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SIYE Time:15:54 on 29th March 2024
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The Right Time
By cwarbeck

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Category: Alternate Universe, Post-Hogwarts
Characters:All, All, Harry/Ginny
Genres: Fluff, General, Humor
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 615
Summary: Harry had promised himself that when he ultimately got rid of the Dark Lord, he would finally tell Ginny how he really felt about her. Regrettably, fate seemed to have other plans for both of them. But then again, perhaps fate was merely waiting for the right moment to come along.
Hitcount: Story Total: 132989; Chapter Total: 14672
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
Mamma mia! This is the chapter that totally spiralled out of control. I was never truly happy with it, so I kept on revising and editing it, until it became a great big ginormous chapter. I hope that you don't find it too long-winded.

I wanted to post this on Harry's birthday, as a sort of present for him, because... well, you'll see!

Grazie et amore to Chreechree, and of course to you lot for leaving such wonderful reviews for the last - erm - sizzler of a chapter. :)




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The Right Time





Harry held his breath as Ginny stared up at him, seemingly in a state of extreme shock.


They had stopped dancing completely and were standing stock still in the middle of the reception hall.


All around them, couples swayed vigorously to the mellifluous tones of Calliope Arias as she belted out an upbeat, jazzy number, You Have Finite Incantatem’ed My Heart (So Watcha Gonna Do ‘Bout It?). It was a crowd favourite, if the delighted shouts that rang out and the mad dash for the dance floor when the opening bars played were anything to go by.


Harry searched Ginny’s face for any sign that she had not taken offence at his question. Granted, it had been a rather bold one, and he had never thought for one second that he was actually capable of asking it of her. The sight of her pretty, smiling face and the feel of her lovely arms around him, however, had spurred him on and before he knew it, he had blurted out what was tantamount to a declaration of undying love and adoration.


Ginny continued to contemplate him in silence, and he began to grow extremely uneasy as her gaze seemed to bore straight into his soul. He fought the urge to shuffle his feet like an errant first-year being chastised by Professor McGonagall.


Had he come on too strong? Had he made a colossal blunder in thinking that all the heavenly hand holding, not to mention the beautiful bashful blushes and sweet sparkling smiles that Ginny had been giving him all day had any deeper meaning beyond mere flirtation?


Harry gave a mental shake of his head. Unless Ginny had changed a great deal since he last spent any quality time with her, he knew that she was not the type to flirt casually.


So, it must be his error; he must have misinterpreted her innocent, friendly and completely platonic actions.


Way to go, Potter, he rebuked himself bitterly. She was having such a grand time, but you had to ruin it with your pathetic attempts at courtship, didn’t you?


“Ginny?” he asked timidly. Belatedly, he became conscious of the fact that he was still holding her close to him. He loosened his grasp reluctantly, although he did not let go of her waist.


She blinked several times as if coming out of a trance. “Oh! I’m sorry, Harry,” she said, looking down at her feet. “I don’t know what came over me. It’s just that — I thought I heard you ask…”


She bit her lower lip, worrying it between her small, even white teeth.


Merlin, Ginny must have done something to her lips, Harry mused, staring entranced at them. They’re so smooth and shiny and succulent …


He swiftly gave himself an imaginary kick in the arse.


Focus, man, focus! Now is not the time to think of tasting that scrumptious mouth of hers…


“I thought I heard you ask if I’d let you be a lo—” Ginny took a deep breath and peered at him through her lashes, “—if I’d let you be like a lover to me?” she whispered, her face flushing with colour.


Harry nodded mutely, his heart beating like mad in his chest.


Maybe he hadn’t got the wrong impression about her feelings after all…


“What does that mean, Harry?” she asked timorously, sounding confused and a little distraught. “Because if you think that I’ll agree to shag you just because I’ve been madly in love with you since forever,” Ginny blushed an even deeper shade of red and bowed her head again, “then you don’t know me at all, Harry,” she finished in an almost inaudible voice.


