A/N: part 2, how's that for a quick update? a bit adult at one point later on, but it fades to black. that's the main reason for the M.

The wedding preparations are no shoddy affair, for all that it's done before Harry can breathe. And then, he blinks, and it's the night before his wedding. Of all the dreams and nightmares Harry'd had over the years about where he'd end up, where his life would go, arranged marriage to a gorgeous unbelievably amazing combination princess-knight because of some vague prophecy about the world ending in fire and brimstone.

There's a knock at the door of his quarters, startling him enough that he nearly tosses his chosen tome out the window. Sighing, Harry finds his page and marks it before calling for whoever's waiting for entrance. "Ron, it's not dinner yet, is it?"

"No, but it is the night before your wedding."

"I wasn't aware I had any other responsibilities," Harry says, quizzical, "The rehearsal ended, didn't it?"

"Yes, and now Ginny's off with Luna doing something with horses and the forest and who knows what," Ron sums up, "We are going to grab a couple of horses ourself, ride to our heart's content, drink our weight in ale, and then have a marksman's challenge to see if you're all you're cracked up to be."

"Should the alcohol come before the weapons?" Harry asks with a grin.

"Already talking like an old, married man," Ron strides back over to the door and sticks his head into the hall, "Fred, George, it's an emergency."

Dawn on Harry's wedding day is crisp, the sky slowly warming with golden hues. Carriages, traveling caravans, and carts had been arriving for the last fortnight laden with everything from wine to elegant hand woven silks to giant pumpkins the size of Harry's body.

Despite Ron's threats, their little party the night before was fairly calm, though it did end with Fred and George asleep like drunken logs in the stables. Harry and Ron managed to stumble their way back into the castle through a few secret passages Ron's known forever and Harry's managed to suss out during his time in Gryffindor.

Head aching a bit, Harry rolls from his four poster and slump his way into his bath. Grateful as he is to have warm soak waiting when he'll want it, it didn't take long for him to beg his attendants to leave him to the actual washing alone.

He doesn't linger, though the water is warm, the air cold, and his head very heavy, and fights the tremble in his hands as he rubs the gifted 'groom's' oils over his damp skin. Taking a steadying breath, he drags up his trousers and forces his mind to focus on the simple movements. Not the fact that by this time tomorrow he'll be married and he and Ginny will have - will be married.

Age, gender, and societal expectations aside, Harry has next to no experience with women. Not in the sense one experiences women particularly. And tonight, one way or another, he'd be expected to...to experience.

First, he'd have to make it through the ceremony and following festivities without making a complete and utter fool of himself. After, he'd have to do the same but for a smaller audience.

Not that it was a chore - part of why he feels like an arsehole is because of the very real, very repressed part of him that thinks of it as the furthest thing from a chore. In a perfect world, a world where Harry got whatever he wished, this all would have happened. Maybe a year or two in the future. A future where he and Ginny both wanted this, where a doom and gloom prophecy wasn't hanging over their heads like a mournful wedding arbor.

As it was, they were being dressed up like fancy sacrifices for the good of humanity. And however much the voluntary nature of the whole situation was impressed upon them, their ability to say no couldn't compare to their responsibility to the contrary.

Luckily, Harry's time to mull over the issue passes as he's adequately festooned in his wedding clothes and Ron's knocking at the door.

The rest of the morning is a rush of breakfast, pacing, rehearsing his lines like a madman, swiping the sweat from his hands, and wondering where Ginny is.

He knew, intellectually, where Ginny was being hidden away. The bridal suite had been the subject of much discussion over the last weeks. All of his belongings, save whatever he'd needed for this morning, had been moved in yesterday, along with Ginny's.

Tonight the last things - namely Harry and Ginny - would find their new homes.

Just as the bells toll the ten o'clock hour, Ron claps Harry on the shoulder and guides him toward the churchyard, looking decidedly uncomfortable in the admittedly stuffy, starchy clothes they've all been forced into.

Ginny though - she's like a vision, sunlight spearing through her hair, wind setting strands flying. Her gown is a similar cut to the first time he saw her sans armor, the fabric smooth over her lithe form, the deep emerald like a rolling hillside, golden stitches intricate over the bodice and along the slim cut sleeves. It was breathtaking then; now, Harry might just faint.

"Alright, mate?" Ron murmurs and Harry could slug him for the laughter in his voice.

And Harry's never really been one to let things go, not completely. So just as he's about to take his place on the cobbled path next to the bride, Harry smirks at Ron. "Think the romance in the air will give you a chance with the court librarian?"

Ron's neck heats and Harry strides forward, a spring in his step, at least for the moment.

As the officiant begins his opening remarks, Ginny slants a sideways glance at Harry and her lips lift in a smile as she whispers, "You look happy."

"Just the remnants of a good jab at your brother."

"This marriage may be successful yet," Ginny laughs, quiet, though the priest glares in her direction.

Taking Ginny's hand as instructed, Harry lifts their arms to waist height and they mount the stairs, leaving the cold autumn day behind, and stepping into their future.

Nerves, apparently, can be treated by complete and utter boredom. Harry's heart certainly picked up as they entered the cathedral, but once the droning and decidedly unromantic process of getting married truly begins, he's more nervous about accidentally falling asleep on his feet.

At some point, he and Ginny managed to communicate the issue to each other, commiserating with silent glances and squeezing or pinching as appropriate.

The ceremony has long since ended, the post wedding revel under way, and Ginny's just swallowed her third goblet of mead. "You know, Gryffindor likes to say they'll be remembered as a kingdom of the brave, but I think we're much more proficient at throwing a celebratory feast."

Harry chuckles. "Anyone can face armies in battle, give me a knight who knows her way around a suckling pig."

Ginny spears another bite of pork with her knife and sighs. "I had two demands for my wedding garments."

"Which were?" Harry asks around the rim of his own drink.

"Well, the important one was that I have enough wiggle room to eat as much as I liked," Ginny says with a grin, scooping another generous helping of potatoes onto her plate.

"No, no. I want to know both," Harry prods, "Husband's privilege."

Fred saunters past, at that exact moment. "What's this I hear about 'husband's privileges'? We are in polite company."

Luckily, Ginny's too busy tossing a roll at Fred's head to note Harry's flush. But she must notice that the remainder of the evening his attention is divided, his hands tremble whenever they touch, and he's completely lost the ability to make eye contact.

