TWENTY-SIX
As it turns out, McGonagall wasn’t exaggerating: she is easily able to convince Robards that Harry should split his time between instructing the trainee aurors and teaching defense to sixth and seventh years at Hogwarts. His contract is signed within days of the agreement being reached, with both McGonagall and Robards only explaining that Robards is rather fond of the Headmistress; Robards also implies that he owed his former transfiguration teacher a favor, though what kind of favor he could possibly owe her, Harry cannot guess. It doesn’t really matter, anyway. He’s got what he wants: the opportunity to try a new career path without leaving the old one behind just yet.
Beginning on the second of August — a Monday — Harry will go to Hogwarts on Monday afternoons, Tuesdays, and Fridays to begin preparing for the school year ahead, while spending the rest of his working hours in the auror office at the Ministry. But first, he’s got a birthday: his twenty-fourth and his first one as a father.
Between quidditch and James and using the spare moments she has left to keep her relationship with Harry going, Ginny hasn’t had much time to plan any birthday surprises for Harry. For a brief moment, she considers telling him that she’s just about given him every gift she ever could; the only thing stopping her is the fact that Harry absolutely would agree, except it would give him the opening to then say that the last gift she could give him is agreeing to marry him. And that is not how Ginny Weasley wants Harry Potter to propose to her, so she reckons getting him something — anything — is better than giving him that opportunity.
Harry’s difficult to shop for, because he doesn’t want for much — he’s got the gold to buy himself any object he fancies — and that which he craves more of is usually intangible. Stumped, Ginny gets him a new Harpies jersey with her name and number on the back, because he hasn’t replaced his since she was first signed. Then, she was on the reserves and now, she’s well on her way to earning her starting position back. It’s a gift for him that’s really a gift for her; it’ll make her play harder when the season starts, knowing Harry and James are in stands wearing matching Ginny Weasley jerseys. Harry will love it all the same; even when they were broken up, he was always her biggest fan.
Still not satisfied she’s done enough, she takes James to the muggle shops on the high street, where she picks out a card for each of them to give to Harry. In a discount area, where items that didn’t sell during Father’s Day lay neglected, she spots a mug that says I LOVE MY DADDY and throws that into the mix, too. It’s twee and a bit garish, but she knows instinctively that Harry will treasure it.
Her mum is hosting a birthday dinner for Harry, so that’s something she doesn’t need to plan, at least. Instead, she just nods along when her mother comments on the event in the afternoons when she picks James up from the Burrow after practice.
“I can’t decide whether he’d prefer a treacle tart or a cake,” Molly muses aloud as Ginny sips her tea. She’d typically be back in London by now, but her father came home early and who is she to deprive her dad of time with his only grandson? So James is in the den with Arthur, and Ginny is sipping tea in the kitchen with Molly, listening to her mother prattle on about her boyfriend’s birthday dinner. “What do you think, love?”
“Mmm,” Ginny hums agreeably, knowing that Harry would be equally happy with either, both, or neither. It doesn’t matter — all of these years later, Harry’s still just thrilled that anyone thinks his birthday is a day worth celebrating. “He’ll love it no matter what, mum.”
Molly seems to consider this. “Better make both, I should think. Just in case. Don’t you agree?”
“If that’s what you want to do, Mum.” Ginny moves her hand to the rim of her mug and runs her finger absently along the outside. She must look pensive, for it makes her mother pause and take her in.
“How are you, Ginny?”
At the question, Ginny rolls her eyes. Her mother sees her almost every day and writes to her nearly constantly. It’s not like Molly doesn’t know how things are going for Ginny. “I’m fine, Mum. Just tired.” And that’s true: because between James and quidditch and maintaining her relationship with Harry, she also doesn’t have much time to rest.
“Tired?” Molly repeats the world as if even a bit of fatigue is an unfamiliar concept to her — and, Ginny considers, it might be; aside from the summer after the war, she’s not once seen her mother anything less than bright-eyed and bushy-tailed in the morning.