Calliope launched into the WWN classic ballad, Mesmerized, Mystified and Messed-Up, while Harry gaped at Ginny.


Wait, what? Did she just say…


He lost his train of thought when Ginny unexpectedly twisted out of his arms and took a step backwards, still staring determinedly at the floor.


Feeling bereft without her, but afraid to cause her further distress, Harry mentally rewound their conversation, trying to find out what he had said to upset Ginny. He took no notice when Cordelia Silverton and Paolo Pantaloni sailed past him, Cordelia glaring petulantly at him, while the latter gave him a frankly appraising once-over.


Let’s see, I asked her if she would like to have that as our song, which was probably a bit trite of me


Colin and Parvati drifted by, locked in an amorous clutch, blissfully unmindful of anything else but each other. A detached part of Harry’s brain made the wry observation that they were dancing so closely together they appeared to have been Spellotaped into one entity.


… and then I asked if she would let me be like a lover…


“Oh no, Ginny, that’s not what I meant!” he protested vehemently, horrified that she had misinterpreted his words so badly. “I wasn’t implying that I wanted to get you into bed, because that would be awful!”


Ginny’s head shot up, and her face took on a wounded expression.


Merlin help me, what the bloody hell did I say now? Harry groaned, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration.


“No, Ginny, wait, I didn’t mean that either!” he cried out, spreading his hands helplessly in front of him. “I don’t mean that it would be awful to get you into bed, or even that you would be awful in bed, because I’m sure you’d actually be fantastic in bed, and I do so badly want to get into bed with you—”


A sexagenarian woman wearing lurid lime green robes and an enormous matching hat adorned with albino peacock feathers gasped loudly as she waltzed next to them. She tutted disapprovingly and looked down her beaked nose at a mortified Harry, who could feel the tips of his ears burning when he realised exactly what he had been going on about as he tried to explain himself to Ginny.


Oh bloody buggering bollocks, go dig yourself a deeper hole, eh, Potter?


“Atrociously shocking behaviour, if you ask me,” the witch complained in strident tones that nettled Harry to no end.


Her dance partner, a rather corpulent wizard dressed in gold lamé robes that shone almost as brightly as his bald pate, nodded and looked distrustfully at Harry. “These young people nowadays,” he replied, his stentorian voice making the other couples dancing nearby crane their necks around and goggle at Harry and Ginny, “all they ever think about is sex.”


Harry scowled at the blatantly eavesdropping pair. “Do you mind?” he asked, as politely as one could ask when speaking through clenched teeth.


“Well, I never!” The witch sniffed as if highly affronted, and she and her partner left in a huff, still discussing the shocking declining morals of this generation at the top of their voices.


Harry looked pointedly at the other curious onlookers until they too, grudgingly moved on. He then sighed heavily and turned back to face Ginny.


To his surprise, she was now regarding him with a thoughtful expression on her face. Taking heart at this, and the fact that she had not drawn her wand on him yet, he cautiously held out his hand to her.


“Ginny, could we sort this out somewhere a little more private?” he pleaded, hoping that she would at least let him try to bungle his way through an explanation.


She looked at his outstretched hand for a few seconds, and then, thankfully, she accepted his offer. “All right, Harry,” she said softly, the tiniest hint of a smile playing on her lips.


Harry grinned back in relief and grasped her hand firmly in his. He was about to lead her back to their table when Colin and Parvati came rushing to their side.


“Harry! Ginny!” Colin wheezed out as soon as they drew near. “You’ll never believe who’s come back!”


“Colin,” said Harry impatiently, highly aggravated at the intrusion, “we’re a bit busy right now—”


“It’s Sylvia!” shrieked Parvati, apparently too overcome to contain herself.


“And Romilda!” added Colin, practically hopping up and down in his excitement.


Ginny drew a disbelieving breath. “Are you taking the mickey?”


“Nope!” crowed Colin. “You’d think they’d had enough humiliation to last a lifetime, yeah?”


