Unofficial Portkey Archive

Disclaimer: Not mine. All things HP belong to JK Rowling. I'm just trying to fix what she did wrong and I only get money from this in my dreams.

Author's Note: This is a fic that I started months ago for a '1 Year After' collection, to commemorate Stupid Canon Day (a.k.a. the day JKR proved she's an idiot). It's something of a more direct way of telling JKR that she can take her canon and, well, do something impolite with it. ;-)

Starts out H/G (and R/Hr) but it will all be fixed, I promise. Rated PG-13 or so, for now. Enjoy!

~~

What Happened Before the Wedding

Chapter 1: Doubts

It was going to be the wedding of the century. Possibly even bigger than that-the wedding of the millennium? (And, of course, afterwards, they were going to live happily ever after.)

Harry stared at three supposedly different versions of the wedding invitation. Each was on heavy parchment that almost screamed wealth and were ostensibly in different colors-ivory, cream, and snowflake. Harry couldn't for the life of him see the difference. They were white. He frowned and squinted at them, tilted his head, and then stepped around to the other side of the table as if the difference in angle would make the whites look different.

It didn't.

And they had all sorts of fantastical curlicues and flowers bordering the cards and framing the scripted words in the middle.

The words, at least, were definitely the same on each.

You are cordially invited to the wedding of Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, and Miss Ginevra Weasley, youngest daughter of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur and Molly Weasley, on July 20, 2000.

He grimaced, wondering why Ginny had insisted on including his ridiculous, so-called title, on the invitation. Or rather, he knew why she'd insisted-he only wondered why he hadn't insisted more forcefully that it be left off.

She had insisted it should be on there as a tangible message to everyone that the War really was over, that everyone, including him, was moving on with their lives. And then she'd given him that cajoling smile which she always gave him whenever she was trying to persuade him to do something and he had, as usual, given in.

It was essentially the same reason she'd given him for why they should make their wedding such a huge event, inviting (at last count) more than 350 people and that number was getting larger by the day.

Mrs. Weasley had thrown herself into the preparations for the wedding with all the considerable energy and enthusiasm at her disposal and she was so happy to be doing so, to be planning for the event that would finally, officially, make Harry her son, that he could not protest. She was so happy over it all, touchingly so, as if this wedding were giving her a reason to finally come out of her mourning for Fred and, yes, Remus and Tonks too, and he understood and even sympathized too much to do anything else.

He did understand; truly he did.

He just wondered, as he stared at the sample invitations, why-at times like this-increasingly more frequently, it seemed-he was starting to feel almost… trapped, as if he'd been captured by the Devil's Snare or something like that.

As if the thought had almost summoned her, he heard the quick, perfunctory knock on the door of the flat he shared with Ron and Hermione and then Ginny had slipped inside (she didn't bother to wait for permission to enter; she didn't even always knock, so sure was she of welcome in the flat shared by her brother and her fiancée).

He managed a smile of greeting for her. "Hey, Ginny."

"Hi, darling," she greeted him with her usual bright smile and fit herself under his arm-as she usually did, before she reached up to bring his head down so she could kiss him.

Her kiss was long and passionate and he felt himself sinking into it before he drew back.

"Mm, I missed you," she whispered against his skin. "Did you miss me?" she asked with a flirtatious glance at him through her lashes.

He blinked at her, biting back his automatic response that he'd seen her barely six hours ago when they'd had lunch together and instead said, "Of course."

She smiled and kissed him again and, again, he was the one to draw back first.

He didn't know why, really, didn't know what had gotten into him. Usually, he was more than happy to kiss her but today, for some reason, he was finding her clinging to him to be somewhat annoying.

Gently he reached up and drew her arms down from around his neck, smiling at her to soften his drawing back.

"I was just looking at the invitations."

"What do you think of them? Aren't they lovely?"

He looked again at the invitations. Lovely wasn't precisely the word that came to mind when he looked at them-ridiculous, perhaps, ostentatious, definitely, excessive even-but lovely? "Yeah," he agreed instead. "They are. Which one are we going to use?"

Ginny tilted her head to one side as she studied them with as much care as if the fate of the world depended on it. "I think I'm leaning towards the ivory one; the cream just seems a little off to me, not the right shade, and the snowflake one just doesn't look quite the way I want the invitations to look. What do you think, darling?"

Harry looked again at the invitations and tried, desperately, to remember which of them was the ivory one and which the cream and which the snowflake. They all looked the same color to him-they were all white-and the only differences were in the borders, all of which were about equally ornate. "Erm… the ivory one looks good to me too," he finally said. He couldn't remember which was which and, as far as he was concerned, they were all about the same.