“It’s when you could really use a kip,” she informs her mother cheekily. “James isn't sleeping as well, so Harry and I are both up with him quite a lot.” She leaves out that this is not the only thing tiring her: getting back her athletic endurance has been more difficult than she anticipated and she still needs to make time for herself, which she defines as the energy-sapping activity of shagging James’ father. The last thing she needs is for her mother to judge her for either.
Molly stares at her curiously for a few moments before clapping her hands together, signifying that she just had an idea. “Oh, Ginny, darling! Why don’t you and Harry leave James here with us after dinner on Saturday?”
Ginny narrows her eyes and furrows her brow, confused by what, exactly, her mother is offering. “Leave him here?” She repeats, her voice going up in question. James is only four months old, he’s never been away from his parents for any real length of time; it would never occur to her to leave him with her mother overnight. “Mum, it’ll be near his bedtime, and we’ll need to get him home — bath, bedtime story…” She trails off short of listing the entire nighttime routine she and Harry have in place for their son.
“Yes,” Molly agrees. “Your father and I will put him to sleep and wake up with him in the night, so you and Harry can have a good night’s rest for his birthday.” It’s clear that Molly thinks this is an excellent idea — and, logically, Ginny would have to agree. The issue is that as much as she thinks time for herself has been essential to keeping her sane this last month or so, she also can’t fathom the idea of letting James stay with his grandparents overnight. She’s not sure Harry will be a fan of it, either, if she’s honest. He can barely let other people hold James without needing to observe it.
“I dunno, Mum…”
“You need time to yourselves,” Molly admonishes her, and the knowing tone of her voice tells Ginny that her mum is actually suggesting that she and Harry have sex, even if she won’t say it out loud. “You could even see if Ron and Hermione want to go to the pub with you after, invite some of your schoolmates? Harry’s auror friends? Throw him a proper party without the baby.”
And, of course, it was Harry’s birthday last year when James was conceived in a pub bathroom, so there’s precedent for that sort of gathering. After that night, neither of them would ever have a “proper party without the baby” again.
Ginny pulls a face. Harry’s always been more reserved than she is and, therefore, less likely to say yes to a pub night (even though he always has fun when he does come out); with James’ arrival into their lives, convincing him to celebrate his own birthday with a few pints will be even more difficult. She can almost hear him telling her that his ideal birthday, actually, is having dinner at the Burrow followed by what they do every other night: putting James to sleep and fitting in a shag before he wakes up again.
“I’m not taking no for an answer,” Molly tells her warningly after Ginny fails to respond with words .
“Harry’s never going to go for it,” Ginny exhales sharply. “You’ve seen how he is — hates letting other people hold James if he can’t watch him.”
But her mother only waves her off. “Harry leaves James here with me every day and seems more than comfortable doing it. Just worry about inviting everyone to meet the two of you out and don’t give him a chance to say no to it. You both can have a lie-in on Sunday and I’ll have breakfast ready when you come to fetch him. He’ll be safe and sound here.”
To be sure, Ginny and her mother butt heads — relentlessly and often; when she thinks of her mum, she is usually thinking about how different they are, how inadequate Molly sometimes makes her feel, how much they grate on one another’s nerves. Perhaps it makes her a bit of a prat, that it takes something like this for her to remember how much she loves her mum, too. Ginny Weasley is fortunate for many reasons, but her family — the one she was born into as well as the one she and Harry are building together — is chief among them. She looks at her mother and, for the first time in quite a while, feels nothing but a swell of affection and gratitude; she thinks of her dad in the other room, undoubtedly cradling her son and gazing at him adoringly, and the wave crashes over her, completely overwhelming.
So she agrees.
She enlists Hermione and Ron as her deputies, since she doesn’t actually have time to organize a pub night, especially a surprise pub night for the man she lives with. Her brother and his fiancée are, predictably, enthusiastic about the idea. Hermione coordinates with Hannah Abbott to reserve space at the Leaky Cauldron — purely a convenience play, because Harry would typically prefer someplace muggle — and Ron takes care of sending owls to their mates from school and the aurors. By the time the 31st of July rolls around, all Ginny has to do is get Harry to the Burrow for their dinner and make sure he follows them to the pub afterwards.