Internal battles aside, they can't escape the expectation of a first dance. Harry leads Ginny onto the floor as delicate music swells and the hall falls silent. With a slight swirl of her skirts, Ginny comes to rest in the arc of Harry's arm, their free hands clasping together like that first dance months ago.

"So serious, Prince Harry," Ginny says, quiet.

"Trying not to step on your toes, Princess Ginny."

"I can take it," Ginny assures him, rolling her shoulders back, "I am a knight, first."

"Believe me, I am fully aware," Harry says easily, thumb brushing across the back of her hand in an unconscious gesture.

Ginny smiles, razor sharp as she moves imperceptibly closer. "Does that scare you?"

His heart thrums. "Far from it."

"Glad to hear."

The music swells to a lilting close and Harry lets Ginny twirl from his arms, barely keeping a grip on the calloused tips of her fingers as he dips into a low bow. "Thank you, m'lady."

"Serious and formal," Ginny remarks as they leave the dancefloor to light applause.

Harry lets her mount the dais platform first, though he keeps his grip on her hand throughout. So far, he likes this part of marriage. "Trying to start off on the right foot. It will make your ultimate disappointment in me all the more enjoyable."

"But now you've spoiled the surprise," Ginny laughs, dropping into her chair as Harry does the same.

"You underestimate how much I have hoodwinked you."

"We'll see, husband."

Sadly, the ease and familiarity of their wedding celebration ends the minute Luna arrives to let them know their bedchamber has been prepared.

Tension slithers up Harry's spine as they exit the hall to much fanfare and some teasing. Ginny offers her brothers a few choice gestures that Molly luckily misses in all the excitement.

The silence once they leave the crowding revelers is deafening and sudden. Ginny's slippers are soft, satiny things for fashion more than practicality and Harry's boots are his usual, well loved and perfect for the hunt, so they move through the castle on nearly silent feet.

Ginny shivers as a wintery wind whistles around the castle, so biting it feels as if the thick stone walls are parchment rustling on the breeze. He's got nothing to offer her, so Harry just looks at his hands helpless before breaking the quiet. "I'm surprised - no one's escorting us?"

"I told mum, dad, and anyone else who had something to say that we could find our way well enough."

Harry smiles. "Well I'm not near the expert you are, but I trust my gallant knight would rescue me if I got lost."

Sketching a bow, Ginny puts a posh, lofty lilt on her voice, "Why of course, my lord. The chivalric code demands such behavior."

Once she rises, Ginny links her arm through his, much more companionable and easy. Also, much closer.

Hoping to keep his mind focused despite that floral scent that drives him mad, Harry begins blurting whatever he can think of, which begins with, "So, consummation."

Ginny trips but manages to keep her feet, coughing needlessly. "You - is that a question?"

"I - yes," Harry's blush must be visible from the moon, "Are we - who will - how?"

"How do we consummate? I assumed you'd have some clue by our age."

"Theoretical, yes," Harry says, "I mean. Will it be ceremonious?"

They reach the bridal suite and Ginny pauses in the empty corridor. "No. We're expected to consummate. But I said marrying and putting on that show was one thing - making this...that a show was something else entirely."

Harry shoulders the door open and gestures for Ginny to enter first. She does and waits for him to follow. It's too tense, too much all at once.

So of course, Harry decides awkward levity is the best option. "Well?"

Ginny blinks, "Well what? It's been a long day and I don't view our marriage bed as a required duty, just so we're clear."

Harry's mouth goes a bit dry at the very legitimate reality that they will now be sharing a marriage bed. But he does keep his train of thought nonetheless. "Well I'm supposed to be carried over the threshold. It's for luck and protection from evil spirits."

Her shoulders loosen and Ginny dissolves into genuine laughter, tears streaming from here eyes. Eventually she calms and crosses back toward the doorway.

"S'pose this is my duty."

"It absolutely is. Thank you for recognizing my legitimate claim."

Rolling her eyes, Ginny turns around and squats low. "Well, up you get, Prince."

Harry does as he's told, linking his arms around Ginny's shoulders as she grasps his legs where they're wrapped around her middle.

They're halfway over the threshold when a shuffling in the hall draws their attention. Harry grips Ginny's middle tighter with his legs and Ginny does her best to put on a fighting stance while a grown man clings to her back like a monkey.

"Shite, Ron," Ginny groans, loosening her grasp so Harry slips to the floor, standing just over her shoulder.

"What are you - "

"I suppose this is one way to begin the wedding night festivities."

"Stuff it," Harry growls, pushing the door shut with a thud.

Ginny clears her throat. "I'll uh - I'll wash up first. Choose whichever side you like."

The following morning, Harry wakes warm, content, and surrounded by the smell of spring. Ginny's soft, pressed against his back and her muscled arm lying gentle over his middle. All in all, it's not an unpleasant way to spend the first few moments of awareness - but it does make Harry's life eons more complicated.

BREAK

Despite the upheaval Harry expected, life remains relatively normal in the weeks following his marriage. Which is nice, in a sense, nice. Comforting even. What's nice but perhaps not comforting in the traditional sense, is Ginny's intense tendency for snuggling. It's jarring at first, but eventually Harry acclimates. Which is why when winter turns to spring and Ginny's away on a training exercise with her knights, Harry suddenly finds himself incapable of sleep. It's a difficult fortnight which ends up with Harry reading through three shelves of the library, catching up on two years of magical training with Maester Dumbledore, and sleeping when he manages to drift off in the afternoons beneath a swaying willow he's come to love.

It's one such afternoon when a shadow moves in the way of the sun's rays and wakes him.

"Nice kip?"

"Gin."

"Harry. I'm gone for two weeks and my husband turns into a lazy lump," Ginny teases, offering a hand up.

Once he's regained his feet, Ginny keeps her hand in his, loose and familiar. That's another thing she's started doing since the wedding. Definitely filed under the insanity inducing but extremely pleasant category.

"Excuse me, I have been training my mind."

Ginny flicks her braid over her shoulder and smirks at Harry. "I guess I'm doomed to be your white knight for all eternity."

"Should've put that in our vows," Harry says, throwing caution to the wind and knitting his fingers between hers.

Ginny's laugh warms Harry like a warm summer breeze and then, she's tugging his hand and his lips are on hers.

