Rubber Chickens and Cake

A/N: Well, as promised, here is the outtake from "Safe in Harbor". Hope y'all like and please, please let me know what you think of it! Happy New Year!



Rubber Chickens and Cake


Not for the first time in recent days, a resounding crash echoed through the vast downstairs of Ballynore Estate.

The black-haired, bespectacled wizard who had been skillfully, almost lazily, conjuring up extra chairs and arranging them about the large dining room spun around abruptly and groaned aloud. He was alone in the room, which meant that he immediately knew who had been the cause of that infernal racket.

"Bloody hell, what could she possibly have gotten into now?" Harry Potter muttered as he set down the chair and hurried in the direction the sound had come from.

Upon entering the room, he skidded to a halt and gaped in dismay. The remnants of a gooey brown chocolate cake were splattered over a wide area of the otherwise spotlessly clean kitchen. The plastic-like base that the cake had been resting on (thank Merlin it wasn't glass!) had rolled clear across the room and was leaning against the wall as if it had been propped there. Scattered at the base of the counter were a few pieces of silverware, obviously what had provided the acoustics for the wreckage.

And sitting smack in the middle of the whole mess was a small chocolate-covered girl who was gleefully smearing the icing on the floor with one hand while the other stuffed gobs of cake in the general vicinity of her mouth.

Oh no. "Emerson Potter!" Harry said sharply.

The child looked up and she made such a picture, bright emerald eyes gleaming out of her stained face that Harry's irritation unhelpfully evaporated and he involutarily laughed out loud.

Emerson smiled up at him. "Dada."

Harry's mouth snapped shut. Dammit, he shouldn't have laughed. That had probably given her the idea that what she had done was alright, and it most certainly wasn't. Trying to salvage the situation, he said sternly, "You are in a world of trouble, young lady! That cake was for your party today."

The baby looked up at him in innocent perplexion then held up one cake-encrusted fist as if in offering.

Harry fought a smile as he bent to pick her up. "And it's no use trying to bribe me either. Come here, you. Let's get this mess cleaned up before Hermione gets home, or she'll have my head."

He swung his wand at the wreckage and muttered Reparo and Emerson squealed in wide-eyed wonder as she watched the whole thing reassemble itself. She pointed one little finger at the cake and turned her now ebony head to jabber excitedly at her father, who grinned at her in adoration.

"Yeah, yeah, you're lucky your Daddy is such a powerful wizard cause now Mummy won't have to see that."

"I won't have to see what?" asked a voice behind him, and goosebumps erupted along the back of his arms. He spun around feeling strangely like a lovesick schoolboy as his eyes alighted on the owner of the voice, a beautiful brown-haired woman who was trying hard to look suspicious. Harry's heart pounded as he looked at her. His wife. God, how he loved that word - wife. His wife. Mine.

Her eyes softened as she stared back at him and without knowing how he got there, he was suddenly standing right in front of her.

"Mama!" squealed Emerson, holding out her arms to Hermione. Hermione smiled and took her, kissed one plump cheek and suddenly frowned. She took the baby's hand, pried open the fingers and looked up accusingly at Harry.

'Shit,' he thought, trying hard not to automatically look at the cake that Hermione had obsessively labored over and which was now merely a Reparo-ed imitation of her hard work. Magical cooking was only the second thing after Divination that Hermione hadn't been able to master, no matter how hard she tried and she had really tried. She had been determined to make the cakes for Emerson's birthday party, a large one for the guests and a smaller version just for Emerson, and Harry knew how hard she had worked on them.

Frankly, the cakes looked delicious and Harry could kinda understand why Emerson hadn't been able to resist getting a headstart on them. But still..

"Where did you get this?" Hermione asked the baby, indicating the blob of cake on her hand that Harry's wand had somehow missed.

"Dada," Emerson said without hesitation and a small part of Harry couldn't resist swelling in surprised pride and not a little terror at how quickly the little witch had deftly shifted the blame onto him.

Hermione glared at him. "Honestly, Harry! Couldn't you wait until tonight? The party starts in less than an hour, for Circe's sake."

"Of course I didn't touch the cake! The little devil!" Harry grinned. "I was setting up the chairs in the dining room when I heard the crash in here. I had barely turned around; you know how fast she moves."