“Apparently not,” replied Harry sardonically, who, despite his displeasure at having his private moment with Ginny interrupted, nevertheless found his attention riveted on the mind-boggling spectacle unfolding on the stage.


Sylvia Vane, still wearing her now rather crumpled and stained wedding finery, was marching with determined strides across the stage, her train dragging behind her like some sort of sad alabaster snake. Romilda trotted alongside her, glaring arrogantly at everyone. When they reached Calliope, Romilda grabbed the magical microphone and shoved the astonished chanteuse out of the way.


The scorned bride, her face streaked with blackened tear tracks where her mascara had run, peered into the stunned and speechless crowd, evidently looking for something or someone. Harry met Sylvia’s gaze for a brief second, then her eyes darted to his side, where Ginny was standing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ginny incline her head graciously at Sylvia, whose mouth immediately hardened into a thin line, and she pointedly looked away to resume her search.


Romilda, however, continued to look angrily at them until Ginny discreetly pulled out her wand and tapped it against her leg.


The younger witch blanched, thrust the microphone into Sylvia’s hands and hurriedly positioned herself behind her cousin, who had last located what she had been searching for — her estranged fiancé and the witch he had abandoned her for.


Raphael and Vittoria were sitting at one of the back tables with the minister, who had taken a much-needed breather from kicking up his heels with the Contessa. All three of them appeared dumbstruck at the sight of the enraged Sylvia.


“You!” she screeched into the microphone, the shrill reverberations of her voice causing many in the audience to clap their hands over their ears. Sylvia’s wand gave off a red flash as she trained it at Raphael, who stood up and moved protectively in front of a now seething Vittoria.


“You think you can get away with this?” Sylvia tittered, a bit madly in Harry’s opinion, as images of Bellatrix Lestrange suddenly flashed through his mind. “How are you going to launch your new collection in London, eh? My daddy’s not going to help you now!”


“I am sorry things had to turn out this way, Sylvia,” said Raphael, his hands held out in a placating gesture, “but please, this is not the right time or place to do this.”


“Ha!” shouted Sylvia, shaking her wand wildly at him. “You dare say that, Raphael, after Daddy so kindly offered that he’d get in touch with Harrods for you if you married me? He’s in the same Gobstones club as the assistant to the assistant of the third vice-president for purchasing, I’ll have you know!”


Romilda nodded her head forcefully in agreement and shouted, “That’s right!”


“Right.” Colin snorted derisively. “He’s definitely got connections, Mr Vane does.”


“Sylvia, you know that is not the reason I agreed to this wedding,” said Raphael, drawing himself up with dignity. “You told me that your father had purchased controlling shares of my design company and that he would take over if I did not marry you.” He frowned at his ex-fiancée. “Are you saying that this is not true?”


Paying no attention to the outraged whispers and mutterings that had broken out amongst the guests, Sylvia began pacing the stage, the train of her wedding gown knocking down the violin, viola, and the violoncello in rapid succession. “How could you do this, Raphael? How could you choose that — that — whale — over me?”


Romilda gave a mocking, sycophantic laugh as Sylvia sneered and gestured vindictively towards Vittoria, who gasped in fury and retrieved her own wand from her voluminous dress robes.


“Oh dear,” murmured Ginny, shaking her head sorrowfully. “That is probably the absolutely worst thing to say to a very pregnant and very hormonal witch.”


Remembering Ron’s stories about the horrific tantrums Fleur had thrown when she was carrying Michel (she had once hexed the twins’ heads to face backwards for a whole week when they had made the grave error of comparing her swollen ankles to that of Madame Maxime’s own humongous calves), Harry winced and waited for the fireworks to explode, stepping a bit nearer to Ginny in case a stray curse went awry.


To his credit, Raphael managed to douse the impending pyrotechnics by placing a gentle kiss on the forehead of the incensed Vittoria. This tender action only seemed to inflame Sylvia even further, but before she could do anything other than stamp her foot in rage, a blast of purple light came out of nowhere and hit her directly in the face.


