The Wedding Planner

When Harry woke up the next morning, he cracked one bleary eye open and then promptly shut it against the bright light streaming through his window. Stretching out a tentative arm, he was relieved to find that the other half of his bed was unoccupied.

He reached blindly for his wand. As his fingers curled around the familiar wood, he aimed it towards the offending light source, and shut the curtains with a quick ‘swish and flick’. Finally able to bear it, he rubbed at both eyes tiredly and then opened them.

A quick glance at his watch told him that it was already past 10 o’clock. Pulling the covers off, Harry stumbled from his bed in the direction of his bathroom. He reached into the shower and turned it on, stepping back just in time to avoid being soaked by the multiple jets of water that shot out.

As he waited for the water to heat up, he took a quick look at his reflection in the mirror. There was a faint purpling to his left cheek, almost the exact size and shape of Ginny’s left hand. Harry’s jaw clenched involuntarily when he thought of his girlfriend.

After they had Apparated home from the wedding, Ginny had followed him to Grimmauld Place, clearly intent on continuing their ‘discussion’. Harry had tried to explain calmly to her that he didn’t feel ready to commit any more than they already were and, that considering the number of break-ups they had had, marriage should be the last thing on either of their minds.

Ginny possessed of the fiery temper that her red hair indicated, had promptly slapped his face smartly. This had then prompted Harry to lose his temper and come back with, “And you wonder why I don’t want to marry you.” Looking down at his chest, Harry could still see the angry red welt from the Stinging Hex that he had earned with that particular remark.

He shook his head, not wanting to dwell on unpleasant memories. Besides, it wasn’t as if rows of that nature were unusual for him and Ginny.

Harry showered quickly, revelling in the feel of the jets of velvety-soft, hot water easing his tired muscles. Towelling himself dry, he pulled on the nearest pair of jeans and made his way downstairs, bare-chested and footed.

The kitchen at Grimmauld Place was much the same as it always had bee. A little cleaner maybe, but there were times when Harry could almost see Dumbledore and the rest of the Order seated around the large table.

One change that had taken place over the years was that Kreacher was no longer in residence. The surly old elf had died not long after the defeat of Voldemort. Despite the elf’s ardent desire to have his head mounted in the hallway alongside his forebears, Harry had no intention of giving in to such demands. Besides, that rather unpleasant aspect of decoration had been among the first things to go when he redecorated.

Not that Harry remained without the services of a House-elf for long. Once word spread about Kreacher’s demise, a very excited Dobby had turned up on the doorstep, begging to be allowed to serve ‘his Harry Potter’. As fond as Harry was of the elf, the thought of having the excitable small creature in his house, and under his feet, was not something he relished.

After he managed to persuade Dobby that he would not feel right having him as his servant, not when he enjoyed his freedom so much, the elf had then returned with Winky in tow. The female elf had looked at him with such hopeful eyes, that Harry didn’t have the heart to refuse. And so it was that Harry found himself in possession of a new, and much more devoted, house-elf - much to Hermione’s disgust.

Winky was already very busy in the kitchen. It had taken a while for her to get used to the Muggle ‘contraptions’ that Harry had had installed, but she was quite comfortable with them now, and was currently busy loading the washing machine.

“Morning, Winky.” Harry smiled at the elf as he snagged some toast off the table.

“Morning, Sir.”

Harry had spent weeks training Winky out of calling him Master; Hermione may just about tolerate him keeping a house-elf, but if she ever heard one addressing him as Master, well, Harry knew he would never hear the end of it. Unfortunately, Winky could only be persuaded to call him Sir as an alternative. Anything else had the elf ironing her own ears.

“Is there any coffee?”

The small creature nodded and shuffled over to the counter to pour him a cup. “There you are, Sir.”

Harry gratefully took hold of the steaming cup and drank deeply, letting out a soft sigh of satisfaction as the aroma of freshly ground beans hit his senses. When he finally finished his drink, he noticed that Winky was still looking at him, a slightly nervous expression in her big eyes.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, knowing that directness was the best way where the edgy elf was concerned.

“You has a visitor, Sir. In the sitting room.”

Harry could tell from the look of faint disapproval on Winky’s face, exactly who his visitor was. For a girl who had grown up without servants, and with very little money, Ginny had taken with startling ease to ordering Winky about. And the elf had perfected a number of expressions which let Harry know exactly how she felt about the redhead, without her actually having to voice them and then punish herself.

