A/N: part 3 of 3 as promised! I have no doubt that in my little Hinny universe the game continues after this, but I think this glimpse will end here. Hopefully this a fun one! I actually had this idea first, but I wanted these in chronological order. Thanks to all who suggested lines! (especially Dobby99! I think there is at least one of yours in here!). Let me know what you think!

Tucked away in the corner table at a wedding in a similar position to one he'd assumed years ago, hair a false red, the weight of the world on his still young shoulders, was Harry Potter. Years had passed now, more than a decade, and he was a husband and father, which lead to his much more enjoyable company, one Ginny Potter née Weasley who was currently ducked beneath the table, loosening the buckles on her strappy heels. Harry's eyes traveled over the exposed expanse of her back, smatterings of freckles in little imitations of constellations he'd taken to naming; a hobby Ginny teased him for, but the twinkle in her eye belied her true feelings on the matter.

Slowly, carefully, she straightened from beneath the table, lifting her tired feet into his lap, hidden by the pale purple table cloths that covered the small flock of round tables laden with the remains of fancy finger foods, empty cake plates, and copious glasses of half drunk champagne, used for the many toasts offered throughout the evening.

Harry reached up and tugged his tie loose, releasing the top button on his muggle dress shirt, "I don't care if Petunia and Vernon rankle me about it, I can't take this noose any longer."

Ginny snickers, wriggling her feet in his lap, silently entreating him to deliver on his promise for endless foot massages, an essential part of their private wedding vows exchanged across mussed pillows with breathy laughs in the quiet of their dimly lit hotel room the night after they married. This long into their marriage, she still held him to his word, just as he did once a month when he gazed longingly at her recipe for treacle tart, sometimes going so far as to line the ingredients round the bench top in the kitchen in an attempt to force her hand. Which Harry felt was reasonable given the number of times she'd simply plopped her tired feet in his lap or across his chest as he lounged in their flat, or now cottage, and prodded him until he serviced her.

Absentmindedly, but still with expertise, Harry let his deft hands slip beneath the table, slowly working the soles of her feet, her tense toes, and slightly swollen ankles as she bit back a moan. Wouldn't want to give any wrong ideas, eh. The look on Petunia's face might just be worth it.

"It would be," Ginny answered what he had thought was an internal question, "But we still shouldn't."

She pushed her still full champagne toward the gaudy lilac and daffodil centerpieces, eying the flower girl and ring bearer dancing clumsily as the photographer chased them around with a hulking camera, "I miss James a bit."

Harry hummed, "Me too. It's nice to have a night off, but this thing is so bloody boring."

Ginny snickered, poking a finger into her slicked hair, readjusting the copious number of pins Hermione had jammed into her scalp by the feel of it, "His tendency toward accidental magic recently would make things exciting."

Eyeing her wince, Harry tilted his head toward her, "I'm fairly certain if you took out all those pins your hair would stay up."

Groaning, she slumped lower in her chair, "I won't be taking that bet dear. This is the last time I let Hermione at me with Sleakeazy's."

"Cursing my Grandfather's invention, eh?" Harry asked with a smirk, switching to her left foot.

Toes cracking as she wiggled them playfully, Ginny subtly gestured with her chin toward the cash bar where Dudley's best man was currently chatting up a perky looking blonde bridesmaid swathed in reams of yellow taffeta, "Reckon he'll get anywhere with her?"

Harry snorted, "I've never really considered whether Piers would grow up to have game."

Ginny's eyes narrowed dangerously as she connected the lumbering bloke spilling out of his rented tux jacket with the sporadic stories she'd wormed out of Harry over the years about his childhood among the muggles. Running her fingers over the flowing skirt of her silken pale green dress, Ginny forced herself to forgo the impulse to hex Piers until he was inside out and chose the intellectual side of revenge: immature mocking behind his back. "So what d'you suppose his opener was?"

Catching on, Harry furrowed his brow in exaggerated thought, "If you were a chicken, you'd be impeccable."