Hermione seemed to be hiding a smile as she buried her face in the baby's soft hair and Harry scoffed. The cake certainly wasn't the first thing (and sure as heck wouldn't be the last) to meet its demise at Emerson's hands. Ever since she had finally figured out and rapidly mastered the glorious artform of walking, the lighter, unfettered objects of Ballynore were each up to an average of four Reparos a day. It was astounding how much the kid got into, and it didn't help that she had figured out that if she stared at something hard enough, chances were it would pop out of its place and wobble slowly more or less to her mischievous hands.

"How did she even get the cake off the counter in the first place?" Hermione asked, gazing at Harry over Emerson's curly head, who was now happily licking her palm, getting the last of the illicit cake.

"Beats me. She probably leviated it down," he replied wearily. He reached out a hand to brush a strand of her bushy hair from her face. "I'm sorry. I should have kept a closer eye on her."

She smiled, that special smile reserved only for him that never failed to make him think dirty thoughts. "It's ok. Nobody'll notice, anyway. There's still a little icing left over; I might-"

Her words were cut off as Harry's lips descended on hers, kissing her softly before his tongue slipped greedily into her mouth. She stepped closer, reaching up with her free hand to scratch his head lightly with her fingernails and Harry gripped her arms, feeling like he never wanted to stop-

"Ouch!" he yelped, abruptly tearing his lips from Hermione's. He moved his head quickly to duck another blow from the little outstretched arm of his daughter. Apparently she didn't like him kissing up her Mummy when she was right there in all her cutesy glory, goshdarnit!

Hermione snickered as Harry mock-glared at Emerson. "Jealous, are we?" he growled before grabbing the baby and raining kisses all over her little face while she screamed with glee.

It was times like these when all three of them were together that Harry Potter was truly happiest. Well, actually, it was a tie between times like these and the times when he and Hermione were alone doing naughty things to each other. Times like these he could actually believe that happiness existed in the stars for him, that there could actually be Someone up there trying to make up for all the trials and tribulations of his earlier life. All the danger, guilt and grief. All the kill-or-be-killed quasi-Survivalist crap. All the- well, you get the idea.

But he was happy now; he really was. All that past stuff was just that: the past. Today, he was a successful, professional Quidditch player. He was a father - to the most adorable, green-eyed handful of a little girl. He was a husband - to the only woman he had ever loved. The only woman who could make him hang his head like a repentant teenager and just as skillfully make him scream said head off in ecstasy. Hermione. God, how he loved her! She had married him five days ago and he still got emotional whenever he thought of how she had looked walking down the aisle towards him, on her father's arm, looking like a vision of Heaven in her wedding dress and breathless smile. Something told him he would always be reduced to furtively wiping his eyes whenever that memory was revisited.

Emerson began squirming to be put down just as the Ballynore arrival chimes began to play. Their guests were here. He obliged the toddler and grabbed Hermione for another quick kiss because chances were he wouldn't be able to do that for the rest of the day. Exactly what kind of host would he be if he left his guests to fend for themselves because he was too busy fondling his wife?

A smart one. Shut up.

"I love you," he whispered, hugging her fiercely.

"I love you too," she whispered back, reaching up to touch his face as she stood up on tiptoe to press her lips to his.

Harry kissed her back but he had barely closed his eyes than they heard Emerson squeal with laughter and the next second she came into the room held aloft, airplane-style, in their best friend's arms.

"Oh, there you are. I should have known," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "Can't you lot disentangle yourselves from each other for five bloody seconds?" he asked in mock exasperation.

Harry grinned. "You're just jealous. Now, if you don't mind, I was about to kiss my wife so kindly get lost."

"Bloody prat," grumbled Ron. "What a way to treat his best mate, heh? And after I just saved his precious 1945 vintage Nimbus from certain destruction."

Now that was news to Harry. For the second time in less than ten minutes, he tore his lips from Hermione's and spun around, spluttering. "What?!"

Ron smirked. "Got your attention, didn't I?"

Harry glared at him though Hermione's eyes twinkled as she laid a hand delicately over her mouth. Everybody knew how obsessed Harry was with the well-being of that broom. He had paid over fifteen hundred Galleons for it and spent many more painstakingly restoring the broom to its current museum-quality perfection. That broom was priceless, dammit, not something to joke about! His father, grandfather and great-grandfather were all said to have owned that broom before it had become the property of the Ministry of Magic through some way or the other. Hermione had done the research and Harry had been the first and only bidder when the Ministry put it up on auction.