Pulling away, mostly because of his need for air, Harry can't help the unbridled smile that tears across his face. "How long have you been plotting that one?"

"Dunno - just came to me."

"Maybe it was after witnessing my glorious skills on the dancefloor."

That earns him a snort.

"Or perhaps my prowess with a bow?"

"By your reckoning, I'm likely to be loads more attracted to myself," Ginny teases, pressing her lips to his again, short, but with the heavy taste of promise.

"Yes but my lips are so soft."

Another kiss has Ginny humming against said soft lips. God, he can't imagine wanting to do anything else.

Ginny, however, seems more capable of staying on task. Which is hopefully a testament to her ability to focus, not his ability in the romantic arts. She is at least, a little breathless when she speaks, "I did come to find you for a reason."

"This wasn't it?" Harry murmurs, kissing her again.

"This was me softening you up - metaphorically - so I could get the information I'm looking for."

It's hard to feel self conscious about his very clear attraction when Ginny's looking at him like that, like she might just toss him over her shoulder and carry him off somewhere private.

But she's got other things in mind. Enjoyable to be sure, but not the type he'd really like at the moment.

Ginny leads the way toward the training grounds, toward the target range, where two bows are ready and waiting. "I would like you, my husband, to teach me, your lovely wife, how to pull off that little trick with the arrow splitting."

"I can hardly reveal the secrets of my prowess," Harry says, lofty, as he tests out his bow.

Ginny does the same, then easily slots an arrow in place and lets it fly. It finds its home perfectly centered on the target. She glances over at him. "Now do it, prove last time wasn't just dumb - " Harry fires his arrow and it splits Ginny's with a resounding crack, "luck."

"How's that, m'lady?"

"I'm feeling quite amorous," Ginny says with a wink, "Now teach me. With this I could've destroyed Chang without her little midnight tip."

"I have been meaning to ask about that," Harry says without thinking. Ginny's confusion reminds him he wasn't actually supposed to have seen their little detente. "I was locked up in my room, saw you and the other knight conferring in the dark."

"That phrasing makes things sound so much more intriguing than reality," Ginny muses, flexing her fingers, "Chang, she had a chosen husband-to-be. All was set including the date but when her family learned you would be a contender for her hand should she win the tourney. Well she couldn't lose intentionally but she could tip me off to some of her tells. Her weaknesses."

"She'd best hope you never meat in battle," Harry murmurs.

"I had that tournament in hand well before her pity chat," Ginny grumbles, "Now teach."

Two hours in, Ginny's gotten three arrows halfway down the shaft, Harry's distracted her with kisses on her neck on five separate occasions, and Colin's walked in on them at the beginning of occasion six.

Ginny appears on the verge of murder - Harry's found a particular spot behind her ear that nearly makes her purr - when Colin presents the picnic lunch he'd packed them from the kitchens. Apparently, satisfying one type of hunger allows Ginny to forget interruption of the other.

Cold chicken, hard cheese, fresh baked bread, plump grapes ripe for tossing - to be honest, it's delicious enough Harry can't really blame her shift in priorities. Once they've demolished the gift from Colin and sworn to reward his gallantry abundantly, Ginny lies back in the swaying grasses and lets Harry pillow his head in her lap.

The clouds move slowly overhead, long and striated against the pale blue sky. Honestly, Harry's never been so content.

Ginny's fingers find his hair, carding through the wild locks, and now he's the one nearly purring. "Where'd you learn all this?"

"The thing with the grapes?"

She tugs his hair, affectionate; he can feel her steady breaths, hear her heartbeat. "The arrow bit - was that Figg too?"

"Probably anything good about me is from that woman."

"Your parents - they were good. Mum mentioned," Ginny resumes her strokes, "You should ask her."

"She wouldn't - I'm sure she's quite busy," Harry finally says.

"Mum always has time for mothering her 'little chickens' - you're definitely one of those now," Ginny assures him, then somehow manages to get them face to face in a few maneuvers, barely a palm's width of matted grass between them.

"I've thought about it. Bringing Figg here," Harry says after a beat, "But I can't bear being the reason she leaves those woods. It's the last of her family. With everything the Dursleys have done, I don't think she could truly be happy knowing they finally got their claws in that hidden eden."

"They don't know about it?"

"She fled - you know. After. The family had a hunting cabin, back before hunting turned into poaching. It's so tucked away and the woodsmen under the Dursley's employ are hardly expert."

Ginny swipes at his cheek, affectionate, and he realizes tears have streaked down in rivulets. Her eyes are warm and searching in a way he'd ever dreamed someone would look at him.

It looks as if she's on the verge of something, her mouth still forming the words. He's never seen hesitation on her face before - Ginny's one to act first, question later - and it's odd.

Before he has a chance to ruminate further or have his curiosity sated by the woman herself, Colin returns. This time without food and Harry really might shove him in the lake.

"Queen Molly asked that I remind you of tonight's dinner, which will be a celebration of your sixth month of matrimony as well as the successful completion of - "

Ginny pushes up on one palm, raising the other to quiet Colin mid-oration. "You can forgo the full lecture. We're being summoned?"

"Yes. There was a uh - " he flushes, "A bit about being sure no one arrived smelling like - "

"Shit?" GInny supplies, ever helpful as she rises and brushes her trousers clean.

That startles a laugh out of Colin and reminds Harry how attractive he finds his mischievous wife. "The Queen would never say."

"We'll be at dinner, freshly washed and dressed, I swear it," Ginny finally agrees, mock solemnity at its finest.

Colin darts away, back in the direction of the castle with their picnic basket in tow, and Harry pulls Ginny in for one last press of his lips. "You are a little troublemaker."

"I hope it's not a terrible surprise," Ginny murmurs against his mouth, arms dragging them closer together.

"The best kind, I assure you."

After that afternoon, it's as if a dam has broken and somehow the urges previously repressed are completely untamable. Ginny takes to kidnapping Harry to some of her favorite hiding places - secret rooms, passages, alcoves, the old barns, an ancient tree with particularly wide branches - and they seem to do everything two people can do just shy of actually doing everything.

Harry's joy isn't just at their hormonal explorations. Ginny's everything, a blissful oblivion that feels like a blessing he hasn't earned. Whatever world, whatever higher power, whatever prophecy brought them together, he can't find the desire to question it any longer.