Harry poured himself another cup of coffee; he was going to need all the help he could get if he was going to have to deal with an angry Ginny at this early stage of his day. He made his way, wearily, upstairs, in the direction of the sitting room.

The hallway of Grimmauld Place no longer echoed to the virulent screams of Mrs Black; she was another victim of Harry’s remodelling. Not that the old woman had gone all that willingly. But she had taken one look at the gleam in Harry’s eyes as he approached her, sledgehammer in hand, and she had promptly released the Permanent Sticking Charm, and dropped to the floor.

The doorway to the sitting room was open and Harry could see Ginny as she perched on the edge of one of the plush sofas. He stood for a moment in the doorway and observed her. The soft green of her robes really suited her colouring, bringing out her hazel eyes. Her thick auburn hair swung loose almost to her waist, and the sunlight, streaming through the window, glinted off it, giving it an almost golden hue.

She really was a very attractive girl, Harry realised. If only he could translate that aesthetic appreciation into an emotion that was not familial in its origins. His entire life, Harry had dreamt of having a family of his own. Of having the kind of loving relationship that everyone told him his parents had had. Of having adorable children and giving them the kind of childhood he could only have ever dreamed of. And here was a girl who was willing to give him all that, but it just wasn’t enough.

“Ginny,” Harry said, as neutral as possible. He was fairly sure a row was inevitable, but he didn’t want to provoke her unnecessarily.

“Harry.” Ginny got to her feet and faced him, her expression calm and confident. “I was very angry when I left here last night, and I know that we both said things we didn’t mean, but I have decided to forgive you.”

Harry spluttered at this. “F-f-forgive me?”

“Yes,” Ginny nodded. “I realise that it had been a long day for both of us, and we were both just tired. I know you didn’t mean to be hurtful or cruel, so I forgive you. We’ll just put it behind us, like it never happened.”

Harry could feel the familiar flicker of anger building inside him. “I don’t know how easy it will be to forget, Gin,” he answered coolly. “This bruise on my face is a pretty good reminder.”

Ginny gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “You know I didn’t mean that. But you just make me so mad sometimes; you’re so stubborn.”

“So you’re saying it was my fault then? Because I wouldn’t let you pressure me into getting married?” Harry’s voice was dangerously calm, but Ginny had never been particularly sensitive enough to pick up on these signals.

“Don’t be so melodramatic, Harry. You make it sound as though I had a wand to your temple. We were at a wedding, and I was dancing with the man who had planned it. I was simply picking Malfoy’s brains for when the time comes.”

“Picking his brains? You told him we were getting married, for fucks sake.”

“Well, we will one day. And don’t use that language, Harry. You know I find it coarse.”

Harry ran his fingers through his damp hair, desperately searching for something to say that would not escalate this conversation into a full-on battle.

“Gin, I told you last night, I’m not ready to get married.”

“I know that,” she answered, stepping closer and taking hold of his hand. “I know I need to give you a little time to work on your commitment issues. Mum explained things to me last night.”

“You discussed this with your mum?” Harry wanted the floor to open up and swallow him right there and then. Apart from being his girlfriends and his best friend’s mother, Mrs Weasley was also the closed that he had ever come to a maternal figure in his life, and the thought that Ginny was discussing the intimate side of their life with her, well, it made him want to curl up and die, frankly.

“Well, of course I did. She’s my mother; who else would I talk to about it. It’s OK, Harry, she had some very good advice. She said that what I should do is…” Ginny stopped here and looked at her boyfriend speculatively. “Well, it doesn’t really matter what she said. The main thing is that I’m going to give you some space to work out what it is you want.”

Ginny raised herself on her tiptoes and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. “I’ll be seeing you,” she said, smiling as she stepped towards the fireplace and disappeared in a burst of green flames, leaving a very confused man behind her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite having told Pansy he would be at her house by noon, it was nearer one o’clock when Draco turned off Diagon Alley in the direction of the new Wizarding complex where his friend lived. He had learnt a long time ago that his best friend, and business partner, had a somewhat flexible approach to time keeping, and had found it always best to arrange things for a far earlier time that was needed.

Draco himself still lived in the familial home in Wiltshire, but whenever he visited Pansy in her new flat, he found himself very tempted by the sleek, modern lines, and the convenience of it’s location. Not that he’d tell his mother that, she would have a seizure at the very suggestion of him moving out of the Manor.

