EPILOGUE
Ten Months Later
There are at least a hundred people gathered in the Burrow’s orchard on a Saturday in late June, but Harry Potter only has eyes for one of them: the beautiful woman in the ivory and gold gown whose copper hair is arranged in an artfully messy plait. There are at least a hundred people seated to witness their marriage, but the way Harry is lost in Ginny’s warm, inviting stare, it may as well be the two of them only.
Harry always assumed he’d remember every moment of their wedding ceremony, like the details would be burned into his memory just as the horrors he encountered as a child and teenager were. But now that he’s living it, he finds he can’t take in much at all. The only thing that sticks out to him is how lovely Ginny looks with the sun hitting her hair just so and how happy he feels as they stare into one another’s eyes, tightly clasping hands.
There are vows, of course, but they’re standard and almost mechanically recited by both of them. They’d said they’d save their real vows — ones they’ve written themselves — to be shared with each other privately following their bonding ceremony, instead of with the crowd. Some things, they've learned, are better said without an audience.
The ceremonial wizard raises his wand and pronounces Harry and Ginny bonded for life; with a flourish of his wand, stars rain upon the couple. Magic thrums in their intertwined fingers. A magical marriage is a symbolic bond more than anything else, but Harry’s magic and Ginny’s always played well together.
“Ahhh!” An unmistakable squawk erupts from the front row, where fifteen month old James Sirius Potter sits on his granddad’s lap, watching his parents’ wedding ceremony with an awestruck expression. The little boy — no longer a baby, not really — reaches his arms out as if he might catch one of the falling stars around his parents’ hands. “My! My!” Mine, James is saying of the stars.
The guests all laugh, everyone craning their necks to look at the child of the happy couple. James has grown to look quite like Harry, as Ginny always knew he would: his mop of messy black curls already rivals his father's, and they have the same long limbs and fingers, the same straight nose and thin lips. Like the grandfather for whom he was named, James has hazel eyes, but their shape — wide, round, full of amusement and mischief and curiosity at all times — that he got from his mum. In more ways than one, the boy is the human embodiment of the reason they’re all there: the perfect combination of his parents and celebration of their love.
Harry and Ginny exchange a mirthful glance at James’ outburst before turning toward the front row to look at their son. James beams, having finally succeeded in commanding the attention of his mum and dad, and begins to strain against his grandfather’s grasp. “Mamama! Dadada!” The crowd of guests laughs obligingly, as though the child of the bride and groom is the most charming thing about this celebration. If asked for his opinion, Harry would have to agree.
“You may now kiss,” the officiant announces and Harry leans forward to capture his bride’s lips with his own. The magic of their bonding is still thrumming through their veins, and he’s quite certain that even between them a kiss hasn’t felt this remarkable in ages — not since their first kiss in the common room when he was just sixteen. He could stay like this forever and, he supposes, that’s a benefit of being married: kissing Ginny is now officially his privilege for the rest of his life.
“Daaaaa!” A shriek interrupts the moment, and as the happy couple break apart, they share a knowing look: their toddler son, unfortunately, has inherited his Uncle Ron’s sense of timing. Turning toward the aisle, their fingers firmly interlaced, Harry and Ginny get a view of their son continuing to strain against his grandfather’s arms. “Daaaaa! Up!”
So that’s Harry’s first stop as he and Ginny begin their march back up the aisle and toward their new life as a married couple: to retrieve their antsy son and bring the baby with them. Harry balances James on his outer hip before reaching for Ginny’s hand once more, and together they continue walking forward toward their future as a family.
Once they’re past the boundary of the ceremony, Ginny tugs his hand and picks up her pace, forcing Harry to walk as fast as he possibly can with a toddler in his arms. James, of course, does not mind the change of pace: the little boy’s favorite game is getting strapped into a carrier and tagging along with his parents for a fly. They continue at a near-jog for a handful of minutes before coming to a stop near the pond where they swim in the summers, tucked away in a thicket of lush green trees.
James’ eyes light up as he eyes the water. They skipped swimming the summer before and it hasn’t yet been warm enough for a dip this year, but that’s James: curious and clever and always excited when presented with the chance to try something new. Harry and Ginny share a nervous glance. “I didn’t think about how he might react to the pond when I dragged us here,” she admits to Harry nervously.
He withdraws his wand from the pocket of his dress robes and conjures a blanket on the grass and casts an invisible barrier around it, placing James inside. He taps on the barrier demonstratively. “We should be all right,” he tells her.
Ginny laughs and rolls her eyes fondly. “You’re really so good at the dad thing,” she tells him adoringly. “It’s no wonder I had to marry you.”
“That the only reason you married me, then?” Harry arches a dark eyebrow, his green eyes alight with mirth and undisguised elation.
“Not the only one,” Ginny admits, pointedly glancing up and down Harry’s body suggestively.
“So you mean my —?”