In a time before James — if they might imagine a world without James where they still got back together — Harry’s birthday might have started with a lie-in, a leisurely shag, and a trip to the cafe up the road for a fry up. Instead, the morning of Harry’s twenty-fourth birthday begins the way most of their mornings do these days: with the sound of James’ frustrated whines waking them after what only feels like minutes since their heads last hit their pillows. Habitually, Harry reaches for his glasses on the bedside table and pushes them with minimal coordination onto his face as he swings his legs over the side of the bed.
The day has begun and the thought that it’s his birthday has yet to enter his mind.
Ginny had plans — plans of waking up before Harry, of going to get James on her own, of surprising Harry with toast and tea and his presents — but those are easily disregarded when he leans over, kisses her forehead, and tells her he’s got it. She mumbles a sleepy happy birthday and enjoys a few more moments with her eyes closed before Harry inevitably brings James in to nurse. As usual, those moments never feel like enough; they only seem to make her more tired, especially in comparison to Harry who looks positively cheerful for having woken up at the crack of dawn on his birthday.
She yawns as she pulls her sleep shirt over her head, sitting up against the headboard; shifting James to just one arm, Harry uses the other to prop a pillow behind her. Reaching out her arms for Harry to transfer their son to her, Ginny leans back. “Were you good for your daddy?” It’s strange, really, that they ask James these questions, even though they know he can’t answer.
Harry settles the baby into her arms, grinning at how eager James is when he realizes he’s about to have a meal. Ginny winces as he latches, but Harry can’t feel anything but pride and love so intense it consumes him completely. “A perfect angel,” Harry answers, because James can’t. “Wanted a cuddle and a fresh nappy, but overall, very chipper for someone who didn’t sleep very much.” He reaches out and runs a finger over James’ fine black hair, wondering at what point it’ll start getting thicker, coarser, messier. Is it something that will happen while he’s still a baby, or will he be older? Did his own hair change after he was already with the Dursleys? Did his dad ever get to see just how alike the two of them looked?
“Sweet boy,” Ginny coos approvingly at her suckling son.
“Good behavior: a birthday gift for me, I guess,” Harry chuckles, snapping out of his reverie almost as quickly as he fell into it. He finds it easy to fall into a state of contemplation on his birthday, thinking about all of the people who had to die so that he could live to see another year. This year, though, he isn’t sad; he’s thinking about how maybe all of the pain and loss had a happy ending if this is what he gets to have at twenty-four.
“Your actual gifts are wrapped on the dresser,” Ginny informs him, gesturing vaguely to where two wrapped parcels and two cards sit next to the mirror — the one that still holds James’ first pictures, from back when he was just Snitch; Ginny placed the presents there the last time she woke up with the baby.
Harry looks genuinely surprised, clearly seeing them for the first time. He considers summoning the parcels with a quick accio, but he’s too close to his infant son to feel comfortable with that many hurtling objects. Withdrawing his hand from James’ head, he walks to the dresser and returns to bed with his gifts. “You really didn’t need to get me anything,” he tells her genuinely. With a cheeky grin, he glances over at James: “I reckon you got to work on my favorite present on my birthday last year, yeah?”
Ginny chuckles; she knows she should find that crude, but she actually kind of loves that this is their own private joke. “Open your presents, Potter,” she admonishes him playfully. As if knowing that’s his name, too, James stops suckling. “Not you, silly. The elder Potter.” When she looks over at Harry, he’s beaming: “What?”
Harry shakes his head, expression disbelieving. “Guess I’m still surprised every time I realize there are two Potters. I’ve been the only one for so long.” He doesn’t give her any time to react to it before he reaches for one of his cards; across the blue envelope, in blocky print, is the word Daddy. “Did James write me a poem? Will the card sing?” Harry wonders aloud as he slides his finger underneath the seal.
“Afraid not,” Ginny jokes, able to find humor in something that once mortified her now. Adult Ginny has a baby with Harry Potter, after all; Adult Ginny gets the last laugh. “Can’t really see colors yet, James, so he doesn’t know that Daddy’s eyes are as green as a fresh pickled toad.”