Pansy’s wards had long been keyed to Draco’s magical signature, which was a good thing, as Pansy was usually in bed, or unconscious, when he arrived, and so in no fit state to be answering the door.

A quick look around the flat had Draco’s aristocratic nose wrinkling in disgust. Modern living was one thing, but clearly, there was a lot to be said for the old ways, and house-elves. There wasn’t a surface in the living room that wasn’t covered in empty bottles, half-drank glasses of wine, overflowing ashtrays or random articles of clothing.

With a quick flick of his wand, Draco pulled back the curtains, allowing light to flood in and further illuminate the disaster area. Another flick and the windows were open, allowing the stale air to escape, and fresh air to circulate around the room.

A snap of his fingers and a wide-eyed house-elf appeared at his feet.

“You is calling, Master Draco?”

“Yes, Tilly. Do something about this mess, would you? Oh, and could you see about some coffee - better make it black, and strong.”

The elf nodded frantically and set to work straight away. She was fairly familiar with the layout of Pansy’s flat, having been called over on this errand numerous times before.

Draco left the elf to her work; he followed the trail of discarded clothing in the direction of the bedroom, hoping against hope that last nights entertainment had already left. There had already been too many unpleasant scenes when he had been forced to remove reluctant men from his friend’s bed.

Draco pushed the bedroom door open with a bang, and noted with relief, that there was only the one humped shape under the bedclothes. He repeated his earlier motion with the curtains and windows, before turning his attention to the slumbering body in front of him. He reached out and pulled the covers off the bed, revealing Pansy’s naked form. Without flinching, Draco aimed his wand and muttered, “Aguamenti.”

He had barely counted to three before a piercing shriek filled the air. “Draco! You bastard!”

A moment later and Pansy realised her naked state, her hands trying to preserve her modesty. Draco simply chucked a towel in her direction. “There’s no need for false modesty, Pans. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, and we both know it doesn’t interest me.”

“Still,” she protested. “I’m all wet now.”

“What can I say,” came Draco’s lazy drawl. “I may be gay, but I still have that effect on the ladies.”

A soaking wet pillow hit him full on in the face. “You’re an arse.”

Draco smirked. “No. I’m an arse man,” he corrected. “Go have a shower and make yourself human. Oh, and take this.” He held out a small glass vial. Pansy grabbed onto it as if she had just been handed the key to Gringotts.

“Hangover Potion. You’re a lifesaver.” Pansy uncorked the bottle and downed its contents in seconds, before heading in the direction of her bathroom.

“We’ll have lunch on the terrace when you’re done, so don’t take long.”

Pansy simply nodded gratefully before disappearing into the bathroom.

When Pansy finally emerged from her shower, she found Draco comfortably ensconced on her sun terrace, sipping steaming hot coffee, and picking his way through a fresh croissant. She walked up behind him and slipped her arms round his neck. Leaning down, she pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, marvelling, not for the first time, at just how soft his skin was.

“You are an angel,” she declared, curling up in the chair opposite him, wrapping her hands around a steaming mug of coffee.

“Not that I’m disputing the fact, but what have I done to deserve such blandishments?”

“You cleaned. Well, obviously, you didn’t clean, but you had Tilly over again, didn’t you. I can actually see surfaces now.”

Draco chuckled. “Someone had to clean; you obviously had no intention of doing it. I don’t know how you can live in such a hovel at times.”

Pansy reached out for a croissant and pulled tiny bits off to eat. “It’s not always like that. I was just a little distracted last night and didn’t clean up before bed.”

Draco snorted at this. “Distracted is one way of putting it. Being shagged senseless is more like it.”

Pansy merely shrugged. “I just have a healthy sex drive. I have to take it when I can get it, now that Anthony has gone back to his wife.”

Draco wisely avoided commenting on this. His friend’s on/off affair with a married man had been the source of much disharmony between them. Anthony Goldstein had been in their year at Hogwarts, in Ravenclaw. The man was an unmitigated arse in Draco’s opinion, but now that he had gone back to his wife, Pansy seemed reconciled to the end of their liaison.

Seeking a change of topic, Draco reached into his attaché case and removed several slender files. Pansy groaned at the sight of them. “Not the Van Arkle’s anniversary party. Not at this time of the morning.” She raised her hands in mock defence.

“Morning? It’s almost two in the afternoon. And we need to get cracking on this. The party is in two weeks time and we still have to persuade that walrus of a woman that arriving on a flying horse is not possible for someone of her…proportions.”