“Not in front of the B-A-B-Y,” Ginny admonishes her husband — and Merlin, thinking of him that way is mad in the best possible way — playfully, although she knows full well he’d never finish the sentence. “He talks now.”
Harry nods with understanding. “Mmm, of course,” he agrees. “We can’t have the B-A-B-Y mentioning that mummy loves daddy’s C-O-C-K.”
Ginny’s so surprised she very nearly chokes on her laughter. “Well,” she gasps as she collects herself. “The B-A-B-Y is proof of that point, anyway. Not like it’s a secret.”
“After what I heard of your hen night, I imagine it’s not,” Harry teases. Then, his expression softens into adoration and he pulls his wife into his arms. “We’re married,” he announces to her in a whisper, tone so full of awe it’s almost like he’s scared it isn’t real.
“You’re my husband,” Ginny agrees, sounding every bit as pleased as her eleven year old self would be if only she could see the current situation.
“And you’re my wife .” He presses his nose and lips to the crown of her head, inhaling deeply as he plants a familiar kiss there.
“We’re the Potters.”
“The Potters,” Harry repeats disbelievingly. “You’re Mrs. Potter!”
“I am. But only you can call me that,” she amends quickly. “Coming from you, it’s dead sexy, but coming from anyone else, I reckon it makes me sound like an old lady.”
Harry chuckle — his laughter is among her favorite sounds, second only to James’. “All right, Mrs. Potter.” She presses her ear to his chest, still vibrating, and listens to the steady beat of his heart. “You’ve got a deal.”
They hold each other for several moments before they hear a frustrated whine: their son has finally discovered he’s not able to make a run — or, really, a fast crawl because he hasn’t quite mastered walking yet — for the water.
“Sorry, mate,” Harry apologizes to the boy, though he doesn’t sound particularly regretful. “You were the one who asked to come with us during our special vow time.”
“About the vows, actually…” Her voice is full of hesitation, not unlike one of Harry's students explaining why they didn't do their homework.
“You didn’t write them?” Harry guesses.
Ginny crosses her arms over her chest with playful indignation. “Well, what was I even going to say that I haven’t already told you? And it’s not like I had time, did I? My mum insisted I actually help her plan this wedding, and I was playing a full season, and I wanted to spend time with you and be a good mum to James and —”
Before she can finish justifying herself, Harry interrupts her. “Gin, it’s fine. I didn’t write any either.” It's hilarious, really. They’re both so alike that they agreed to this private moment post-ceremony in which to share their vows, and then never actually wrote the damn things.
“You didn’t?”
“Merlin, no,” Harry chuckles. “This year, I was a full-time auror and part-time professor while being a full-time fiancé and dad. And for some reason people still bloody want the opinion of ‘The Chosen One’ on damn near everything so — well, no time here, either.”
“Thank fuck,” Ginny exhales a sigh of relief.
“Fuh!” James repeats the sound gleefully.
“Fuck,” Ginny mutters again.
“Not in front of the B-A-B-Y,” Harry jokes. But there's a silver lining, too: “At least it wasn’t his first word.” That, at least, was my.
“We got that part of parenting right,” Ginny bites her lip. Then, she has an idea: “If you had to come up with, say, three vows to make to me right now, d’you know what they’d be?”
Harry’s forehead scrunches up adorably in concentration. “I’d vow to always take you seriously and trust your judgment, even when it’s difficult for me to trust anyone other than myself,” he says after a moment. “I’d vow to always put you and our family first and my saving people thing second.” And then he pauses and looks upward as if he’s expecting his third vow to come from the sky: “And I vow to never stop trying to get better and be better, because that’s the person you deserve.” He scans her face for a reaction. “Are those good enough for you, Mrs. Potter?”
Ginny smiles. “Those are perfect.”
“And what would you vow to me, then?”
Ginny bites her lip, an adorable expression of focus. “Well, I’d start by vowing to be patient with you, and to understand that sometimes needing to work on things is a sign that you care, instead of a sign that you don’t.”
“Great start.”
“Shut it,” she shoots back, a grin belying her true feeling of amusement. “I vow to be open and honest with you always, because things always work better when we attack them as a team.” They both look toward James at that — the little catalyst for all of these improvements. “And, to be honest, I vow to keep things hot, y’know? I can assure you we will always have a thrilling time in the bedroom. For life.”
“Looking forward to it,” Harry agrees, eyes clouding over ever so slightly with lust. “And good job not saying shag in front of the B-A-B-Y.” Then, realizing he did in fact say it, he exclaims: “Well, fuck me!”
“I literally just vowed to.”
“Fuh!” James claps his hands excitedly.
“You’re right James,” Harry coos, going to retrieve the boy from his invisible playpen. “The wedding reception will be so fun!” He turns to Ginny and extends his other arm: “Shall we, Mrs. Potter?”
“Well, I’ve nothing else to do tonight…”
He cuts off her giggle by pressing his lips to hers.
FIN.