Sylvia dropped the microphone, gathered her train over her head, and jumped from the stage. She hurtled from the room, screeching like a particularly bad-tempered Augurey as she was pursued by giant flying bogeys which swooped down and assaulted her mercilessly.


Romilda, looking terrified that she was now all alone and vulnerable to attack, stumbled away as fast as her ill-fitting chartreuse dress robes would let her. A second jet of purple light slammed into her just as she managed to reach the exit, and her loud wails of misery remained audible long after she disappeared from sight.


Harry’s eyes almost popped out of his head. He turned to look enquiringly at Ginny, who raised her eyebrows at him, and then at Colin and Parvati when they also stared curiously at her.


“I didn’t do it,” she protested. “If I did, Romilda would have been crawling, not running, out of here.” She suddenly smirked and pointed towards the stage. “I wish I had done it though. She was brilliant.”


They all watched as the Contessa, who had been quietly standing nearby all throughout Sylvia’s invectives, primly tucked her wand back into the bodice of her robes. A few moments later, she was engulfed in a grateful embrace by her son and her new daughter-in-law.


Va bene!” Raphael’s magically amplified voice boomed over the uproar that followed the Vanes’ panicked escape. Smiling at Vittoria, he said, “My wife and I want to dance. Musica, per favore!


The orchestra hastily reassembled itself to strike up another tune, and Calliope Arias, who had managed to keep her trademark cool composure despite having been so unceremoniously manhandled by the Vane cousins, reappeared on stage. She began to croon her newest song, It’s Time to Believe in Magic, sending people streaming back to the dance floor in droves.


A small group of witches in yellow-green robes, who, upon closer inspection, appeared to have been part of Sylvia’s wedding entourage, were dancing exuberantly in one corner; judging from the way they were gleefully ripping off the pink lace from the dresses before proceeding to stomp on them with much enthusiasm, Harry was pretty sure that they didn’t hold much sympathy for Sylvia. He certainly didn’t.


Colin and Parvati waved farewell and whirled away, and Harry was finally left alone with Ginny.


Well, as alone as they could be in the midst of the gaggle of giggling, gossiping guests.


Harry nervously made to push his glasses up his nose and realised that he was still holding Ginny’s hand in his. He smiled awkwardly at her and was gratified to see her smile back.


“C’mon, Harry, let’s go have that talk,” she said, and pulled him in the direction of one of the alcoves that adjoined the main reception hall.


Harry was amazed at the sight that met his eyes as they stepped through the portico and into the secluded space. It was as if they had suddenly taken a Portkey to another world and another time.


The room was enchanted to resemble a miniature flower garden — red and white roses, pink camellias, purple lilacs, and yellow daffodils were just some of the blooms that filled the air with their heady bouquet. The white latticed walls were festooned with green ivy that wound itself through the trellises and the marble pillars that shielded the room from the rest of the main chamber.


As he and Ginny seated themselves on the small stone bench that was set in one corner of the room, Harry noticed some white, funnel-shaped blossoms that gave off a sweet scent that was hauntingly familiar to Harry, until he realised why — it was the same lovely fragrance that he always associated with Ginny.


Freesias, he thought, and stared wonderingly at Ginny’s auburn hair, which seemed to give off a soft radiance in the muted fairy lights of the conservatory.


“Ginny,” he murmured, taking both her hands in his.


She looked up at him, her gaze clear and unwavering. “Yes, Harry?”


It was time to tell her what he had wanted to for so long. Harry took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He did not want bollix this up.


“You know, I’ve had some rather nasty things happen to me over the past few years,” he began, pausing to grin at her when Ginny snorted quietly at this understatement, “but there’ve been more than enough good things in my life to more than make up for those. Hagrid telling me that I was a wizard, meeting Ron and Hermione, having your family welcome me unconditionally, well, I reckon those were some of the better moments in my life.”