As far as most people were concerned, it was just an ancient, old-fashioned broom that none of them wanted to be caught dead with, but this had sentimental value to Harry and he was jealously protective of it.

"Don't joke about that!" he snapped. "Em might hear you and figure out some way of getting to it." God forbid.

Ron grinned at Hermione. "He makes it so easy, doesn't he? Anyway, anything I can do?"

Harry didn't answer, still glaring at Ron but Hermione chuckled and patted his arm soothingly. "Actually there is. The pizza guy should be here in-" she checked her watch. "-a little over half an hour. I need you to keep an eye on the time and pick up the order when he comes. Also, make sure you count the boxes. We ordered six."

"Six, huh?" Ron drawled and Harry could practically see the saliva factories going on overdrive.

He snorted derisively. It was a good thing Ron was so active because with the amount of food he shoveled down his throat, he would otherwise surely be giving Dudley a run for his money by now.

The chimes went into a long, melodious peal and Hermione bustled out of the room, hurrying to greet their guests. Ron followed, still holding Emerson and Harry started to go too, hesitated then succumbed to temptation.

Hermione would probably just think the dent in the icing was caused by his imperfect Reparo.

Licking his fingers and grinning guiltily, he too hurried out of the kitchen.


********

"Wait a minute, you lot! I can't take you all up at once," Harry panted nearly two hours later as he fought off half a dozen kids, all keening to be the next one he took up for a broom ride.

Why the hell had he let Fred and George talk him into this? They had promised to help, but there they were sprawled on the lawn nursing mild rum punches and, Harry suspected, secretly laughing at him. Bloody, red-headed, identical gits. "Some of you can ride with Ron," he added, trying not to sound too irritable.

"No, thanks, Unca Harry. I'd rather ride with you, if you don't mind," piped up Bill and Fleur's blond and blue-eyed six year old, Etienne.

"Why not Ron?" Harry asked, curious in spite of himself.

"Cause he's an old slowpoke, is why!" interjected Marc, Fred and Angelina's five year old. "You're a 'fessional. You can do the crazy stuff."

"Thanks a lot, you guys. Old slowpoke, am I? Just remember that next time you're begging me for tickets to the Cannons," retorted Ron and Harry snickered.

The kids would probably be disappointed in a while, anyway. He was getting a bit weary of having his robes clutched so hard they were cutting into his neck, while the mothers on the ground scolded him for going too fast. He had to admit, though, that hearing their delighted shrieks and imploring cries of "Do it again, Unca Harry! Do that again!" was strangely exhilarating.

He took Marc and Etienne up for another five minutes each, indulging them by going into steep dives while they gripped him and yelled in happy terror before pulling up sharply inches from the ground and depositing them gently on the grass. The kids stared up at him in awe, looking contentedly flushed and windswept.

Harry grinned. "Ok guys. Time now for the birthday girl to get a ride."

He dismounted and walked over to where Emerson was whining and frailing her legs in the grip of Marc's twin, Marissa, who was trying to pick her up. "Here, let me," he said, deftly rescuing poor Emerson, who clung to him in gratitude.

Harry mounted his broom again and sat the baby in front of him. She laughed, knowing what was coming and Harry's heart swelled with love. He had taken her up a few times before, never more than a few inches off the ground and always very slowly. But the baby seemed to love it and had more than once, since she'd learned to walk, straddled the broom by herself - though she never managed to get it off the ground, praise Merlin.

Emerson jabbered happily the whole time, her little hands gripping the broom almost innately as Harry slowly cruised over the grass. Twice he dismounted and tried to pry her off but she cried and fussed until he took her back up again. Finally they landed and she let him put her down.

Of course nobody had been surprised by how well Em had taken to brooms, even being as young as she was. Her birth mother had been a decent Chaser as well as a gifted Quidditch strategist and her father was, well, Harry Potter. It would have been more newsworthy if she hadn't taken to it like a fish to water.

Harry hugged her to him. "I love you. Daddy loves you so much."

Emerson reached out and touched his cheek. "Dada globo tada?" Or something like that.

He laughed softly. "Yeah. Dada globo tada." Or something like that. He looked up to see Hermione watching them tearfully, the look of love on her features so deeply etched that his heart constricted within him. Placing a kiss on Em's curly head, he set her down and she toddled off before being swiftly swept up by Malfoy.