Hermione, however, has no such decrease in her interests, much to Ron's disappointment. Which is why Harry finds a particularly blissful encounter with Ginny behind a tapestry of dancing nymphs cut short by the curly-haired librarian.

Ron, apparently following Hermione around in the hopes that she'll trip reading a book and his lips will break her fall, groans at their disheveled but not altogether indecent state. "Don't you have rooms for this shite?"

"I'll enjoy my husband wherever I like," Ginny says, not at all ashamed.

Harry's not really either, though he is glad for a host of reasons that Ginny's standing between him and her brother.

After much glaring, a brief discussion, and some vague but intimidating statements from Hermione, the foursome end up cloistered in the Royal Library where all official documents, histories, and prophecies are stored.

"I've been poring over everything I could track down on this prophecy and it turns out there was another from the same woman nearly twenty years ago."

Harry blinks, "She is a seer."

Ron fights the laughter tickling at his lips, still hoping to remain in Hermione's good graces and perhaps advance further. Harry can't quite bring himself to blame Ron, particularly since Ginny has no such qualms, letting out a snort even as Hermione sighs. "A prophecy regarding you Harry."

Ginny's expression becomes that of a warrior, jaw taut, eyes hard, as she leans on her forearms. "What exactly does it say?"

Hermione looks a bit gratified that she's finally dropped the bit of information to set them aflame, but doesn't gloat. "Given the age and relatively poor history of prophecy tracking in the past, we don't have as solid of a grasp on the exact contents. But it does mention blood rites connected maternal line that, similarly to the later prophecy, could either protect or destroy depending on the actions of those named."

Harry catches on first. "Petunia."

Nodding, Hermione presses on, "I believe, the Dursleys kept you as they did and for lack of a better term, disposed of you in the manner chosen, to comply with the specific guidelines of the first prophecy. No harm could come to you - at least not in the most extreme sense - or it would be visited on them tenfold. Based on what you've said and what information I've gathered, they managed to just butt up against that demarcation to treat you terribly as possible without damning themselves."

Ginny grips his hand beneath the table even as her fist clenches on the tabletop. "And this is just for our edification?"

Ron rolls his eyes, "Don't you know understanding the present and future is easier through the lens of the past?"

Hermione's hand jolts, knocking three half empty ink wells from the table along with a pile of discarded quills, but she doesn't move to collect them, eyes only for Ron. "You - you listen."

Red from the back of his neck to the tips of his ears, Ron grumbles, "Well 'course I do - you're brilliant."

Ginny's jaw falls open and Harry can't do much but gape either, particularly as Hermione flings herself into Ron's arms, upending her chair and nearly knocking him backward.

After a moment, Ginny rises and peers over the table edge where the new lovers are luckily talking in whispered tones rather than other things one could do with a beau underneath a table. "Shall we reconvene later?"

The couple glance up at Ginny in unison, bleary eyed and seeming to have forgotten the rest of the world existed. Ron speaks first, bringing them both upright. "No, no. Hermione will want to finish this. And then I'll want to have her all to myself."

Hermione blushes, but rights her dark robes and re-takes her seat. "The newer prophecy is connected, the thread of the maternal line is what links you and Ginny."

Harry feels as if he's about to lose his lunch and Ginny nearly flips the table. "We're - what?"
"You're not related. It's about the flame haired woman - Harry's mother, Lily, had deep red hair, dark, burning embers. In the original prophecy, it signaled the start, coals warming at the beginning of an inferno. Ginny - she's the inferno. Harry's, well he's the center of it all, somehow."

Eyes trained on the scarred wood table, Harry manages to verbalize his question, though it feels as if he's leagues beneath a wind-tossed ocean. "We married. Prophecy fulfilled, everyone's safe. Right?"

"The marriage was certainly a necessary step. I know no one particularly wanted the match but - "

Harry doesn't really hear much after that, his hand slipping from Ginny's and lying useless alongside its twin. Throughout the remaining explanation, Ginny steals worried glances at Harry and eventually manages to get them both excused.

She could have lead him anywhere, pushed him out a window, and Harry's too lost, too dazed to even protect himself.

It's not that he wasn't aware that their marriage was arranged, a decision made for the good of mankind. But these last months, he'd let himself forget, just a little bit. Pretend that maybe Ginny could love him someday. That he was a person worth -

Somehow, he's sitting on his side of their bed, late afternoon sun glaring in his eyes as Ginny putters about. He had some vague impressions of Ginny leading him from the library, through side passages and empty corridors until they reached their rooms. After some clattering, her short, quiet strides bring her before him, wash basin in hand. "You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"No - just remembered something I shouldn't have let myself forget."

Ginny pauses ringing out a creamy muslin cloth. "About the prophecy? Should I fetch Hermione?"

Despite everything, he still grasps her arm, unwilling to let her leave. "No. Not that. I just - no one has ever really wanted me. I'm a burden, either forced on people by fate or chance or some sense of duty. The universe knew - knew I would roam the world alone without the literal threat of humanity's eradication in my corner."

"Harry."

"And this time, these months with you, I let myself forget. Started to delude myself into thinking we were - "

Her hands grip the sides of his face, damp from the chilly water, and bring his forehead to hers. "Harry, my husband, my love. I want you. I want you. Not because of a prophecy, not because of whatever power you know not shite, not because we're going to save the world."

She leans up and kisses him, long and deep, her own tears mixing with his even as she guides him backward, looms overhead. "I want you and your silly sideways grins, those freckles that appear after a day spent in the sun, your cheeky wit that always surprises a laugh out of me, your sense of devotion to people you love, your knobby knees - "

Harry laughs, watery. "I sound like a real catch."

"I wanted you since that first day, the sad, lonely prince wandering around like a little will-o-the-wisp," Ginny whispers, her hands gently mapping every bit of him.

"You saw?"

"Why of course, I'm the greatest knight in the land," Ginny answers with a wink, "I won myself a damsel in distress for my troubles."

"I love you too, so long as we're saying it now," Harry whispers against her skin. Ginny sighs, working the laces of his tunic free, pressing her lips along his throat, lower.

Her fingers eventually fall to the waistband of his trousers, lift the hem of his shirt free and over his head with some slight maneuvering.

Harry rolls them over until he's in the cradle of her thighs, her face flushed, braid nearly gone, and eyes only for him.