“But the best thing that ever happened to me was getting to know you better and becoming your friend.” He squeezed her hand gently. “I don’t think I could have got through my last years at Hogwarts without you by my side, Ginny. You were always there for me, no matter how much of a git I could be sometimes.”


“Sometimes?” she teased, arching one ginger eyebrow.


Harry chuckled. “All right,” he conceded, “most of the time.”


He turned her hand over and traced the soft skin of her palm with his fingers. Ginny seemed to have gone very still; Harry looked up in concern but relaxed when he saw the passion blazing in them.


“I began having all these feelings for you the summer before my sixth year, Ginny, but I was too much of a dim prat to realise what they meant back then.”


“That’s what Mum told me,” Ginny said with a small smile. “She said that she didn’t want to say anything because it might scare you off since you obviously had no clue as to what was happening.”


“Smart woman, your mum,” he replied with a rueful shake of his head. “Anyway, by my seventh year, I badly wanted to do something about those feelings, but this mad old bugger of a dark wizard sort of kept getting in the way.”


“Brainless bloody wanker,” muttered Ginny.


“And then after that, everything seemed to be happening all at once — that stupid Ministry tour, Quidditch training, you working long hours.” Harry sighed. “I was so disappointed when I couldn’t come to your last day at Hogwarts, but I was determined not to miss your birthday party.”


He grinned wryly at her. “I had actually managed to summon enough courage to ask you out that day when something came up and made me think that I didn’t stand a chance with you.”


“What?” Ginny’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Whatever made you think that?”


“Well, um…” He ducked his head sheepishly. “I may have overheard you telling Hermione that you weren’t interested in going out with anyone.”


“When was this? I had loads and loads of redundant discussions with Hermione about you, you know,” she said in a dry tone. “It’s a wonder she didn’t get tired of my incessant moaning and whinging.”


“Er, during your eighteenth birthday party?” he admitted reluctantly.


Ginny fell silent, apparently trying to remember the events from that point in time. “Well… after you and Ron ate all of my strawberry shortcake — don’t deny it! — Hermione and I went to the porch for some peace and quiet, and then…”


Her eyes widened and she gasped. “Harry! You were the one lurking by the kitchen window, weren’t you?” she cried out, looking highly delighted.


“I was not lurking!” he protested hotly. How come everyone automatically assumed that he had been lurking? “It was just sheer coincidence that I was passing by the open window at that time, and ‘sides, you were talking so loudly anyway…”


“Right.” Ginny rolled her eyes. “But since you were already lurking,” she drawled, stressing the word with an impudent grin, “you should have stayed around to hear the rest of the conversation.”


“Why?”


“Let’s just say you missed the most important bit of what I said to Hermione,” she told him with arched eyebrows. “The bit where I said that I wasn’t interested in going out with anyone new.” She spoke the last word with a rather direct look at him.


Harry gazed at her in awe, her words from earlier that evening suddenly coming back to him.


…just because I’ve been madly in love with you since forever…


“Ginny,” he said huskily, searching her beloved face. “When I asked you if you would let me be like a lover to you, what I wanted to know was if you’d let me love you,” he raised a hand to cup her soft cheek, “the way I’ve loved you for a very long time.”


Her eyes were bright, limpid pools of the deepest shade of brown, and Harry felt himself drowning in them.


“I’ve fallen in love with you, Ginny,” he whispered, caressing her cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, “I fell utterly and completely in love with you, and I don’t think I’ll ever stop falling in love with you.”


She smiled then, her entire face slowly lighting up until she was positively glowing. He thought that he had never seen anyone as beautiful as Ginny did right at that moment.


“Harry, there’s only one man I’ve ever given my heart to.” She placed her own hand on Harry’s cheek, sending pleasurable warmth flooding throughout his entire body, “and he’s sitting right beside me, grinning like a silly schoolboy when he should get on with it and kiss me before I decide to take matters into my own hands and ravish him right here and now.”


He blinked and then felt his face split into an even wider grin. “Hmm… that sounds quite wonderful, actually.” He wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.