Ginny beamed at him and threw her arms around his neck again. "Oh, Harry, I knew you'd agree with me. We always do think the same thing, don't we, Harry?"

He automatically put his arms around her. "I guess so," he agreed, for lack of anything else to say-and really, what could he say?

They did tend to agree, in that he hardly ever disagreed with her simply because it was easier not to and because half the time, he didn't care that much, and, entirely aside from that, because he wanted her to be happy.

Ginny nestled her head against his shoulder. "We really are perfect for each other, aren't we, Harry?"

Perfect for each other? Was this what perfection felt like, he wondered? And if it was, how was he to know? It wasn't as if anything in his life before had ever been perfect.

"I guess so," he said again-again, because he couldn't think of anything else to say. 'I don't know' wasn't exactly the answer she was looking for.

"We'll be like this forever, won't we, Harry?"

Forever…

Funny, the word sounded awfully… final…

Forever…

Forever was such a long time, he thought inanely. How was he to know what things would be like even a year from now?

He didn't say anything, didn't know what to say or how to respond and absolutely refused to simply say, 'I guess so' again. That would, he thought, just be too much.

Fortunately, Ginny didn't seem to notice his lack of response.

She only kissed him again and then deliberately slid one hand down his chest and stomach to cup him through his trousers and he jerked, flinching away.

"Ginny!"

She gave him another look through her lashes, one that had, more than once, made him react even if he was across the room from her at the time.

"What do you say, we go to bed and… celebrate picking our wedding invitations?" she whispered against his ear.

He'd never before thought the word, celebrate, could sound so explicitly sexual.

He kissed her, waiting to feel the familiar tug of desire, the familiar flare of heat.

Nothing happened.

He drew back from the kiss almost apologetically. "We can't, Ginny. Ron and Hermione will probably be back soon and you know we're going out tonight."

She rose up on her toes to kiss his earlobe, letting her breath tickle his ear and his neck. "Skip it and stay with me. I'm sure I can think of some way to keep you busy," she breathed into his ear.

He managed a slight smile even as he drew back. "I promised Ron and Hermione."

"Oh, they'll understand."

He put her arms from him and stepped back, firmly. "I can't, Ginny, really. You know this is our one evening just for the three of us." And, he surprised himself a little by thinking that he would rather spend the evening with Ron and Hermione than with Ginny. This was one of their designated trio nights when it was just the three of them-they tried to make them at least twice a month but didn't always manage it-because it seemed like otherwise it was rare for it to just be the three of them. Ginny was around or Ron would be away with the Cannons at a match or practice or (more often) Hermione would stay late at St. Mungo's and not be home for dinner at all.

She gave him a pretty pout. "And you can't skip it even for me?"

"No, I really can't." He kept his tone gentle.

"Oh, all right."

She gave him another long, lingering kiss, this one patently designed to make him regret his decision (in which intent it, rather oddly, failed.)

"I'll go tell Mum that we decided on the ivory and that way we can send the invitations out maybe next week."

"Next week?!"

"Do you want to send them out sooner? We could probably manage it by the end of this week if you wanted to."

Harry goggled. "Sooner? No, I was thinking that even next week is too soon. The wedding's more than 10 months away! Can't the invitations wait for a couple more months at least?"

"I suppose they could, if you really want to."

Ginny didn't sound or look particularly pleased about the idea but for once, he ignored it, too preoccupied with his own reaction to hearing that the invitations were going to be sent out so soon.

"Let's wait, then, at least for now."

"Okay; I'll tell Mum that you'd rather wait to send them out."

He kissed her again, this time by way of apologizing for not wanting to send the invitations out immediately, and ended the kiss more slowly this time. "I'll see you later, Ginny."

"Yes, bye, darling."

He gave her a smile and a half-wave as she went out the door and then escaped to open a window, almost gulping in breaths of the cool, crisp air, his heart unaccountably pounding as if he'd just had a narrow escape.

Next week! Great Merlin, she'd wanted to send the invitations out next week!

He stared out the window, blindly, not seeing anything of the city, as he forcibly tried to calm down.

He didn't know what had happened but when she mentioned sending the wedding invitations out, he'd known a moment of stark, blind panic, feeling an irrational urge to run or raise his hands to ward off… something, he didn't even know what. He didn't know what had prompted it, aside from the inexplicable feeling of suddenly being suffocated, knowing only the unthinking, instinctive, primal reaction of 'I can't do this!' screaming in his brain.

He was being ridiculous but his reaction and his need to postpone sending out the invitations had been too powerful for him to ignore and he'd simply had to try to push it off. He hadn't even stopped to think about it; he'd simply acted.

