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SIYE Time:18:12 on 28th 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: 132982; Chapter Total: 15026
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
This chapter gave me a headache, so I hope you like it.

Thanks to everyone who's nominated and voted for this story, and of course, my everlasting gratitude to Chreechree.




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The Wedding Date




“All right, time to go!”


Ginny scooped up a still happily splashing Amelie into her arms and looked around for her brother.


“Michel! Where are you?”


Oui, Tante Gee?” A small voice piped over from Ginny’s right, and she twisted around to see Michel’s blond head emerge behind some bushes.


“Whatever are you up to, Michel?” Carefully carrying a wriggly, slippery and squealing Amelie, Ginny headed toward the little boy, who had disappeared again. “We’ve got to go now. Aren’t you hungry?”


Judging from the position of the sun, it was probably noontime, and she was tired and a bit overheated. It was a good thing she had remembered to apply a Sunshield Charm on herself and the children. Merlin knows I could use a couple of thousand more freckles, she thought wryly, and she could just imagine Fleur’s screech of indignation if any of her precious children became sunburned.


She found Michel staring in rapt fascination at a group of fat frogs which were sunning themselves on some rocks near the pond.


“Look, Tante Gee,” said Michel, hopping from one foot to the other in his excitement.


Ginny obligingly followed his finger and saw a particularly large yellow and green bullfrog, an expression of what could only be described as tolerant suffering on its warty face, squatting beneath some rushes. The reason for its gloominess was probably the presence of three smaller dark green frogs ensconced quite comfortably on its head and back. All of them blinked slowly at Ginny and the children. As they watched, the bigger frog gave a deep, melancholy croak, which was answered by higher-pitched ones from the tiny frogs.


Amelie giggled loudly in delight and attempted to squirm out of Ginny’s arms. “Want!” she shouted, her chubby fingers reaching for the frogs.


“Oh no, Poppet, Tante Gee is not getting any of those for you.” Ginny shook her head and gazed doubtfully at the amphibians again as they continued their strange croaky chorus. “Even if the weeny ones are kind of cute — in a fresh, pickled sort of way.”


Out of the corner of her eye, Ginny saw Michel creeping towards the rushes. “Non, Michel,” she called out sharply. “It’s time to go back to the house. Mémé Molly is waiting for us.”


Tightening her hold on the protesting little girl, Ginny tramped up to clearing where she had left their clothes and towels. Chasing after and watching over two energetic young children as they frolicked in the water and squelched their toes in the muddy bank had made her ravenous, and she knew that despite their protests about wanting to play some more, the two children were as famished as she was.


She was wrapping Amelie in her little pink towel when she heard someone call her name. Squinting into the bright sunshine, she made out the lithe form of Harry walking towards them, waving cheerily and carrying what appeared to be a picnic basket. Ginny’s heart fluttered alarmingly at the sight of him. She had not yet recovered from his comment about liking her in her dressing gown — whatever did he mean by that? And she had not missed the way that Harry’s gaze seemed to have burned into her while she was comforting Amelie. It made her shiver simply by remembering.


Ginny felt her face grow warm. She hoped that Harry would think that her now flaming cheeks were a result of too much sun. She stood up as he reached them, the sunlight reflecting off his glasses. Ginny silently admired the way his white cotton shirt stretched over his shoulders and the snug fit provided by his dark blue jeans. Harry’s physique, while not as broad as Ron’s, had definitely improved over the past years.


He looked absolutely yummy.


“Hello, Ginny. I brought sustenance.” Harry held up the basket and smiled at her. “I thought you lot might be hungry.”


She smiled back. She could not help it; he was too damn cute when he grinned and that little dimple appeared in his left cheek.


Once again, Ginny found herself suppressing the urge to throw herself at Harry and kiss that maddeningly attractive dimple and the rest of his maddeningly attractive self. It was getting to be quite a chore, really, holding herself in check; she was already suffering from muscle spasms due to all this clenching.


One of these days, she just knew that she was going to give in to her baser instincts and then where would she be?