“Alas,” Harry sighs, pulling the card out of the envelope now. Inside Ginny’s written: Happy Birthday to the best Daddy in the whole world! I’m so happy you were born and I am so lucky that I get you as my dad and best friend. I know last year was pretty good for you — but this year, I’ll be here the whole time, so it’ll be your best one yet. I love you soooooooo much. Xx, James.
Harry reaches up to wipe tears out of the corners of his eyes, underneath his glasses, when Ginny interjects: “The cube box is from James.” And, Harry guesses, the baby must pull away a second time, because then she tells him: “Well, all right, you can watch Daddy open your gift. It’s only fair.”
It occurs to Harry that he’s never been happier than as he’s tearing golden snitch wrapping paper off of a gift from his son, who is watching him with wide, curious eyes from where a topless Ginny holds him. As Harry opens the box beneath the paper, his chest is filled with something like nostalgia, but it can’t be nostalgia, exactly, because this is the first time it’s ever happened. He pulls out the mug and reads it; his smile is so wide it nearly splits his face in two.
“I know it’s twee, but James insisted on it,” Ginny laughs. “Said it really got his point across.” Her tone is tinged with self-awareness and sarcasm, an obvious precursor to banter.
“Told you that, did he?”
“Mm, he doesn’t talk to you? Shame. We have the best talks, don’t we Jamie?”
“Oh we talk,” Harry replies haughtily. “We have man-to-man chats every night and most mornings, we do.” He pauses, and looks up at Ginny with love shining from his emerald green eyes. “I love it. Thank you, James. I’ll be taking tea in it every day.” He reaches for the other card, this one in a kraft brown envelope.
Ginny watches him intently as he reads it, heat creeping in her cheeks. He doesn’t think she has anything to be embarrassed about, though. She’s written something that is thoughtful and funny and sexy — and in the combination of those things, is just so thoroughly Ginny ; the card represents the very essence of her and it makes him fall in love with her all over again.
Harry —
Who would have thought that we’d go from shagging in a pub bathroom on your 23rd birthday to raising the most beautiful baby in the world together on your 24th? This year hasn’t been easy, but it’s been the best one of my life, and every day I look at you and I know you feel the same. I know that this next year will be filled with love and family (!!!) and quidditch and spectacular sex — and I can’t wait to spend this year and every one that follows with you (my chosen one ;)). Happy birthday — here’s to 24 and many more.
I love you,
Ginny
“I love you so much,” Harry tells her as he looks up from his card. He isn’t crying , but his face is soft with affection; already feeling exposed from watching Harry read her card, Ginny’s stomach does a flip gazing at him.
She looks down, switches James over to her other breast. “I love you too,” she responds, not looking at him as she gets James to latch once again. “But I reckon you knew that, so open your gift.”
Harry does as he’s told, tearing off the paper to reveal the Harpies jersey Ginny procured for him. He doesn’t say anything, so she begins to ramble uncomfortably. “Your old one was looking a little, well, old. And you got James one to wear to my games, so I thought you should have a new one to match—”
“I love it,” Harry cuts her off, looking and sounding sincere. He flips to jersey over to see the name WEASLEY emblazoned on the back. “I’ll take any chance I’ve got to let people know I’m on your team.” He pauses thoughtfully. “I was just thinking that one day, this might be vintage.”
“I’m not going to stop playing anytime soon, if that’s what you’re on about —”
Harry shakes his head. “I’d never expect you to stop playing. You should play until you physically can’t or are mentally ready to move on, whichever comes first.” Before he can think better of it, he blurts: “I’m just thinking that in a season or two, the kit might say Potter instead of Weasley.” They’ve talked about her eventually taking his name, but not about whether she’d do it professionally. “Not that I’d expect you to play under my name or anything —”
“Harry Potter,” Ginny teases, her eyes alight with mischief — a look he knows and loves well. “Please don’t tell me this is you asking me to marry you on your birthday while your bloody son is sucking on my tits.” Her thoughts flicker to the night she overheard Harry tells James that the plan was to propose at Hogwarts, but Harry had only just thought of it then, hadn’t he? He could have changed his mind, come up with a new plan. Her stomach flutters happily in anticipation, even though she’s positive a proposal is not afoot.