He's slower, teasing, as he tugs out the stays on her top, pressing a kiss to the exposed skin after each pull. She sighs, breaths labored as she draws him closer.

Her hands find his hips, dragging him closer as she swallows his groan. "Your trousers."

Blinking, sanity nearly gone, Harry pushes up on his elbows only to find Ginny smirking below him. That mischievous grin he'd love to kiss off her lips -

She presses, "We can't have much fun when you're all tied up."

Finally cottoning on, Harry rolls off and tugs his boots free. He's about to continue with his trousers when he recalls other people exist and strides across the room, toward the door, intent on locking it. Though when his fingers land on the key, it's already slid the bolt home. He pauses, mouth slack.

Ginny sits up, looking every bit debauched - her hair wild and uncontrolled, her bodice open and miles of her milky, freckled skin on display, her lips rosy with his kisses. "Alright?"

Harry nods, swallowing hard. "The uh - the door was locked already."

"Mm, that accidental magic finally doing some good," she laughs, quiet.

It's something to consider, the motivations for his accidental magic - intent is always the key. But right now, his mind is utterly consumed with Ginny. "Are you? Alright, that is?"

For the first time, she seems to pause and Harry returns to her side, trying to keep his mind clear. "We don't have to - "

Her eyes drop to his chest, fingertips finding each wrinkle, scar, and line of sinewy muscle. "I should really like to, if you're in agreement."

Words lost for the moment, Harry grabs Ginny around the waist and lifts her into his lap, her skirt riding up so her lithe, battle hardened legs border his. They rock backward, lost in the smell, the taste of each other, pausing only to lift Ginny's gown clear overhead and tossing it indiscriminately.

Something clatters in the background and Ginny laughs against his throat. "Just put that anywhere."

"Nothing's irreplaceable," Harry groans, not even breaking contact between his lips and her skin.

"You could've set the castle on fire if that was a candle," Ginny answers, breath catching as his attentions wander further south.

"Stone castles - quite safe from flames," Harry answers, reasonable as he shifts again, leaving Ginny splayed across the bedclothes beneath him.

Her hands slip past the waistband of his trousers, pulling him closer even as she works them over his hips. "Harry."

He moans into her mouth, rocking closer. "Yes, love?"

"No more talking."

Harry has a mouthful of hair when he wakes, and a slim, firecracker of a woman in his arms. She's doing her best not to wake him, or at least seem like she's trying not to wake him. Her fingers stroke along his back in barely there touches, her lips brushing his shoulder like a whisper, their legs wound together. "Alright?"

She shifts, nuzzling into his chest and dragging the bedclothes tighter around their entwined bodies. "Of course."

"It's just. Last night," Harry says, soft as he presses his lips to her forehead, "We hadn't before - I hadn't ever."

"Neither had I," Ginny supplies, fingers tickling over his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, his brows, "In case you were wondering."

Leaning in, Harry brushes his nose along hers, their lips connecting in a soft kiss. His eyes stay shut when he says in a breath, "No, but it was sudden. And I didn't want you to think - to think it wasn't important to me."

"Oh, Harry," Ginny murmurs, "I know. It was important to me too."

She kisses the response from his lips, long, deep, and lingering so his eyes cross with it. And in case he thought Ginny didn't notice, her grin is answer enough. Harry sighs. "By the way, you know you can wake me up."

Ginny hums. "You know by now I like cuddling."

Laughing, Harry pulls Ginny fully atop his chest, fingers tickling over her spine. "I know - but you like other things too."

"There's time for another go yet," Ginny murmurs, nipping at his jaw.

"What's this, bout four?"

Ginny sits back, flips her hair over to one side and smiles dangerously. "Nope. And I was hoping for at least five and six."

She tips forward intent on renewing her attentions on Harry's collar bone, when a loud rumble sounds from Ginny's stomach. Her forehead drops to Harry's shoulder and his chuckles shake the bed. "Hungry?"

"We skipped dinner," Ginny groans.

"Didn't hear you complaining - plus we had apples," Harry teases, prodding Ginny to the side as he rolls free from the bedclothes.

He nearly trips over Ginny's gown from the day before and wanders over to the bathing room where Ginny's running a damp cloth over her skin. "Look what I found - no flames in sight."

"It is a bit torn in the middle there," Ginny says with a grin, "Clearly I'm a very motivating lover."

Harry closes the remaining distance between them, sweeping Ginny into his arms, against his chest. "Perhaps I am - you tugged that dress off pretty quickly."

Ginny kisses him again, short. "We can debate this later, even have another run for academic purposes. But as of now you need to get some food in your hungry bride's belly."

The day proceeds in an oddly normal fashion, aside from the fact that congratulations for an expertly executed shot tends to be rewarded with a kiss or two, and sparring gets a bit more...intense.

If asked, Harry would have assumed the latter would be the opposite result - now that they've done the deed, so to speak, maybe the unresolved feelings would be resolved. But now he knows the details of Ginny and they've both discovered his ticklish spot just behind his right ear, and - and now she's about to sweep his legs from beneath him.

Harry lands with a thud to the tune of Ginny's chuckles. "Can't you take it easy on your poor, tired husband?"

"No one's going to give you an easy go of it on the battlefield because you took your wife to bed the night before," Ginny says with a smirk, offering him a hand.

However, Harry has never been one to take teasing lying down. Or, in this case, he's not the type to remain the only one lying down.

Ginny lands with an oof, sprawled across his middle. "That was dirty, sir."

"See you've really set me up for some flirtatious, teasing something or other, but I think you might slap me for it."

She kisses him once, twice, before leaning close so her breath tickles Harry's ear. "Only if you ask nicely."

Harry's rejoinder is lost to the world when Colin comes over the hillside, out of breath and nearly sending himself sprawling. "The - there's been a messenger. We're under attack," Ginny jolts up and Harry's soon to follow as Colin continues, "Or we're about to be."

They both scramble to their feet and all three run back to the castle as fast as possible.

On the way back, Colin fills them in on the details - however vague and sparse. Riddle had sent a messenger from his army's encampment a day's journey out, notifying the kingdom of Gryffindor of the coming attack from Morsmordre.

"We can't harm the messenger but have we questioned him?"

"That might be a bit difficult," Colin hedges.

Ginny grunts under her breath while Harry takes the lead. "Which means?"

"It wasn't a 'messenger' in the traditional sense. They sent a fire attack, Riddle's specialty like we've heard."