Probably admitted as a long-time resident at St Mungo’s, along with the other witches (and wizards) terminally afflicted with the incurable “Must-Snog-Harry-Potter-Senseless-Or-Per ish-In-The-Attempt Syndrome”.


Heck, they’ll probably even name the ward after her.


“As a matter of fact, we’re all hungry, right?” she asked Michel and Amelie, turning away from Harry before she could act on her impulses and get carted off to St Mungo’s ‘The Ginevra Molly Weasley M.S.H.P.S.O.P.I.T.A.S. Ward’.


That actually has a nice ring to it, reflected Ginny. Practically rolls off the tongue...


She was already designing the interior décor of the ward (soothing greens and blues, so as not to agitate the already excitable patients) when she was startled from her inner ramblings by Amelie jumping up and down and shrieking, “Je mange, Uncle ‘Arry! Je mange!


Ginny caught Harry’s eye, and then they both burst out laughing. “Well, let’s see if Uncle ‘Arry brought you anything good, Poppet.” She took the basket from him as Michel and Amelie animatedly began telling him of how much fun they had just had. “Let’s go eat under the tree over there.”


“All right.” Harry picked up a still chattering Amelie and held Michel’s hand as they made their way to the shady spot beneath a tall linden tree.


Ginny opened the basket to find that Harry had packed everything necessary for a picnic lunch. She unfurled a large, red and gold chequered afghan and spread it on the ground, and then brought out several wrapped sandwiches, a chilled flagon of pumpkin juice, cups and even some slices of chocolate cake.


“Wow, I’m very impressed, Harry,” said Ginny as she quartered a cheese sandwich for the children. “Did you make all this?”


“Of course! I even baked the cake — iced it and everything,” he answered proudly, handing Michel a glass of pumpkin juice. Harry was sitting on her left side, both of them with their backs against the tree. He laughed at the sceptical expression on her face. “Nah, I only cobbled the sandwiches together. Your mum told me where all the stuff was before she went to Diagon Alley. Although I must say that I’m deeply wounded that you’d have so little faith in my culinary abilities,” he said, not quite succeeding at looking offended.


Ginny rolled her eyes and handed him a roast beef sandwich before tucking into her own. “I know you, remember? You told me before that you can’t cook anything except rashers and scrambled eggs.”


Harry took a bite and chewed thoughtfully. “Yeah, I suppose that of all people, you’re the one who does know me best, Ginny,” he said, gazing at her with those eyes of his.


Ginny suddenly felt as if the temperature had risen several degrees, and she was acutely conscious of the fact that she was only wearing a swimming costume — it was an ancient green one-piece suit that she had owned for ages, and quite a modest one, even by Molly Weasley standards — but the way that Harry was looking at her made her feel like she was wearing little more than a bikini. Ginny belatedly wished that she had at least thought of pulling on her shorts to cover herself.


“Tante Gee, juice?”


Michel’s request served to distract Ginny, and she broke eye contact with Harry, knowing that she was now blushing furiously. To give her time while she regained her composure, she made a production of pouring out pumpkin juice for both Michel and his sister, who was cheerfully smearing chocolate cake all over her rounded cheeks and the front of her pink bathing costume.


“Oh, Amelie.” Ginny reached over to wipe her giggling niece’s face with a serviette, all the while feeling Harry’s eyes lingering on her.


When she dared peek up at Harry again, he was talking to Michel about Quidditch, his strong arms gesturing animatedly as he described the different brooms that were used in the sport while the little boy listened, enraptured. Ginny lay back against the tree once more and closed her eyes, listening to the low rumble of Harry’s voice occasionally interrupted by Michel’s childish tenor. Her hands stroked Amelie’s soft blonde hair as the child lay drowsing on her lap.


What is he playing at? she wondered. Do those looks mean anything at all or am I imagining things?