Harry flushes vermillion. “Of course not,” he assures her quickly and almost too forcefully. “We just know that it’s coming eventually, don’t we? But no, don’t worry. I’ve got a much better plan for asking you. Romance isn’t dead, you know.”
By much better plan, is he referring to Hogwarts, then? “Might be,” Ginny giggles. “You don’t need to woo me anymore. You’ve already got me living in your house, raising a child with you…” She raises an eyebrow conspiratorially. “We shag more nights than not, so you don’t even need to work that hard for that.”
There was once a time where Harry would get flustered by a comment like that — but not anymore. “I’d argue that I work very hard for that, actually.”
Ginny snorts in response. “Nice.” She pauses. Does she feel a little disappointed that Harry didn’t just propose by saying he wants to see his name on the back of her kit? Just the very slightest amount, if she’s honest. It would be so like them to get engaged that way — with very little planning, while their son is happily suckling away, oblivious to the world — but it’s also not necessarily a story you want to tell other people. So she pushes the thought out of her mind, instead accepting it when Harry leans over to give her a kiss.
“Thank you,” he tells her, his expression adoring as he takes in Ginny and James and the sight of them together, his whole world next to him in his bed. Never in his wildest dreams did he even begin to hope that his life would one day look like this. It’s everything he was afraid to let himself wish for. It’s perfect.
“There are more surprises where that came from,” she promises, a glimmer in her eyes that leaves him wanting for her, even though she’s still feeding their son and that is definitely not possible until naptime at least.
“I can’t wait,” he grins in return.
By the time they’re done with presents and James’ breakfast, Kreacher has made a morning meal to befit his master’s 24th birthday. Going to the place up the road for a fry up is decidedly out of the question when there are pastries and bacon rolls and perfectly milky tea waiting for them downstairs in the kitchen. Harry eats breakfast with James sitting in his lap; the infant, for the first time, lunges toward Harry’s bacon roll whenever it’s left on the plate.
“You can’t have that yet,” Harry admonishes the baby playfully, grabbing the bun and bringing it to his mouth once again. “In a few months, I reckon.”
“That’s a four month milestone, I think,” Ginny comments thoughtfully, trying to remember the list of developmental milestones Healer Macdonald had given them at James’ last check up.
“They keep telling us that he might be behind, but I’m still waiting for him to slow down,” Harry admits, something like pride in his voice. Common wisdom among the healers, it seems, is that preemies are typically slower to develop, but James seems to be either right on schedule or even slightly ahead of the curve. Harry suspects that the boy will forever have his parents on their toes; while some people would issue that as a warning, he can’t help but hear it as an exciting promise.
There are still hours to enjoy before his dinner at the Burrow; Ginny suggests that they take James out to Barnard Park, and possibly stop for tea or a spot of lunch before returning home to let James kip before they leave for Devon. Harry wears James in a carrier strapped to his chest for the short walk, grinning the whole way. It’s an unseasonably cool day for the end of July; both Harry and Ginny wear jumpers and atop James’ sweet-smelling head is a blue cap Molly knitted for him.
There’s a playground at Barnard Park, though James is nowhere near big enough to play on it yet. Nevertheless, Harry finds himself leading his family — and, Merlin, saying that will never get old — in that direction. He interlaces his fingers with Ginny’s as they stroll, his other arm lifting to lay a protective, reassuring hand on the baby carrier. They talk about the future, how if James is anywhere near as high-energy and rambunctious as the Weasley kids had been, he’ll beg to come play here often. It isn’t how he ever imagined raising his children — in the middle of London, that is — but certainly raising their son in one of the world’s greatest cities is a huge upgrade from the character-free suburb where Harry himself grew up. There’s definitely something special about a childhood in the country, and Ginny herself could wax poetic indefinitely on the joys of growing up at the Burrow, surrounded by open land. And maybe it’s because the Burrow was the first example of a proper childhood he’d ever known, Harry always assumed he’d raise his kids in the country as well. But there’s absolutely a magic to this way, having an entire city as your child’s backyard, getting to raise him between the wizarding and muggle worlds. And Barnard Park is sort of the perfect encapsulation of that vision.