Ginny burst into laughter, the silvery peals echoing in the quiet garden.


“Just kiss me already, Harry.”


So he did.


His heart overflowing with emotion, Harry leaned in and gently touched his lips to hers. Ginny gave a little sigh, her hands sliding through his hair as she pulled his head even closer. Feeling emboldened, he tentatively ran his tongue against her lips, seeking permission, and was rewarded when she opened her mouth, allowing him to kiss her more deeply.


Heat coursed through his veins as she returned his kiss with ardour, her mouth hot against his, her teeth nipping gently at his lower lip. He threaded his fingers through the silken fire of her hair - when had it come loose from her chignon? — and then his hands were on her hips, stroking her exquisite curves. Ginny’s own nimble hands were playing with the small hairs on the back of his neck, sending goosebumps skittering across his arms and other parts of his body.


He and Ginny were both moaning softly by this time, and Harry decided, albeit very unwillingly, to end the kiss before things got out of hand. He gave one last playful nibble on her lip before they broke apart.


Ginny’s eyes remained closed for a few seconds, and his pulse quickened again at the wantonness of her appearance — her lips were swollen from their kiss, her glorious auburn hair tumbled about her shoulders, and her face (along with her bosom, Harry was finally able to confirm) was suffused with a lovely rosy colour.


He watched in fascination as Ginny’s eyes gradually opened, her heavy-lidded gaze making his heart thump even more wildly in his chest.


“Wow,” she whispered. “That was…”


“Yeah,” said Harry, feeling extraordinarily pleased that he had been the one to make her look that way. “It was spectacular.”


She let out a great shuddering breath and then leaned against his shoulder. Harry shifted slightly and pulled her closer to him, enjoying the feel of her lissom body pressed against his. Why in the world had he waited so long to tell her how he felt about her?


“I take it back, Harry,” said Ginny, breaking the contented silence that had befallen between them.


Oh Merlin, was she having second thoughts already?


“Take what back, Ginny?” he asked apprehensively.


She straightened up and smiled mischievously at him. “What I said before — about you crashing and burning after you passed eighteen.”


“Oh?” He almost sagged in relief. “So, I’m still in the prime of my youth then?” he asked cheekily.


“I’d say you’re indubitably, incontestably, and irrefutably at your sexual peak.” she said, eyeing him up and down appreciatively, her gaze lingering on his mouth. “Yum,” she murmured with a throaty purr. “My very own sex god.”


Harry laughed. He could not help it. Only Ginny could make him laugh even as she said things that made certain parts of his anatomy sit up and take notice. “I’m glad you approve, my love,” he said in amusement.


She glanced sharply at him before her face became wreathed in smiles. “I like the sound of that. ‘My love’. Has a nice ring to it, and it rolls off the tongue quite easily.” She nodded in satisfaction. “But if you value your sanity, Harry, you should only call me that when we’re alone, unless you want the twins to — oh!”


“Whatever you say, my love,” he mumbled against the soft skin behind her ear, enjoying the way she arched her neck to give him better access to it. He made a mental note to remember that she liked being kissed in this particular area.


After another prolonged round of fantastic kissing, Ginny let out a satisfied sigh. “I reckon we’ll really have to send a thank you owl to McLaggen now.”


“That’s funny. I was thinking the same thing,” said Harry, nuzzling her cheek. “Who would have thought that tosser was good for something?”


She giggled and snuggled back into his embrace. “I love you, Harry.”


“I love you too, Ginny.” He pressed his lips to her temple and began to idly play with her hair.


They fell into a comfortable conversation, laughing as each regaled the other with their misfortunes in romance. When Harry told her about his Quidditch career and how much he missed seeing her at his games, Ginny mumbled something about not wanting to entertain the public with her rather bizarre reactions to seeing him in his Quidditch uniform.


“Oh, like the time you walked into the common room fireplace?” asked Harry, sniggering at her flabbergasted expression.