Ginny was quite confused. For all intents and purposes, Harry appeared to be making an effort to be charming, and while she was thrilled and excited at this, she worried whether or not he was simply pursuing her as he was effectively stuck with her in The Burrow. Unless Harry had changed a great deal, however, Ginny knew that he was not the type to flirt casually, and he certainly did not jump into relationships hastily.


So, did that mean that he was doing this because he liked her?


“Ginny?”


She opened her eyes and met Harry’s compelling gaze.


Everything — the susurrus made by the trees as the wind blew through them, the distant singing of an unseen blackbird, the bright sunlight glinting off the still waters of the pond — seemed to fade away. All Ginny was aware of was the brilliant green of Harry’s eyes as they stared at each other. She watched in dazed fascination as Harry slowly leaned forward, his eyes flicking toward her lips as his head bent closer and closer to hers…


The spell was broken by Michel spilling his pumpkin juice all over Harry’s lap as he fell asleep against Harry’s arm. Ginny was disappointed that they had been interrupted, but she could not help but giggle at the shocked look on Harry’s face as the cold liquid seeped into his jeans.


“Well, I suppose we should get these two to bed for their naps, yeah? Besides, things are becoming quite — erm — hot out here.” Shaking his head ruefully, Harry cast a quick Scourgify and grinned audaciously at her, seeming to enjoy the slightly flummoxed expression that Ginny knew must be on her face.


Before she could formulate a coherent response, Harry waved his wand at the plates and glasses, packing them neatly back into the basket. Harry stood up and hoisted Michel onto his hip. He held out a hand to Ginny, who stared at it for a few seconds before she took it and got to her feet. She missed the warmth of his hand when he let go and cast a spell on the basket. Taking care not to wake Amelie, who had put her thumb in her mouth, Ginny bemusedly followed Harry back to The Burrow, the picnic basket trailing after them like a faithful Crup.


* * *



After she and Harry had deposited the children in their beds, Ginny waved at him and headed straight for her room for a fresh set of clothes. She needed to put some distance between her and Harry so she could analyse what had almost happened out by the pond. She took a quick shower, changed into her most comfortable jeans and a white sleeveless shirt, and then went back to her bedroom to do comb out her hair.


As she untangled her wet tresses in front of her small dressing table, she came to the reluctant conclusion that the combination of the hot sun and the food in her stomach must have made her imagine things.


Maybe I had something on my face and Harry was simply leaning forwards to remove it?


Her reflection stared back at her.


Yeah, right, he was going to remove whatever it was with his mouth, was he? it seemed to mock her silently.


She frowned at herself in the mirror. Remembering the way that he had been intently regarding her mouth and the dark fire in his green eyes, however, Ginny had to concur with her impertinent mirror-self — Harry had definitely been about to kiss her.


So what the bloody hell am I supposed to do now?


“Ginny!” Her mother’s voice interrupted her reverie. Ginny was grateful for the distraction; she could feel the beginnings of a mild headache from all the confused thoughts swirling around in her head.


“Be right there!” she shouted back. She hurriedly tied her hair and made her way down the stairs. She could hear Harry and her mum talking in the sitting room.


“There you are,” said Mrs Weasley. “I thought you had fallen asleep.”


“Hi, Mum.” She kissed her mother on the cheek before sitting down on the old armchair next to the fireplace. “Errands go all right?”


“Oh yes,” said Mrs Weasley. “I was just telling Harry here that I ran into Remus and Tonks at the Leaky Cauldron and invited them for tea.”


“Excellent! I haven’t seen Tonks in ages. Will they be bringing little Randall?”


“I suppose so.” Mrs Weasley rose from her chair. “I think I should make sure the children are all right.”


“They’re fine, Mum,” said Ginny, a bit nervous at being left alone with Harry. She knew that he had been watching her ever since she had entered the living room. “I checked on them, and they’re still napping.”


“I’d still like to see them,” said Mrs Weasley firmly. “I’ve missed the little darlings. They spend far too much time in France. Why your brother can’t visit more often is something I’d like to know. You stay here and talk to Harry.”