The fleeting fantasy of raising James at Hogwarts seems foolish and limiting in comparison. Harry’s world was small when he was a child, but that doesn’t mean James’ has to be.
Even before dinner, Harry can safely say this one beats out all of his other birthdays for the best one yet. Ginny has a way of doing that: every day, week, month, year with her is better than the one that preceded it. He thinks back to that morning when Ginny asked if he was asking her to marry him while their baby had his mouth on her nipple; he no longer thinks that sounds like such a crazy way to ask. But he has to be patient, he reminds himself, and abide by his plan. It's just that now that he knows he’s got forever with Ginny, he wants forever to start now. He’s impatient, and if prompted to explain, he’d say that impatience stems from wanting to officially cement his family. Deep down, though, there’s a fear too terrible to even acknowledge: every day that he’s not engaged or married to her is a day that something horrible could happen to them before they get to take that step.
Even if he hadn’t gotten better at ignoring his most fatalistic thoughts, he wouldn’t have time to linger on that one, because he arrives at the Burrow to find bursting with the chaos characteristic of a Weasley family dinner. The house itself seems alive, which, Harry considers, it may be; it expands to accommodate the family of its own accord, after all. But it’s not the house itself that makes the place so splendid, it’s the people. And tonight, all of Harry’s favorites are there: there’s Ginny and James, and Ron and Hermione, and Teddy and Andromeda. It is a bit odd that none of his friends are there — usually Luna and Neville, at the very least, score an invite — but he doesn’t dwell on wondering where they might be.
Instead, he just soaks up the company, with the relentless teasing for Ginny’s brothers, the barrage of questions from Teddy and Victoire, and James’ delighted giggles as he’s passed around from uncle to uncle to grandparent making a comforting soundtrack for the evening. When it’s time for pudding, Mrs. Weasley serves both a treacle tart and cake far too large even for the large number of people gathered. As Harry blows out his candles, James on his lap and Teddy blowing on the cake next to him, he wishes for another year just like this: with minimal drama that all works out in the end, and his boys, and his Ginny.
Even with the Weasley boys each having multiple servings, there’s far too much dessert left over after dinner begins to wrap up. Teddy and Andromeda are the first to leave, because the sugar crash of the birthday cake hits him quickly; they’re followed by Bill, Fleur, and Victoire soon thereafter.
With things winding down, Harry turns to Ginny: “Should we get James home, then? I think we should nick one of the leftover tarts and have it for breakfast tomorrow.”
“Actually,” Ginny smirks, reaching over to take James from Harry so that she can pass him off to her mum when the time comes. “I’ve got one last surprise for you.”
“I helped,” Ron interjects unhelpfully, from the other end of the table where he’s eating what might be his fifth slice of cake. Not for the first time, Ginny wonders how it’s possible that her brother barely works out and still stays thin; selfishly, she hopes his habit of eating too much catches up to him eventually.
Rolling her eyes dramatically, Ginny shifts the baby to hold him against her left shoulder. “James is going to stay here with my mum and dad tonight.” Harry opens his mouth to interject, so she preempts him. “You’re not allowed to say no. We’re going to the Leaky Cauldron with Ron and Hermione and then we’re going to get an uninterrupted night of sleep —”
“I’m sure it’ll just be sleep,” George snickers from where he stands near Ron. “Absolutely no activities that would be classified as a celebration; nothing that might, shall we say, commemorate the momentous occasion of Harry’s last birthday.”
Harry flushes deep red and Ginny’s nostrils flare in annoyance. “What are you on about?” Percy asks his brother with obvious confusion; next to him, Audrey averts her eyes and busies herself with clearing dirty dishes from the table.
George nods in understanding. “Well, Perce, James was supposed to be born in May, yeah? Count backward from May, roughly nine months, and — actually, Audrey, can you please help your boyfriend understand?”
“I’d really rather not,” Audrey responds drily. She doesn’t need to, anyway; Percy’s sudden pallor is all the proof they need that he gets the point.
“Oi!” Ron pushes his plate away, having apparently found the only thing that could ruin his appetite. “Was that necessary?”