Ginny's steps falter and Harry reaches over to grasp her hand, squeezing comfortingly. "Let's get a move on then."

The trek to and from training fields has never felt a long distance before, but today it's as if an eternity passes. Once they arrive, the fires have been quenched and the injured have been lead or carried to the healers.

Ron meets them at the castle gates, winded and face streaked with soot, but otherwise unharmed. "Injuries, but nothing too serious. No dead."

"Mum and Dad?"

"Sequestered with the rest of the family," Ron answers, "Just waiting for our General."

"Lead the way, Master of Strategy," Ginny says and Ron smiles, grim.

Harry doesn't get much chance to ask whether he's included in the invitation to the war room so he follows along at a slight distance, Ginny and Ron's bright heads bowed together as they stride with purpose through the eerily quiet halls.

The calm before the storm.

There's not much debate, Riddle's clearly declared war and they're not going to lie back and wait for the terms of surrender.

Bill smiles grimly. "We've got the best army - best general and best strategist on the continent."

With a nod, Ginny rises and takes her place at the far wall where Hermione's hung their most detailed and accurate map of the kingdom. "We'll need to reserve a reasonable number of our troops for defensive maneuvers. If we ride out with too large a force to meet them, they can either surround us from all sides or worse, attack an inadequately armed city."

Ron hums and picks up the thread. "The catacombs are our best stronghold, in terms of ease of evacuation and strength of the wards."

"Plus, one would hope Riddle at least had respect for the honored dead," Percy puts in with a frown.

Fred snorts. "He clearly doesn't have respect for much of anything - even the appropriate chivalric requirements of battle."

"Now who sounds like a swot?" Hermione murmurs. Harry barely stifles his laugh.

In the name of preserving the royal line, Molly, Arthur, Bill and his family are all hidden away in the catacombs with as large a number as can be spared.

For his part, Harry takes to the ramparts, bow in hand and a full quiver at his back. Ginny walks the battlements, giving last minute instructions and offering encouragement to the men and women taking their places at each embrasure.

Harry watches Ginny, fully in her element, displaying enough swagger and expertise to ensure the confidence of her army. Each soldier, once she leaves their side, stands taller and straighter, eager to live up to her faith.

Once she's completed her circuit, Harry glances around and snags her hand to pull Ginny down the stairs and into an alcove at the base. "Gin."

"I have to lead them, Harry."

"I know - of course. You're you," Harry says with a soft smile, still holding her hand tight while his other fingers brush her cheek. "Just. Don't die."

Sniffing, Ginny swipes at her cheeks and presses her lips to his, strong and sure. "You either. We've only just found each other."

Harry tips his forehead to hers, that flowery scent filling his lungs, overwhelming the acrid smell of Riddle's opening destruction. "And I have so many ideas about our new activities in the marriage bed."

"Keep your mind on the arrows in your other quiver, eh?"

"Watch your back, General," Harry murmurs.

"That's what my archers are for."

With a final kiss, Ginny disappears into the darkness and Harry returns to his place among the archers.

It's strange, the way all's quiet one moment, and the next, the world seems set ablaze with the clang of swords, spellfire sending up plumes of multicolored smoke. Still, bow in hand, Harry's mind develops a singular focus. Familiar, despite the circumstances.

Over his months in Gryffindor, he's perfected the art of igniting his arrowheads with magic and with each launch, the knights of Morsmordre are pushed back, delayed in their assault on Gryffindor's walls. Harry's fellow archers are no slouches either, and together they manage to keep the invaders at bay.

Ginny lead the Gryffindor army into the fray with Ron at her side, her hair tucked away beneath her helmet, her body disguised in her expertly wrought armor. But Harry would know her anywhere. The swipes of her sword like a dance all her own, the darting maneuvers as she leads her mount through the ranks as familiar as his own hand.

He can only watch for as long as it takes him to reload, shorter even, since his eyes are seeking another target almost the instant his last arrow leaves his fingers.

Harry's just returned from replenishing his quiver when the castle rocks with some unseen force, nearly sending him headlong over the castle wall. Ears ringing, Harry blinks the haze from his eyes and finds the smoke rising from the southern corner of the castle.

Exactly where the largest tunnel in the catacombs rests.

Barely managing to do so, Harry slings his bow over his shoulder and takes the stairs two at a time, palms running along the rough walls to keep him upright. He's halfway across the entry hall when Ginny runs in, breathless and sans helmet.

"You - the catacombs."

Harry nods, leading the way while Ginny takes stock of her weapons. They're nearing the closest entrance when Ginny grabs his arm and tugs him toward a door he's never noticed before. "Small armory here - I'd like a fresh dagger or two and you could use some weapons better suited to close range encounters."

They work quickly, and the pause serves the dual purpose of giving Ginny a chance to catch her breath. It had been a mad dash from the center of the fray back to the castle.

Together, they keep up a steady pace and Ginny shows Harry a few passages he's never had need for in the past. The ancient door's been blasted open, tendrils of blue-black smoke curling from inside. Harry takes one whiff and feels his head go a bit topsy turvy before he pulls Ginny backward. "It's poison - not deadly, I don't think. Just knock us out."

At Ginny's questioning look, Harry adds, "Figg didn't have magic and we weren't sure how much of a trace there might be so I did a lot of theory and a lot of potions and the like."

"Here," Ginny strides toward him and presses her palm over his nose and mouth, rattling off some string of phrases Harry's never heard.

It feels as though he might suffocate for a moment and then his lungs are clear, nostrils filling with a fresh flowery scent. When he furrows his brow in confusion, Ginny explains, "It's like a handprint, magic leaves traces of the wielder."

"I don't know that spell yet - "

"It's half intent, you'll pick it up in no time. For now, I can manage it," Ginny says with a wink, "Wouldn't be much of a general if I got choked up all the time."

After performing the charm on herself, Ginny draws her sword, and slinks into the stairwell on soft feet. They pause halfway down and Ginny beckons him closer, her voice barely audible. "No real heat. Fire hasn't caught."

At Harry's nod of understanding, she continues their descent.

The catacombs are dimly lit, torches glowing from their places around the chamber. Ginny raises her arm and they both come to a halt at the foot of the stairs.

"Why can't we just off the slobs?" a thin voice drawls.