Now that Ginny was gone, though, and he was calmer, that moment came back to him along with the instinctive thought that he couldn't do this.

He didn't want to think about it; thinking about it wouldn't lead to anywhere good, he was somehow sure. Ignorance was bliss after all.

He'd been silly, stupid, to react as strongly as he had. It was only the invitations.

Never mind the fact that something about seeing the date printed out like that on paper had somehow seemed to make the entire thing so much more real to him. It was as if, up until that moment, he'd almost been playing with the idea of marrying Ginny, as if it was all just a play of some kind, and then suddenly what had been playing had become stark, unyielding reality.

Silly of him. Very stupid of him to react like that. There was no reason for it. None whatsoever.

He was going to marry Ginny. Of course he was going to marry Ginny. He wanted to marry Ginny.

He did.

Didn't he?

Even as the question formed in his mind, he dismissed it, mentally backtracked, tried to forget that he'd even wondered.

Of course he wanted to marry Ginny.

He must. He cared about her, certainly, generally enjoyed her company and everyone was so happy for them…

It all was so perfect, as if it had been planned by some benevolent Fate (he chose to forget the fact that, up until now, Fate had never been particularly benevolent where he was concerned). He would marry Ginny and finally become an official member of the Weasley family, would gain a real family of his own. And he knew he wanted that, wanted it with an intensity that made him feel an almost physical pang of longing. Always, as long as he could remember, he'd wanted to be a part of a family and now, he would be.

And it seemed even more right, even more meant to be, that he and Ginny looked almost like a mirror image of his own parents, the love that had really started it all.

How much more perfect could it get?

Of course he wanted to marry Ginny.

He wouldn't have agreed to Ginny's suggestion-and Mrs. Weasley's open encouragement-that they marry, if he hadn't. Ginny was pretty and fun and she loved him.

Of course he wanted to marry Ginny.

He pushed away that momentary doubt; he was being ridiculous.

At that moment, the door opened and he glanced over his shoulder to see Hermione.

She smiled at the sight of him. "Oh, hi, Harry."

"Hey."

Hermione paused and then asked, with her customary directness, "Is something bothering you?"

He smiled, only half-humorously. "You read minds now?"

She put her bag down on the floor and came over to stand next to him. "What is it?"

"It's nothing, really. I'm just being an arse, that's all."

She nodded. "Oh, well, that's nothing unusual, then."

He laughed, as he knew she'd intended for him to do. "Thanks. Your support is overwhelming," he retorted wryly.

"Seriously, Harry, what is it? Can I help?"

It was such a characteristic offer for her to make, he reflected idly. She always wanted to help.

"No, not really. I just need to straighten some things out in my head." He gave her a wry smile. "Ginny was just over; we picked out the design for the invitations," he blurted out and he wasn't even sure why he did but the words just came out.

"Oh, did you?"

Hermione wandered over to where they were laid out on the coffee table. "Which one did you choose?"

"Erm, it was the ivory one but I don't know which one that is," he admitted sheepishly. "They all look the same color to me."

Hermione bent to study them closer, frowning a little, before she looked back up at him. "In all honesty, Harry, they look about the same to me too."

"Oh good, so I'm not crazy."

She laughed up at him. "Well, I wouldn't go so far as to say that. We could both be crazy, you know."

Looking at her, at the (adorable) quirk of her lips, her dancing eyes, he felt a sudden, insane impulse to kiss the corner of her lips which hinted at the mischief in her.

What?!

He hauled his thoughts back from that precipice with a violent mental jerk. Great Merlin, what had gotten into him?! He was beginning to think he might not have been joking when he'd said he might be crazy. First, doubting his marrying Ginny and now-now suddenly wanting to kiss Hermione? What was wrong with him? It was insane.

He'd never wanted to kiss Hermione before! She'd always been firmly in the category of 'Forbidden' and he'd never even thought about wanting anything more than friendship.

He didn't want anything other than friendship with her.

He blinked, mentally floundering to remember what they'd been talking about. Oh. Right. "You're the sanest person I know."

"That's a relief," she grinned.

He returned the smile, relieved to find that he didn't react to her grin other than wanting to smile back.

Of course he didn't want to kiss Hermione.

He was going to marry Ginny and Hermione was just his best friend.

That was just the way things were, the way he wanted them to be, he corrected himself.

And anything else was just insanity. Temporary insanity. He was sure of it.

Really, he was.

~To be continued… (of course)

Author's Note 2: I was planning on having this fic start out more definitely H/G but then I started to write it and found that I'm completely incapable of writing Harry as if he's in love with Ginny (*shudder*) or, more simply and importantly, as if he's not in love with Hermione (he is, the silly boy's just in denial!)