Ginny tried not to roll her eyes at her mother’s rather obvious ploy to leave her with Harry. Though she had never announced it outright, Mrs Weasley had always made it quite clear that if she had to choose the lucky man in Ginny’s life, then only a certain dark-haired, green-eyed bespectacled young man who had saved the Wizarding World several times over would do. In fact, Mrs Weasley had always been the first to find some subtle imperfection in each of the very few men that Ginny had actually gone out with.


David, a curse breaker Bill worked with in Egypt, had been very pleasant and polite, but Mrs Weasley had pointed out that he was much too old for Ginny.


“Just think, dear, by the time you’re thirty; he’ll be forty-nine! Why can’t you go out with someone nearer your age and not someone whose peas you’ll have to mash up when you’re having supper, Ginny?”


Ginny had barely managed to keep her temper while Ron, who had popped over for a spot of tea, began laughing so hard that he nearly choked on a cucumber sandwich.


Joshua, who was laid-back and worked with dragons in Romania with Charlie, was too much of a ‘risk-taker’. Mrs Weasley had taken one look at Joshua’s long dirty-blond hair and the Chinese Fireball tattoo that wound itself sinuously around his left forearm, and had frowned ferociously at Ginny the moment the dragon trainer turned his back.


“You’ll be a widow before you even have the chance to give me grandchildren, mark my word! How could you do that to your own poor mother? Have you no consideration for my delicate constitution?” she had dramatically declared after Joshua had roared away on his motorcycle.


The twins had sniggered, Ron had snorted then yelped when Hermione kicked him under the table even as she hid her own smile behind a large bite of mashed potatoes, and Ginny had wondered if she could be placed in Azkaban if she were to “accidentally” place a permanent Silencing Charm on her own mother.


Adam, whom Ginny had met at the Ministry cafeteria when she wound up sprawled on his lap after she had slipped on some spilled treacle sauce, had been quite charming with his green eyes, dark hair and his shy personality.


Unluckily for him, Mrs Weasley had pounced not ten minutes after he arrived at The Burrow to pick Ginny up, and began casually interrogating him about his views on large families. Ginny thought it had been almost insulting how fast Adam had flung himself back into the Floo. Not only did he leave without even having the decency to say good-bye, he had taken their entire flowerpot of Floo powder with him!


Ginny had complained loudly to Hermione and Luna (and to anyone else in her family she could waylay) about what she called her mother’s “insufferable and unwanted meddling” with her already wretched lovelife, but secretly, she was glad that she had been provided with excuses to not pursue things with David, Joshua and Adam.


She had a feeling that any relationship she would have had with any of them, or any bloke for that matter, would have been depressingly superficial and shallow, as the only man she had ever really wanted was sitting right across her, a crooked smile on that damnably sexy mouth of his.


Ginny looked out the window, determined not to show Harry how much she was affected by his mere presence.


Honestly, she thought fiercely, after all this time, now you start acting like you’re eleven again. Snap out of it!


“So, any owls come along for me?” she asked, inwardly cringing at how unnaturally squeaky her voice sounded.


“Nope,” said Harry laconically. “Expecting some post, were you?”


“Yes.”


“From whom?”


“Oh, just some post from a co-worker,” said Ginny vaguely, waving one hand in the air.


“You mean a co-worker like Seamus Finnigan?”


Ginny whipped her head around to gape at him. “How’d you know that?”


“He Flooed a while ago, looking for you,” he answered, grinning lazily at her.


“What? Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, looking at him in exasperation.


Harry shrugged and picked up an old issue of Witch Weekly that Mrs Weasley had left on the sofa. “Must have slipped my mind. I did have an accident, you know. Hit my head and everything.”


Ginny thought he sounded a bit petulant. She stared at him, waiting for him to tell her what Seamus had said. When Harry continued to flip aimlessly through Witch Weekly, she pursed her lips in annoyance and let out an impatient breath.


“And?”


“And what?” Harry raised a dark eyebrow.


Ginny rolled her eyes. Why was he being so difficult?