“Well, I suppose it’s time I break the news to you, brothers of mine,” Ginny interjects sarcastically, a familiar edge to her voice. “James wasn’t dropped off by the Family Phoenix.”
“Is that like the stork?” Harry whispers to Hermione, who nods apprehensively.
“I was going to invite the lot of you along, but if you can’t behave…” She sighs and then adds: “Angelina, Audrey, you’re still invited. I won’t punish you just because you’re dating these gits.”
“Oi, you should uninvite Ron, then!” That’s from George, who is offended to be possibly excluded from a party he was never officially invited to — as far as Harry is concerned, anyway.
“I can’t,” Ginny sighs. “The table is under his name, and he has best mate’s privileges anyway.”
“I dunno…” Harry hesitates. “I’m not really up for the pub…”
“We have to leave James at some point, Harry,” Ginny fixes her gaze at him and their eyes meet. It’s then she realizes she needn’t worry about Harry leaving James; he’s going to go along with that . But he has other activities he’d prefer — things she unfortunately cannot allow him to do before stopping by the Leaky for a few rounds, given that all their friends are meeting them there.
“I agree,” Harry responds, emerald eyes dancing with something naughty. “I’d just rather — how did you put it, George? Commemorate?”
“Well,” Ginny responds, willing to take the bait if Harry’s playing along. “I guess if we want to properly commemorate, we need to go to the pub, then. After all, I am pretty sure James was conceived in the —”
“Don’t finish that thought,” Ron cuts her off, his face tinged green. He pushes himself away from the table, looking around as if to confirm that his parents aren’t around to overhear. “Can you please go give James to Mum so we can leave?”
Harry follows Ginny inside to hand James over for his first of what will undoubtedly be many sleepovers at the Burrow. They run through his bedtime routine with Molly and Arthur what feels like fifty times, and triple check that everything the boy might need — extra milk, his pajamas, a backup supply of nappies, and a blanket that smells like home, to name a few — is in the bag Ginny packed before giving him kisses and promising him they’ll be back as soon as they wake up in the morning. Molly swears that she’ll owl or floo immediately if anything happens, but both Ginny and Harry know she likely won’t need to. Molly has many flaws, but her ability to keep a baby safe is certainly not one of them.
Harry is the last to step through the Floo and arrive at The Leaky Cauldron, and is surprised that it isn’t just a few drinks with Ron, Hermione, George, Percy, and their girlfriends. Instead, a large group of people is gathered in an area that looks to be sectioned off specifically for his birthday; before he can even take stock of who all is there, a chorus of “surprise!” sounds through the pub.
The area where the party is concentrated is heavily warded — which is clearly Hermione’s doing. Only the wait staff and approved guests can get in and out of the boundaries and while anyone can see what’s happening that corner, no one can hear any of the conversations. Though typically concerned with there being total privacy, Harry quickly makes the decision that the wards in place are sufficient. That could be thanks to the shots of firewhiskey Ron shoves in his hands almost as soon as they arrive at the pub. After a few of those, Harry feels deliciously light, and can’t be fucked to care if people can see him having a good time with his beautiful girlfriend and their mates.
Everyone from his old Hogwarts dormmates to Catrin, the healer who took care of him so often at St. Mungo’s that they actually sort of became friends, seem to have unanimously decided that the evening’s mission is to ensure Harry’s drink is never empty. And when someone is constantly topping you off, it becomes difficult to keep track of how much you’ve actually had to drink. Before he knows it, Harry’s brain feels as though it’s covered by a cloud and his limbs feel loose and tingly. Once upon a time, right after the war, he hated the feeling of being drunk — of relinquishing even the smallest bit of control or awareness — but now, he’s happy to just enjoy himself. And enjoying himself means…
He looks up, preparing to search for Ginny, but Merlin, he must have had a lot to drink because she was right next to him the whole time. Without thinking too hard about it, he snakes an arm around her and pulls her into his side; once he’s got her tucked there, he moves his other arm around her to pull her into a full embrace, sloshing his glass — Is it whiskey? The bite of the liquor has disappeared. — onto her shoulder. Leaning down, he kisses the crown of her head and then takes a whiff of the flowery scent that radiates off of her. “Hi,” he tells her, a lazy, soppy grin splitting his face nearly in two.
