People don't marry their first love.

Ginny first hears this when she's thirteen; her mother quotes her favourite romance novel to her father and they giggle and blush and then quickly turn their faces from their daughter. The idea is preposterous, really. Ginny Weasley believes in dreams, and in her dreams, she's married to The Boy Who Lives. They stand in a garden somewhere just south of London with the world surrounding them and cheering. It's the stuff of fairytales and myths, but Ginny thinks that Harry is proof enough that these can come true.

She imagines him, shining green eyes and strong hands (because all princes have to have them), and her with her flowing hair, as they bow to the people. Ginny dreams of weddings like this every night and during the day she wonders if she's falling in love with someone who's everything the whole world has ever wanted.

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They get married when she is twenty-one and he is twenty-two, standing alone on a little promontory somewhere in Northern Ireland. Ginny traces the dappled curves of his face, and brushes his fringe – it's still messy, even for their wedding, and she likes it that way – from his eyes, and she realises that this is not the flawless man she once loved. While The Boy Who Lived was a mineshaft of heroism and good looks, Harry is simply himself, with gangly fingers and a lopsided nose, and Ginny wouldn't have him any other way.

She supposes she never married her first love after all.

Ah, Cuba's back to the land of drabbling. ;) This was originally going to be a chapter of A Long Road Home, but it didn't fit with any of the prompts. Instead, it became a drabble for hondagirl's First Love Challenge on the HPFC, where the prompt was "people don't marry their first love". Hope you enjoyed it, and I'd love a review.