“What did he say, Harry?”


“Are you going out with Seamus Finnigan?” he asked abruptly.


“What?” She looked at him incredulously.


He sounded… jealous.


“I said, are you dating Seamus Finnigan?” Harry asked again, now frowning in earnest.


He was jealous!


Harry Potter, saviour of the Wizarding world, star Seeker for the Wimbourne Wasps, and quite possibly the most handsome and attractive man that Ginny had ever met, was throwing a hissy fit over Seamus Finnigan, of all people.


“Are you, Ginny?” Harry sounded really peeved. He had rolled up the magazine and was tapping it restlessly against his left leg.


“What if I am?” she challenged, folding her arms across her chest and trying not to smile. “Is there something wrong with that?”


Harry looked troubled. “Well, no,” he admitted reluctantly before he shot back, “but isn’t he too old for you?”


Ginny held back a snigger at Harry’s pathetic objection. “He’s only a year older than me!”


“Precisely!”


“Harry, you’re only a year older than me.”


“Well, yeah…” said Harry, nonplussed. “It’s just that…”


“What, Harry?” Ginny looked intently at him. He was a bit flushed, and his eyebrows were drawn together, as if he were thinking about a particularly heinous problem. She waited anxiously for what he was going to say. Would he actually admit that he was angry at the thought of her dating Seamus Finnigan?


“Nothing,” he muttered, throwing the magazine onto the floor and raking his hands through his hair. “Nothing at all.”


Ginny felt her insides come crashing together. Maybe she had been wrong about him being jealous after all.


“What did Seamus say, Harry?” she asked wearily, slumping back into her chair.


“He asked me to tell you that he can’t accompany you to Sylvia’s wedding,” he replied quietly.


“Oh.” Ginny looked down at her lap. “All right, then.”


She was not upset that she would not have an escort to the wedding. Sylvia and her Italian designer boyfriend with the poncy-sounding name could rot in the Hogwarts Potions dungeon for all Ginny cared.


She was far too disappointed in herself for actually believing that Harry had been jealous about Seamus.


Ginny stared at the faded floral pattern of the golden throw rug on the floor, her eyes seeking out the large charred spot in the centre that was the direct result of her dad’s experiments with Muggle matches and something called petrol. When the silence stretched out for so long that the burnt area began resembling the profile of Mad-Eye Moody, complete with revolving magical eye, Ginny decided that there was nothing more to be said. She sighed heavily and was about to leave when Harry suddenly spoke up.


“Ginny?”


“Yes?”


“Would you — erm — I mean, would you like me to — um — go with you to the wedding?” asked Harry hesitantly, not meeting her gaze.


She gaped speechlessly at his bowed head.


“Right,” mumbled Harry. “I reckon that’s a no, then.” He made to get up from the sofa, immediately snapping Ginny out of her stupor.


What the hell are you doing? she screamed at herself. Stop the bloody love of your life before he walks away!


“Hang on!” she shouted, startling Harry back into sitting back down.


“Sorry,” she said sheepishly, smiling at him. “If you really don’t mind, Harry, then yes, I would like it very much if you went with me to the wedding.”


“Brilliant.” Harry grinned back at her, looking enormously pleased. They spent a few moments smiling at each other like they’d both been hit by massive Cheering Charms before Ginny realised she should clarify one minor detail.


“Oh, and Harry?”


“Yeah?”


“I am not going out with Seamus Finnigan,” she stated, looking straight at him to make sure he understood what she was telling him, “or anyone else for that matter.”


Harry’s grin became even wider, if that were possible. “That’s really good to know, Ginny,” he said softly.


The brilliance of his smile was beginning to make her so giddy that she failed to realise that he was speaking to her until she noticed that his lips were moving.


“Sorry, Harry, but could you repeat that?”


He flashed another smile, a rather knowing one at that, much to her consternation. “I asked you where’s this wedding going to be.”


“Oh.” Ginny shook her head to clear it. “Italy. It’s going to be in Italy.”

*

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