"Are you sure he knows that word?" Ginny inquired, munching on a half eaten breadstick.

"Impeccable?"

"Chicken."

Harry let out a brief but booming guffaw that drew the attention of some nearby revelers, but was luckily drowned out by the cheesy loved up ballads that are staples at most muggle weddings. Despite the disgruntled glares, Harry is unperturbed, "How about, 'Your body is 65% water and I'm thirsty.'"

Ginny shakes her head, pulling her feet down from his lap and scooting her chair closer, bare toes coming into contact with crumbs on the patterned carpet, prompting her to make a mental note to scrub herself thoroughly when they get back to the cottage. "You're going in the wrong direction dear. Your wooing technique is obviously too refined and educated."

Harry quirks a brow, inviting her to give it a try as he props one arm over the back of his chair, eyeing Ginny's untouched champagne before downing it in one gulp.

For a moment, she's caught up in the bob of his Adam's apple as he swallows, eyes drifting to the small section of skin revealed by his unbuttoned shirt, his loosened tie, and rumpled hair, giving him the look of having been thoroughly snogged, which is rather enticing to a woman who makes it a habit of giving him that look as much as possible. Catching on to her train of thought, Harry attempts to wink, an action inhibited partially by his current level of inebriation, but largely the result of his complete inability to do anything more than blink his eyes slightly out of sync. It's a good thing winking isn't my 'thing.'

"Got any better, Weasley?"

Narrowing her eyes, she wriggles her ring laden left hand in front of his face but moves on, "He seems more like an 'I lost my teddy bear, can I sleep with you instead' kind of bloke."

"He probably ripped the head off the teddy bear."

"Got any wedding themed moves?"

Harry strokes his chin thoughtfully before leaning in close and whispering in her ear, "There's only one thing I want to change about you, and that's your last name."

"Smooth," Ginny chokes out breathlessly, internally smacking herself, you're his bloody wife that line shouldn't work. Gulping, she refuses to allow him a win and drags her nose along his jaw, "I was feeling a little off today," she tugs his earlobe with her teeth, winning a small gasp from his parted lips, "but you definitely turned me on."

She watches as he gulps again, his pulse thrumming as he breathes, "Are you using the Confundus charm or are you just naturally mind blowing?"

The warm smell of his cologne mixed with his aftershave and that heady scent that's all his own sweeps around her in coaxing tendrils more effective than Amortentia as she grinds out, "Buggering hell, want to get out of here?"

As if he'd been waiting for her invitation Harry stands abruptly, hooking a finger through the straps of her shoes, tucking her small clutch into his coat pocket, and tugging her after him toward the exit. He offers Dudley a subtle wave, which the larger man returns, gesturing for Harry to call him, presumably after the honeymoon, and then they're outside the venue, cool summer air refreshing against heated skin.

Hastily, Harry glances around for an out of sight place to apparate, eventually settling on a small copse of trees in a small park tucked around the corner where they'd taken pictures with Dudley and his wife earlier. Once they're tucked away from prying eyes, he pauses, and Ginny briefly considers whether he's about to recreate some of their happy hours by the lake during her fifth year when he looks at her, a wicked smirk spreading across his mouth, "Oh my God. My line worked. I won."

Frustrated at the idea of losing and at the delay in…proceedings, Ginny flicks his chest, "Lines don't count if you use them on your wife who's carrying your child."

They both freeze, Harry's jaw dropping open as Ginny's mind reviews the past few moments, attempting to determine whether she'd just announced their coming second child because she was bitter about losing a pick up line contest with her husband. She quickly forgets as Harry's hands come up to cup her head, thumbs running over her jaw reverently, "Really?"

She bites her lip, gripping his wrists and nods, still on the down stroke when suddenly their lips are meshed together, the metal of his wire frames cutting into her cheek familiarly as he ends the kiss somewhat messily, peppering her face with more kisses, emerald eyes glinting with unbridled happiness and hunger that mirror her own as she whispers, "Take me home Harry."