“Harry, you prat! Did you actually see that?” She smacked him on the arm, blushing to the roots of her hair. “Good grief, that was mortifying.”


He winked at her. “I thought it you looked very cute, walking into random bits of furniture and unlit fireplaces like that.”


“Huh.” She glowered at him accusingly. “Hermione said that you deliberately flexed your muscles whenever I was in the room just to see if you could rattle me.”


It was Harry’s turn to flush darkly. “Well, erm, yeah.” At Ginny’s smug grin, he said defensively, “Hey, considering how scrawny I was then, I considered it as a compliment that you might have considered me quite muscley back then.”


“Oh, Harry,” she said, squeezing his biceps playfully. “Don’t worry, you’ll always be dead macho to me, even when we’re old and grey, and you’ve got a pot-belly going on down here.” She poked him in the stomach and then pulled him down for a kiss.


It was quite a few minutes before either of them said anything. After they separated, Ginny wrapped her arm around his waist once more, laid her head on his shoulder, and both of them sighed happily.


Harry would have been quite glad to stay in that tiny secluded alcove forever, surrounded by a rainbow of sweetly scented flowers, the love of his life finally in his arms, if it were not for the sound of hushed voices and giddy laughter that suddenly filled the room.


“Oh! Raphael, stop it!”


“But mio splendido amore, I have missed you so!”


As more giggles and high-pitched squealing were heard, Ginny turned to Harry, her eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh dear, I think the newlyweds have decided on an early honeymoon,” she said in a conspiratorial voice.


Harry nodded his head regretfully. “We should probably give them some privacy.”


He was helping Ginny up from the bench when a flushed Vittoria, chased by a laughing Raphael, abruptly came into view, both in various stages of dishabille.


Oddio!” Vittoria stopped short when she saw them, her hands flying to the front of her robes to hurriedly refasten the partially open clasp.


Raphael appeared surprised as well but quickly regained his composure. “Mi diaspace. We did not know there was someone here.” He straightened his collar and held out his hand. “I am Raphael Mugatu, and this is Vittoria, my wife.”


Ginny smiled at them while Harry shook Raphael’s hand. “Hello,” he said, and gestured towards Ginny. “This is—”


Mio Dio, you are Harry Potter!” exclaimed Vittoria, looking wide-eyed at him.


“Er, yeah,” said Harry uncomfortably, even as Raphael stopped shaking his hand to stare at him. “Anyway, this is Ginny Weasley, my girlfriend.”


A little thrill surged through Harry as he completed the introduction. He put his arm around her shoulder, and she gave him a winning smile.


“Hello, how do you do?” Ginny greeted the other couple politely. “I wish you every happiness.”


Grazie, Signorina Weasley.” Vittoria beamed at them, although her gaze seemed to linger on Harry.


“But wait,” cried Raphael, looking somewhat troubled. “You went to the wedding? You are both friends of Sylvia’s?”


He and Vittoria exchanged doubtful glances, as if debating the wisdom of having a conversation with two strangers who may or may not be angry that their friend had been jilted at the altar in such a crushing fashion.


“Well, we knew Sylvia from school,” offered Ginny, sounding almost remorseful about that unfortunate detail, “but she only invited me, well, out of spite and to gloat…” Ginny trailed off uncertainly, looking slightly embarrassed as she realised what she was saying and who she was saying it to. “It’s a bit complicated, but no, I can’t rightly say that we were friends with her.”


After an interminable moment where no one quite knew what to say, Ginny brightened up and volunteered, “We’re good friends with Colin Creevey though.”


The Mugatus’ faces cleared immediately.


“Ah, then, any friend of Colin’s is a friend of ours,” said Raphael, with a warm smile.


“And of course, any non-friend of Sylvia Vane’s is almost like family to us,” added Vittoria, laughing so merrily that everyone soon joined in.


After their laughter had died down, Raphael turned to Ginny. “Forgive me, but your name, it is a little unusual, si?”