Harry walked quickly over to Hermione, who seemed lost in thought but still with the same tenderly dreamy expression. He crept up behind her. "Well, I'll be very upset if I find that I'm not the cause of that look on your face just now," he whispered in her ear.

She started a little but quickly recovered. "What look?"

He could hear the grin in her voice, which in turn made him smile. "That goofy, little lovesick look of yours."

She turned around in his arms, peering into his eyes with her lovely, brown ones. "Hmm.. sorry, love. That one was actually about Miguel."

He adopted an outraged frown. "Miguel? I thought his name was Pepe. Exactly how many pizza guys are you seeing behind my back, woman?"

She laughed and hugged him tightly. "Oh, how I love you!"

And were she not holding him so firmly, Harry was sure he would have floated clear up to Jupiter, borne along solely by those five words and the powers of gravity be damned. "I love you more," he whispered, nuzzling her neck and she sighed and closed her eyes.

"Hey, pizza's here!" Ron yelled from the big, glass sliding doors that opened to the grounds and a cheer went up from the kids (and quite a few adults), who began to run gleefully towards the promise of hot, greasy, cheesy goodness.

"Finally," sniffed Hermione disapprovingly. "I mean, honestly! Those pizzas should've been delivered more than an hour ago! I swear, if I were not so busy getting things together and packed for our honeymoon, I would Apparate straight down there myself and give them a piece of my mind, the darn, unprofessional-"

Harry grinned to himself as he watched his wife stalk off, muttering furiously to Angelina, who seemed to be trying not to laugh.

"Still as bossy and opinionated as ever, isn't she? That Granger," drawled Malfoy from behind him.

"That's my wife you're talking about, Ferret, so you might want to tread carefully," Harry replied. "And her name is Potter."

Malfoy smirked. "Whatever." He swung Emerson up into his arms and, rolling his eyes, Harry followed him slowly into the comforting chaos that was his dining room.


**********

A little while later, Harry was happily snuggled up with Hermione on one of the conjured-up couches, watching the kids as they messily compared and devoured their pizza slices.

"I got a bigger one," bragged Marc, holding up his slice proudly.

Marissa yawned. "Big whoop. It's going to go down your tummy, anyway." Marissa was how Harry imagined Hermione had been when she was five years old - strangely logical for her age.

Marc frowned at his sister. "No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is, dumbarse!" Marissa returned and Harry snorted. Somehow, he doubted such a word had existed in a five year old Hermione's vocabulary. For all her maturity, Marissa was still Fred and Angelina's daughter, afterall.

"You sure you don't want to try for some of those soon?" he whispered as he sneaked a hand around to furtively squeeze Hermione's breast.

She swatted him, blushing slightly. "Look at Emerson."

Harry turned to watch as Ron fed Em a piece of mushroom from his pizza. The baby chewed experimentally then screwed up her face, fished the mushroom from her mouth and handed it back to Ron, who laughed.

Yep, that was his daughter alright. He leaned closer, peering at something the baby was clutching. "Is that a-"

"Rubber chicken? Yeah," said George, plopping down in the chair closest to them. "It's one of our fake wands. I just wanted to show it to her but she latched onto it and squeals like a stuck gnome if anyone tries to take it away."

Hermione frowned. "Are they safe? Cause she puts everything into her mouth, you know."

"They're not toxic, if that's what you're asking," replied George, looking offended. "My Olivia chews on them all the time and she's fine."

Harry caught Hermione's eye and quickly looked away before they could burst into laughter. Not even Ron knew, but he and Hermione had once spent a few hilarious hours ranking the Weasley grandkids on the Most Likely To ____ scale. It had been a lazy Sunday morning just before they married when their discussion of Emerson, who was lying between them contentedly sucking on a bottle, had turned to the children of their friends.

To make a long, chortle-riddled story short, they had voted little Olivia Weasley as the one most likely to grow up to be eye-poppingly eccentric. Though, they did leave room for any potential Weasley-Malfoy or Lovegood-Weasley offspring to preempt the slot.

Hermione jumped up, determinedly avoiding Harry's eye and he watched her go, admiring the way her robes shimmied with her movements. The party went on and for the next twenty minutes or so, he made conversation, laughed at Ron's tales of Cannons woe on the road, argued with Oliver about Puddlemere matters, traded cheerful insults with Malfoy and stuffed his face with way too much pepperoni pizza. And all the while he was aware of Hermione. She was mainly occupied with making sure Emerson ate enough, alternately feeding the restless child and letting her repeatedly attempt to find her mouth without help which, needless to say, made for a very messy toddler by the end.