A flash of magic rumbles through the room like a wave, nearly knocking Harry from his feet. For the first time, Ginny's steely gaze falters.

"We cannot 'just off' the royal family because we must first frame a certain little sniveling orphan."

Harry's jaw tightens and Ginny shakes her head, waiting for what he doesn't know. But whatever it was, he doesn't have long to wonder before the second voice speaks again, louder and closer. "It seems the opportune moment has come, Lucius. Our marks have come to us."

"Please, come introduce yourselves, though you need no introduction, my dear Prince Harry and Princess Ginevra."

Ginny glances at Harry once, lingering, before squaring her shoulders and sauntering out into the open. "Wrong on both counts, just yours truly and it's General on the battlefield. When you and your sorry lot invaded a peaceful kingdom, you made certain that's exactly what this is."

Harry knows what she's doing, it's a delay, for him. One he can interpret in two ways - to run, or to manage to make his damn accidental magic be intentional for once.

Sparks swirl around his fingers in random circuits and his pulse rises just before he makes his entrance. Slightly less dramatic than he'd like, ideally, but stealth can be necessary in certain circumstances.

Ginny's let Riddle back her into a corner, barely spares Harry a glance but he reads her meaning nonetheless.

In the space of a breath, Harry aims all his focused energy on Riddle, sending the serpentine man sprawling, skull cracking against the wall. His laugh is a low rattle, dark hair mussed across his waxy face. "The golden boy himself, come to rescue the damsel in distress."

Ginny harrumphs, "I was not distressed," just as Harry scoffs his own, "Hardly a damsel."

Riddle's eyes narrow as the crosses the room toward Harry, who still hasn't located the royal family or their guards in the destruction. The quicker they dispatch Riddle, the sooner the injured can be treated.

It seems all this has taken place over the span of a few moments when Lucius - Riddle's flaxen haired lackey - decides to make himself known with a dagger flung haphazardly in Ginny's direction. She avoids it easily and the blade lands with a clatter.

The short distance made Lucius' failure all the more pitiful, and also enabled Ginny to easily shoulder him to the ground.

Riddle, meanwhile, has returned his full attention to Harry. "Since your wife and my - toad, are keeping each other busy, how about we work this out, man to man."

Harry laughs, flexing his fingers, "Would be easier if we were both men."

Growling, Riddle lunches forward, sending an arc of power at Harry's ribcage. He stumbles backward, feet catching on rubble.

Without pausing, Riddle advances on Harry, hands already glowing with dark, deadly magic. "You'll never make much progress if you're too afraid to actually cause harm, dear Harry."

Harry's magic whirls, licking around Riddle's wrists, one and then the other, pinning him back for a few moments before Riddle works his hands free again. "Fear is hardly the problem - you Tom will never succeed in your plans for world domination, if you can't recognize a distraction for what it is."

There's a unique kind of satisfaction in the confusion that flutters across Riddle's face - confusion followed by shock and anger in quick succession as Ginny's dagger slides home under his ribs, just like she's shown Harry a thousand times.

Riddle falls to the ground with a dull thud, final and without the sense of climax a man seeking eternal memory would have wanted. Which why it's better than Harry could have imagined.

Ginny's dagger almost seems to hover in the air as their eyes connect across the room.

Her mouth falls open, some unknown phrase dies on her lips as a groan sounds from the deeper tunnels. The blade falls from her fingers. "Mum."

Riddles' death, once announced, is followed immediately by at least half of the Morsmordre forces surrendering. The other half seem to think they can make a break for it - an escape that's quickly thwarted by Ginny's forces emerging from their positions throughout the forests that surround Gryffindor. Ron and Percy start a slapdash sort of holding camp for the prisoners outside the city gates.

It's only later that Harry and Ginny learn the details of Morsmordre's capitulation; almost immediately after Riddle's body slumped to the ground, the dangerous state of Molly and Arthur's health became clear. Seeing Ginny's fingers tremble as she reached between them helplessly, Harry bound and gagged still unconscious Lucius and helped Ginny rise to her feet.

"I'll fetch Madame Pomfrey - are you alright here?"

Ginny nods. "Once Mum and Dad are stable, I'll check over the soldiers who were guarding them," she says, glancing toward the slowly rousing from their magically induced sleep. Frowning, Ginny turns to her mother, "Bill?"

Molly smiles weakly, "Your father was the closest to the explosion, he recognized the smoke. Bill, Fleur, and Victoire were able to disappear further into the catacombs. That's why Riddle was delaying."

The castle's in an uproar when Harry returns from the catacombs, soldiers, medics, and castle staff rushing about in organized chaos. It seems the damage to the castle itself was minimal, and as far as Harry knew, the only enemy breach had been through the catacombs.

Pomfrey's quarters were sufficient for everyday ailments and visits, but Harry was fairly certain she'd have set up elsewhere in anticipation of casualties and injuries in large scale battle. He's not quite sure who to ask, but a few soldiers bearing the wounded in on stretchers appear and Harry follows their lead toward the Great Hall where the bench tables have been pushed aside and cots laid out in neat rows. Luckily, it's not too far off, and he's soon embedded in the midst of a post-battle triage.

His eyes find Pomfrey easily, the confident captain in the midst of a hurricane, and he pushes his way through the crowd. "Madame Pomfrey."

"Make it quick," she says, making marks in her book and barely glancing his way. But she does, see his face, and her shoulders stiffen when she recognizes him, "I'm sorry - "

Waving away her apology, Harry cuts in, "No matter. I'm here because," his voice drops, "The King and Queen are in need of urgent care. Arthur in particular."

Her eyes widen and she's deputized one of her assistants and dragged Harry from the room without another moment of hesitation and soon they're bustling back down into the catacombs, a fully kitted for whatever ailments face her.

The rest of the day passes in a blur, with deaths miraculously minimal on Gryffindor's side. The silver lining of Morsmordre's treachery meant they had grossly neglected their above-ground assault. The King is kept from prying eyes, cared for mostly by Madame Pomfrey and an ever doting Molly.

In the following months, the catacombs are restored and the dead re-interred with appropriate solemnity, alongside those who perished in the final battle against Riddle. The joy at his death spread beyond the walls of Gryffindor, winning over allies too afraid to cross Morsmordre before.

Ron's not particularly enthused with their newfound friends. "Don't know why you all aren't seeing this my way," Ron drawls around a mouthful of premium rum from one of their allies.