“It’s short for Ginevra,” said Harry with a smirk, knowing that she didn’t really like being called by her full name.


True enough, Ginny rolled her eyes and slapped his arm.


“Ah, but Ginevra — that is an Italian name!” said Raphael, looking highly pleased.


“Yes, it is,” said Ginny. “It means ‘Guinevere’, am I right? That’s what my mum told me.”


“King Arthur’s lady fair.” Harry smiled fondly at her. “A beautiful name for a beautiful witch.”


Si, si!” Raphael nodded his head approvingly.


“Thank you, Harry,” said Ginny, roses blooming on her cheeks even as she grinned playfully at him. “You’ve certainly become quite the charmer all of a sudden.”


He shrugged and squeezed her shoulder. “I must be inspired,” he said, only half-joking as he smiled into her warm brown eyes.


They both turned to look at Vittoria when she cleared her throat. “Mi scusi, but Signore Potter, I was wonder—”


“Please,” he interrupted her, “since we’re family, call me Harry.”


Vittoria laughed again. “Va bene, Harry. It is very bold of me, but I wonder if I can ask a small favour from you?”


Harry shifted uneasily. He hoped Vittoria was not another one of those publicity-seeking witches who went to great lengths to get a piece of The-Boy-Who-Lived. Then again, considering that she was the daughter and wife of two Wizarding fashion designers of international renown, she probably was not interested in anything like that; in fact, Harry reasoned out, she had probably rubbed elbows with personas much more famous than he.


“Erm, all right. As long as it’s not too difficult,” agreed Harry hesitantly.


“No, no,” said the flaxen-haired witch. “I would just like to ask if you would be so kind as to give your blessing to our coming bambino.” She gestured toward her belly, her husband nodding eagerly at her side.


Harry could feel Ginny’s shoulders shaking with silent laughter as he struggled to understand what Vittoria had asked of him. He scratched the back of his neck in confusion and stared at the Mugatus as they stood before him with expectant, enthusiastic expressions.


“Harry,” said Ginny in a low, amused voice, “put your hand on her tummy and say some words.”


“What?” he whispered incredulously out of the side of his mouth. “I’m no minister! What am I supposed to say?”


“I thought that you were inspired?” Ginny smiled, her brown eyes dancing with deviltry.


“Ginny, I’m inspired when it comes to you!” he said in a desperate undertone. “When it comes to these things, I’m a blithering idiot.”


“Well, feel free to use me as inspiration,” she said glibly, “and make it up as you go along, just like you and Ron did for Divination.” She nudged him with her elbow. “C’mon, they’re waiting.”


Feeling particularly foolish and totally at sea, Harry stepped forward and placed his right hand on Vittoria’s swollen abdomen. He was surprised to find that it felt so solid and firm, and was even more shocked when, after a few seconds, there was a definite sensation of movement under his hand.


Meraviglioso! He likes you!” said Vittoria, overjoyed.


“That’s amazing,” breathed Harry in wonder as he felt the baby stir against his touch once again. He looked up to see Ginny smiling tenderly at him, and he suddenly had a vision of him lying next to her in their bed, his arm draped around a pregnant Ginny’s belly, his own unborn child moving against his fingers.


“Be well, little one, and be happy,” he murmured, patting Vittoria’s abdomen carefully, then he moved back to enfold Ginny into his arms once again, feeling strangely emotional.


Grazie mille, Harry Potter,” said Raphael solemnly. Vittoria was smiling, her blue-grey eyes filled with happy tears. “You have done us a great honour. If you or Signorina Ginevra need anything, anything at all from us, you only need to ask, and we shall be happy to oblige.”


“No, that’s quite all right,” said Harry, waving away the offer. “There’s really nothing—”


“Well,” interrupted Ginny, addressing Raphael with a charming smile, “now that you mention it, there is something you can help us with.”


Puzzled, Harry shot her a questioning glance. She grinned up at him before turning back to an interested Raphael.


“You see, I have this friend who’s about to be married…”

*


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