Hermione laughed at something Angelina and Katie were telling her and Zeus, she was breathtaking! Harry didn't even bother trying to hide his besotted expression as he watched her, the way her eyes sparkled, the way that eternally stubborn strand of hair curled lightly against her cheek.

"For the love of Dumbledore, can't you keep your eyes off her for one second?" griped Malfoy.

Harry grudgingly turned to look at him. "Can you keep your eyes off Ginny?"

The other man's eyes immediately found the small, red-haired witch and he sighed. "Fair enough."

And Harry suppressed a smile. How things could change! Never in a million years when they were all at Hogwarts could he have ever imagined that he would be agreeing with Draco friggin' Malfoy, of all people, about anything.

"Of course, I still have enough class not to go around making lovesick puppy-dog eyes, but maybe that's just me," the blond-headed wizard added in a haughty drawl.

But then again, the more things changed, the more they stayed the same.


**********

The sun was beginning to sink behind the gently rolling hills of the Hertfordshire countryside as Emerson's first birthday party began to wind down. Though as Hermione pointed out, it was more a gathering of all Emerson's favorite people than a party since she was still too young to even know it was her birthday.

"Ok, everybody, time to sing "Happy Birthday" to Emerson," George's Muggle wife, Nina, said as she picked up Em and placed her in her chair.

Hermione sat down beside him again, smiling as they watched the baby whack the rubber chicken against the chair. Olivia had followed her mum and as Em waved the bird again, she reached out and grabbed it away.

Em's eyes widened. "Oh, oh, oh," she whimpered, trying to grab it back but Olivia skittered out of reach and before anyone could react, Emerson was suddenly screaming. Big, fat tears rolled down her cheeks and her face was nearly scarlet as she kicked her feet in outrage.

Harry and Hermione both jumped up at the start of the confrontation, as did George who quickly produced another chicken and tried to give it to Emerson. But Em would have none of it and continued wailing furiously at the top of her lungs.

"Here, let me try," Harry said as he picked up his very upset daughter. "Shh, it's ok. Here's another one, Em. Here's one."

She looked at him long enough to see the chicken he was holding up and grabbed it from him. Still crying, she whomped him crossly with it as if it were all his fault and then almost immediately calmed down.

What the- Harry stared at his daughter in bewilderment and heard somebody snort.

"She's feistier than a Cornish pixie, Harry, mate. Hope you can handle her," said Ron's voice.

'Feisty, indeed,' he thought, wiping the tears off her face as the baby almost lovingly examined the plucked bird. Satisfied, she heaved a great sigh and began gnawing on the feet, to a chorus of snickers behind him.

Harry spun around. "Exactly what kind of weird stuff have you lot been putting in these things that have made my daughter addicted to them?" he demanded in mock indignation, fixing the elder twins with a beady eye.

"Seems to me that it's your daughter that's the weird one," supplied Fred.

Harry snarled. "Watch it, Weasley. I know where you live."

"Right then," said Mrs. Weasley, bringing out the little chocolate cake Hermione had made especially for Emerson, with its single lit candle. Harry placed Em back in her chair and everybody gathered around her as Hermione waved her wand to dim the lights.

The baby clapped her hands and laughed as they sang to her and Harry found himself suddenly blinking back tears. Had it really been a year? Actually, no; he'd gotten her when she was three months old so it had really only been nine months. But still.. How could such a beautiful, healthy, happy creature be his? How could he possibly be her father?

You really want me to answer that? the snarky part of his brain replied. Well, you met this woman and- Shut up.

Harry's sudden thought of Julia made him strangely sad and he hoped she was satisfied with how he was doing so far, with Emerson. How they were all doing. As if she knew what he was thinking, Hermione suddenly squeezed his hand and he gathered her into his arms as they watched Etienne and Marissa help the baby blow out her candle. Emerson immediately stuck the rubber chicken into the cake, making everybody chuckle.

"Mama," she said, holding out the chocolate-covered chicken to Hermione.

Hermione squatted beside her. "Mmmm," she said, pretending to eat some and the baby laughed again and stuck the beak into her own mouth. She pulled it out and waved it at the video camera that Hermione's father had been carrying around all day, attempting to record the whole thing. Harry noticed that Mr. Granger was surprisingly unaccompanied.

