, pressing their foreheads together, “but before we do, let me have one more minute just us.” She started humming and swaying them back and forth.
“I think that can be arranged,” Pansy agreed, tenderly closing the distance between them.
The world slipped away as they lost themselves in the moment, the last rays of the sun glowing behind them; the clicking of the camera drowned out by the witches humming their wedding song.