Harry laughs. "You seem alright with accepting the gifts."

Shrugging, Ron takes another swallow before passing the bottle Ginny's way. "Of course, gifts of delicious alcohols are the least they can do. We saved their arses," he arches back and shouts toward the dark sky, "You're welcome, you no good, lazy, cowards."

"Been holding that in a long time?" Ginny teases.

The campfire crackles as Harry prods it absently, Ron's mutterings mostly quieted. It seems the issue has been dropped until Hermione pipes up, a short hiccup followed by one her most prim pronouncements to date, "I for one, agree with Ron. These are in-insincere friends. What's the point of that?"

Harry droops into Ginny's lap, nuzzling at her hand until she begins petting him. "I'm too tired to engage."

"Such a baby," Ginny says, scratching at his scalp, "And Hermione, in answer to your question - and Ron's - we don't trust them like we would people who stood with us even against Riddle. But it's a necessary part of diplomacy."

Ron grunts, swiping the rum back from Hermione and aiming the neck at Ginny, accusing. "Don't get all high and mighty with me. I saw the looks you gave King Cormac's delegation."

"Cormac is an idiot," Hermione puts in.

Ginny leans back on her palms. "Thank you. And anyway, I was just pointing out that there is method to everyone's madness. I never said I wasn't unbelievably grateful BIll is the heir to the throne. I can be written off as the standoffish, brash general."

Sighing happily in Ginny's lap, Harry twists a bit, rocks biting into his shoulder. "Mhm. That's what I got this morning on the training fields."

"You're welcome," Ginny says with a chuckle, then pitches her voice lower, "As your trainer, I can't let you get soft - as your bride. Well I can't really let you do it then either."

Hermione snickers while Ron mock-hurls, though Harry can't find himself bothered by either when Ginny's eyes are burning not unlike the fire. Suddenly, he's never been more awake. "Well that's enough politics," Harry finally speaks up, rising to his feet, "Ginny and I had a long day."

"Please end your story there," Ron moans.

Laughing, Ginny ruffles Ron's hair as Harry tugs her toward the castle, "G'night Ronnie."

Moonlight spears through the curtains, glow bright on Ginny's milky skin, and Harry can't help but run his fingers over every bit of her. "I never dreamed of this."

Ginny props herself up on one elbow and smirks down at Harry. "Should I be insulted? Generally, men say things like 'you're the woman of my dreams.'"

Laughing softly, Harry strokes her hair back, tucking it behind her ear. "My point is you're better than anything I could ever dream up. My life - I thought Figg was a miracle, whatever odd happiness we helped each other find. Surrogate aunt or something of the like."

"You miss her," Ginny says, not a question.

"I do, maybe she could come visit now, just for a week or two."

"Vernon wouldn't dare cross you - the world's savior."

Harry leans up and presses his lips to hers. "Co-savior."

"Yes - cosmically, we have confirmed you couldn't have done it without me."

"It feels a little odd though, doesn't it?"

"No stranger than usual," Ginny teases, her palm dragging over his chest, stopping to lay flat over his gently beating heart. He huffs out a laugh and Ginny schools her face into a serious expression. "Elaborate?"

"Up 'til now, our lives have essentially been predicted, we've been at the mercy of the ramblings of a half mad mountain woman."

A cool breeze raises goosebumps along their skin, sends a shiver up Ginny's spine. "I don't think it controlled us - guided perhaps."

"And now we're free."

"So, then, Harry. What'll it be? What's next?"

Harry twists, rolling Ginny onto her back. "How's this, for now?"

Breakfasts, for Harry, tend to be quick even when he has a choice. His favorite morning lingering usually involves Ginny and a locked door, so when it comes to breakfast, it's easy and preferably hand-held sustenance. After a morning filled with his ideal activities - Ginny's particular brand of wake up and a warm apple turnover - Bill finds Harry meandering toward one of the castle's many libraries.

"Have a minute?"

"Just off to study magic alone in the library, so please, distract me," Harry says with a chuckle.

Bill's answering grin is playful, reminiscent of his sister but somehow not quite the same. Which is probably a good thing. "I hope you're not opposed to magic as part of your requested delay."

"Theory was more fun when it was my only outlet. Now that I've got a taste of using it - "

"Well I've got just the outlet," Bill says, throwing an arm around Harry's shoulders, "I'll make sure Hermione knows so you don't have your head handed to you."

As it turns out, Bill has been stewing over the apparent ease with which Riddle and his men breached the wards. Harry, it seems, is his partner of choice to reconfigure and strengthen the protections.

They bury lodestones in strategic locations around the castle, then set compatible configurations at the base of the kingdom's walls before knitting layer after layer of protection together. Part of the trick is keying they wards to malicious intent without making it too broad and expelling any citizen of Gryffindor with a normal gripe against a neighbor, or perhaps a desire to punch poncey brother.

"You just pulled that out of nowhere, eh?" Harry says with a smirk.

"Absolutely. I love all my brothers and have never wanted to punch Percy," Bill answers without hesitation, a playful twinkle in his eye. "Want to take point on this one?"

Letting his eyelids drift shut, Harry raises one hand, pushing the other forward with an open palm as the words of invocation flow from his lips. Magic thrums through his veins, expelling from his fingertips with every exhale until it finally settles into place with a click.

Harry returns to the present and finds another has joined their number since he closed his eyes. "Gin."

Her mouth opens and closes, rather fish-like, the sun beating down from overhead setting her hair alight and already pricking new freckles to the surface of her skin."You're - you - wards?"

"Yeah. Er- Bill was teaching me."

"And now Bill is leaving because he doesn't want to watch his little sister tease her coy husband," Bill says with a laugh, already walking toward the next lodestone burial site.

"You seem a bit bothered Ginevra," Harry murmurs as his hands grasp Ginny's hips gently, pulling her toward him.

She kisses him once, twice, a third time lingering, nipping at his lips. "I told you my love, call me Ginevra and I will end you."

"As you wish it," Harry says with a smile, sketching his most gallant bow before adding, "Ginevra."

"Oh, that's it," Ginny growls, chasing after Harry who's already taken off running toward the castle gates.

He leads them through secret passages, barely used corridors, and dusty stairwells until Ginny finally catches him against the door to their quarters.

"Got me," Harry says, breathless.

She smiles. "Got you."