"Where's your shadow?" he asked, grinning at his father-in-law.

The other man shushed him, glancing around shiftily. Mr. Weasley had been enraptured by the camera in particular and Mr. Granger in general and while David Granger was a patient and longsuffering man, Harry imagined even he could get weary of explaining the features of the same gadget over and over again.

"-but I've gotten some really good shots. I'll have some copies made by the time you and Hermione get back from the honeymoon." The newlyweds would be leaving the day after tomorrow for a month in the balmy South Pacific.

"Ok, that-"

CRASH!

Everybody spun around to the sight of a red-faced Tonks staring down at a few broken plates littered with chunks of poor Hermione's chocolate cake. Harry glanced at his wife in sympathy. First Emerson and now Tonks.

"Shit!" Tonks exclaimed then blanched, quickly looking around at the greedy little ears that had, of course, eagerly snatched up the word. "Um, I mean.. shoot?"

Mr. Granger coughed and Harry bit the inside of his mouth, just barely managing not to humiliate poor Tonks even further, but apparently the kids had no such predilections.

"Shit!" echoed Katie and Oliver's four year old, Brandon.

"No, shoot!" insisted Marissa, wrinkling her pert nose.

"Shoot!" cried little Olivia, who then proceeded to hop around the room yelling "Shoot! Shoot! Shoot!" while jabbing the air with the rubber chicken she had swiped from Emerson.

By that time the whole room was in an uproar and even Tonks was giggling in spite of her crimson face.

"That's nothing," piped up Marc. "I know a better one. Fu-"

"Marc Antony Weasley!"

And not for the first time, Harry Potter said a silent prayer of thanks to Whomever was up there for the way his existence had turned out. He had Hermione. He had Emerson. And he had this crazy, frenetic hodge-podge of excitable children who were rapidly developing potty mouths and their trying-hard-to-appear-displeased-as-they-fought-back-hysterical-laughter parents.

In short, life was grand. So Whomever was up there, thanks.


********

Later that night, after everything had been Scougify-ed and all their guests had left, Harry and Hermione carried the sleeping Emerson to her room and laid her on her bed. The baby sighed and rolled over, sinking deeper into innocent, unburdened slumber. She had fallen asleep half-way through alternately "feeding" the rubber chicken and smearing cake all over her face and only then had Hermione been able to pry the sticky, chocolate-covered bird from the little fingers and get her ready for the night.

"Well, that was an adventure," she said, smiling up at Harry.

He grinned and kissed her softly. "You can say that again. And we also have an amazingly embarrassing story to tell her future boyfriends."

Hermione giggled. "Emerson Potter and the Great Rubber Chicken Obsession."

They dissolved into helpless laughter, burying their faces into each other's clothes so as not to disturb Em, who slept on - blissfully unaware that her parents were gleefully planning her future mortification.

Still chuckling, they each lovingly kissed the baby and slipped out of her room. For a moment, they just stood there smiling at each other before almost instinctively moving together. Harry hugged Hermione close and she melted against him with a sigh.

"I'm sorry about your cake," he whispered and to his surprise, she giggled.

"What the heck. It still tasted good, didn't it?"

He pulled away and gazed into her eyes, slowly stroking her cheek and for once, ignoring that same stubborn strand of hair that refused to stay tucked behind her ear. "It was delicious. And you're an amazing woman."

She grinned saucily, that certain irresistible gleam coming into her lovely, brown eyes. "Am I? What else?"

Harry's heart was already pounding as he advanced slowly on her. "An unbelievable witch."

"Mmm. Keep going," she said, taking two steps back and reaching up to undo her hair from the loose ponytail.

"The most beautiful woman in the world to me. The mother to my daughter. The love of my life. Hermione," he said reverently and suddenly their playful mood was gone and they were in each other's arms again. They were just two young people who had been to the highest of highs, the lowest of lows together, and had emerged still clutching each other. Still holding hands. Still so deeply in love that the very thought sometimes reduced them to sheepish tears.

And just as long as they were together, they would emerge victorious again. They were only just married, poised at the beginning of what promised to be a crazy and tumultuous journey but Harry was convinced that they would survive. Come hell, twice-busted cakes or rubber chickens, they would make it.

As long as they were together.