“Hi yourself,” she grins in return, pulling back from her spot pressed into his chest to look at him properly. She stands on her tippy toes and pulls him by his neck until their noses touch. “Having a good time?”
“It’s brilliant, Gin. Really brilliant. You’re brilliant.” He rubs his nose against hers, as if to accentuate the point. “Twenty-four is already off to the best start, you know that? And it’s all you, love. It’s all you.”
A flash of amusement colors Ginny’s brown eyes golden. “Harry James Potter — have you gone optimistic?”
“Might just be the drink. But I mean every word,” he promises as he leans down to kiss her deeply. Ginny tastes sweet like the treacle tart they ate earlier, and spicy like the whiskey they’ve both been drinking at the pub. Their mouths move in a perfectly choreographed dance for a minute before they break apart and press their noses together once again.
“I’ll remind you of it every day.”
“I hope you do,” Harry agrees. “I love spending every day with you.”
“I love you.” They say it constantly these days — a passionate I love you when he’s inside of her, a quick love you when one of them’s heading out the door, an excited I fucking love you when one of them makes a particularly funny joke — but it never hurts to say it another time. You never know, after all, when life might take the chance away.
“I love you more.”
“Not possible.”
“You want to bet?” Harry raises his eyebrows at her. “Tell me to do something and I’ll do it. I’d do anything for you.”
Ginny considers this, trying to think of something sufficiently embarrassing that is not too mean a dare for a birthday boy. “All right,” she agrees, pulling back and tapping her finger thoughtfully to her chin. “I want you to propose a toast and, in that toast, I want you to thank everyone for coming to celebrate the one year anniversary of James’ conception. Then, I want you to get down on bended knee and propose that I shag you in the bathroom to celebrate.”
Harry blinks twice behind his glasses, incredulity coloring his features. “If I do that, will you actually shag me in the bathroom?” Ginny bites her lip, playing coy, and nods. And, frankly, Harry’s pretty sure nothing is hotter than a vaguely exhibitionistic birthday shag, so he decides then and there that the potential embarrassment is worth it.
He drops his empty glass on a nearby table, and as soon as he does, another glass appears in his hand. He raises his hand in the air and shouts: “Oi! I have something I want to say!” The noise of the surrounding area slowly dies down and everyone looks over at him. He clears his throat. “Er, I just wanted to thank everyone for coming out tonight. We’re celebrating a really momentous occasion, y’know. Do you know what today is?”
Someone — possibly Neville? — calls out: “Your birthday!”
“Well, yes,” Harry agrees. “But my birthday has a new meaning this year. You see, it’s actually the one year anniversary of when James — James is my son, in case you’re new here, mine and Ginny’s — and today is the one year anniversary of when James was conceived.” He looks over at Ginny, her eyes alight with mischief as they so often are, and he’s confident that doing this is worth the momentary embarrassment for the lasting laughs they’re sure to have over this memory. So, without further ado, he bends until one knee is on the ground and reaches for Ginny’s hand. Someone else — it sounds like Parvati Patil — gasps, clearly thinking he’s about to propose marriage. And perhaps he’s practicing for that, but tonight’s proposal is much less decent. “Ginny Weasley, love of my life, mother of my child: would you…shag me in the loo to celebrate?”
Ginny can’t help but giggle. “Yes,” she answers him dramatically, performing as though he just proposed marriage. “Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!” He stands after that, and they kiss to seal the deal. Encouraged by the alcohol, everyone — even Ginny’s brothers — are laughing and cheering. That is, until they realize that Harry and Ginny are actually serious, as she pulls him out of the bounds of the wards and toward the loo.
They’re too absorbed in one another and too single-mindedly focused on their destination to take note of their surroundings. They don’t notice the reactions of their friends as they leave, and they certainly don’t notice the man with a camera around his neck. Perhaps if they did, they might have been more careful as they headed toward the bathroom, and Harry certainly wouldn’t have let him hear the next admission he has for Ginny.“I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you, laughing just like that.”