But Things Weren't Different

After the war between Dark and Light ended, after Harry lost his godfather and I buried my parents and Ron took off to South America to find himself because he'd lost not only his family but also the only girl he'd ever loved, I gravitated towards the Boy-Who-Lived in that way I gravitate towards practical purchases in Diagon Alley, like brooms already charmed to clean and pans that cook on their own accord. We were living together in a flat outside London at the time and getting together seemed like the practical thing to do.

I got pregnant just over a year out of Hogwarts, in October, and we were married that following spring. Our daughter was born two days shy of her father's birthday that July. James Charles followed Allyson Lily one year later and then the twins, Nicholas and Benjamin. I had been working first as a reporter for the Daily Prophet, trying to restore the publication to some level of decency, but I left that job to teach Charms at one of the smaller wizarding schools when the twins were born. Harry went through the Auror program training faster than anyone before him, but he never managed field clearance because of a leg injury he sustained during the final battle that still flairs up from time to time.

It occurred to me while walking down the aisle at our wedding that Harry had never once told me he loved me and that I had never had any real desire to tell him. I loved him, of course, because he was my best friend of years and years and had saved my life on such numerous occasions and had stood by my side through everything. But we didn't say it that day or that night or three months later when Ally was born or anytime ever.

Life with Harry has had its ups and downs. There's the fact that our children have grown up in somewhat of a spotlight, but at the same time he always remembers to send flowers on my birthday and our anniversary and his taste in jewelry is really quite lovely. He's taught all the boys to play Quidditch and used to let Ally take all the time she wanted when she was picking out books at Flourish and Blotts and always fire-called if he was going to be even twenty minutes late home from work.

When we were kids, when we both so vehemently denied that anything was going on between us, I actually had rather strong feelings for Harry, and I've always wondered if things hadn't gone so very wrong during the war if perhaps our marriage today would be the fierce and passionate affair I imagined as a child. If Sirius hadn't slipped through the veil in the Department of Mysteries. If all of the Weasleys but Ron and Ginny hadn't been killed in the Ottery St. Catchpole raid. If I had been home over the summer holiday after sixth year to stop Draco Malfoy from murdering my parents. If Dumbledore hadn't been murdered, leaving Harry to fight the battle alone.

I've had a good life with Harry, but not a great life. Not the life he deserved, and I rather like to think not the life I deserved as well.

Tonight we have a lot to celebrate. Twenty-five years together. Nick and Ben's approaching graduation. Ron's recently announced engagement. It might have been Ron and me who danced circles around each other at Hogwarts, but it was Ron and Luna who were together as Harry destroyed the last of Voldemort's Horcruxes and we prepared for the final battle. We didn't think he'd ever get over Luna's death, and in many ways he didn't, but last week we got the owl inviting us to the wedding. Her name is Laura, and she's American. From New England. That's where we are tonight. We spent the evening dining with Ron and getting acquainted with his fiancée. And now I'm on the balcony of our hotel room, looking out and looking in.

“I love this place,” I tell Harry, who is struggling with my over-packed trunk because we're afraid to use magic with so many Muggles around. He is muttering something about how it isn't fair that men with black hair go grey much sooner than redheads. I smile to myself, knowing that Ron's ribbing at dinner had gotten to him more than he would admit.

“I thought you would,” said Harry with a shrug. He finally gives up on my trunk, shaking his head, which makes me think our agreement to avoid the use of magic here will not hold much longer. “Or Ron thought you did. I told him that you'd taken up writing again, and he thought the scenery would be inspiring.”

I nod, motioning for him to join me on the balcony. Our hotel overlooks the ocean, providing a clear view of the most magnificent lighthouse. I hug him tightly. “It really is, isn't it?”

Harry does not say anything. “I can't believe we hadn't seen Ron since the twins were five. It doesn't seem like that long ago to me.”

“Well it didn't seem to matter,” I say, trying not to be annoyed that he did not my answer my question. These are the things that remind me we have never made the obligatory proclamations of love. “Listening to the two of you, you would have thought it was only yesterday.”

“It's like that with Ron,” says Harry simply. “I'm glad he's happy. Finally. He deserves it.”

I say nothing but wonder if we're happy. If we're not, do we deserve to be? “Harry,” I try again. “Don't you think the lighthouse is inspiring?”

This time, he can't avoid the question, and he lets go of me as he looks across the dark ocean to the tall building in the distance. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” I echo.

“I don't know what you're looking for from me,” Harry admits. “I mean, look at it. It's grand and stately and downright romantic, but that's before you consider that it's been boarded up for years and is falling apart on the inside and Ron says that it's going to be torn down pretty—what? Why are you crying? What did I say?”

I'm shaking my head. “I'm crying because it's us. I'm crying because we've been boarded up for so long and I'm falling apart on the inside and I was wondering if I'd even make it back to England with you.”

Harry looks stunned. “What?” he says, reaching for me.

“You don't love me,” I say, and I squirm away from him. “You've never said it. It occurred to me first on our wedding day, and every time you rather ought to have told me since.”

“I've never told you I love you?” I nod miserably. “Are you sure?” I nod again.

Harry's face falls. “I always thought I had,” he admits quietly. “Or maybe I thought I didn't need to.”

“Do you love me?” I ask desperately, suddenly not sure why I need so much for him to validate this marriage.

“Yes,” Harry says. “I've always loved you.”

“But things were different because of the war,” I fill in.

Harry's brow furrowed. “No,” he said slowly.

“You never thought that because we lost so much we...” but I falter because I don't even know what words I'm looking for.

“You love me, right?” said Harry, and I find that he rather looks like the eleven year old I met all those years ago and not the forty-three year old he is. I burst into tears, realizing that the likely strain on our marriage is as much my fault as it is his. I nod.

“I love you,” I whisper. “I love you so much I can't stand it sometimes, but even so I rather always thought that we just settled for each other because we had to.”

“I love you too,” says Harry, and he leads me over to the bed where we sit and talk and he tells me that he didn't know that he had to say it and I believe him for the way he was raised and then I find we're soon kissing with more passion even than created Ally.

The next day Ron notices the change in us and the next week our kids and then my students and Harry's coworkers and our elderly neighbors and right when we thought we'd celebrate getting all the kids out of the house we're sending pink announcements for the new baby out with sheepish smiles and promising each other that this time we won't do everything right because trying too hard got us into so much trouble the last time.

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