“Well, don’t look at me. You’re the tactful one in this partnership. Besides, I was the one who had to take her outfit shopping and convince her of the benefits of black, as opposed to hot pink.” Pansy shoved the remains of her pastry into her mouth and reached eagerly for another one.

“Hungry?” Draco enquired with a raised brow.

“I didn’t have breakfast,” Pansy replied defensively. “I’ll go to the gym later.”

“Of course you will, darling. Now, about the Van Arkles…”

“No, Draco. I’m not doing it. You always try to offload the horrors onto me.”

“Oh come on, Pans,” Draco whined. “Every time she sees me, she pinches my cheek and tries to fix me up with that god-awful daughter of hers. Even though she knows I’m gay!”

“It’s character building,” Pansy replied smugly.

“Fine, but just for that, I won’t tell you the interesting piece of gossip that I picked up last night, while you were busy off molesting the help.”

Ignoring the last remark, Pansy leant forward on her seat, best puppy dog eyes in use. “C’mon, Draco, spill. You know you can’t keep a secret to save your life.”

Draco grinned. “You’re right, who am I kidding.”

“So, tell me then?”

“It’s about Potter-”

“It always is,” Pansy interrupted, a knowing smirk on his face.

Draco shushed her with a look. “Well, when I was dancing with the Weasley girl, she spent the entire time banging on about what a wonderful job we had done, and how she wanted us to organise her wedding.”

“Potter’s getting married!” Pansy exclaimed incredulously. “From what Theo says, those two can barely be in the same room together without arguing.”

Draco gave his friend another look and she quieted down instantly.

“As I was saying,” he continued, “She kept asking my opinion on all these hideously vulgar ideas she has. So in the end, I just gave her our card and told her to make an appointment.”

Pansy nodded in approval. “It would be quite a coup for us,” she mused. “I mean, it would be the wedding of the year - the Boy Who Lived, marrying the Minister’s daughter. It would make us.”

“Hold on a minute, I’m not done yet,” he chided. “So anyway, naturally I went to offer my congratulations to Potter.”

“Naturally,” Pansy murmured, a sly grin on her face.

Draco chose to ignore the interruption. “Anyway, it turns out, Potter knows nothing about any wedding. They’re not even engaged, and that vile creature is going around telling people they’re getting married.”

Pansy snorted. “That sounds more like it. She always struck me as more of an obsessed stalker than a girlfriend.”

Draco nodded his agreement. “ I never could work out what Potter saw in her. Apart from the fact that she’s a Weasley, unconscionably ginger, and covered in freckles, she’s just such a clueless little bint. Potter needs someone who will challenge him, not some mooning fan.”

Pansy didn’t reply, she just smiled meaningfully at the blond man until a scowl clouded his features. “I do not fancy Potter.”

“Of course you don’t, darling. Now, about the Van Arkles party…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry was sitting in his favourite chair, sipping hot chocolate and reading the Sunday Prophet, when his fire burned green, and Hermione’s face appeared in the flames.

“Harry,” she greeted warmly. “Are you busy right now?”

Harry lowered the paper and smiled back at one of his oldest friends. “Not at all. What’s up?”

“Can I come through? Sophia’s quite keen to see her uncle Harry.”

“Sure,” Harry nodded.

Moments later, a pregnant Hermione Nott emerged from his fireplace, tightly holding the hand of her small daughter. Sophia’s feet had barely touched the floor before she barrelled across the room.

“Uncle Harry,” she yelled in excitement.

Harry hurriedly put down his drink and scooped the excitable child up in his arms. “Hello, pumpkin. How’s my favourite girl today?”

Hermione mock pouted at this. “And there was me thinking I was your favourite girl,” she said in injured tones. Harry just grinned in reply and called for Winky.

When the elf had returned with fresh drinks for all, Hermione turned to the small creature, an apologetic look on her face.

“Winky, would you mind awfully taking Sophia to the playroom and watching her for a while.”

The child in question bounced excitably in her uncle’s lap. She had obviously inherited her mother’s unfathomable love of the wizened creatures. “Me play with Winky,” she babbled.

Winky bowed low. “Winky is taking Miss Sophia. She is being a very good child.”

When elf and child had left the room, Harry settled back down in his chair and turned a questioning gaze to his friend.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s on your mind now?” he asked, knowing full well what was coming.

If Hermione noticed the slight coolness of her friend’s tone, she ignored it. “I was talking to Draco last night,” she began.

“That must have been an enlightening experience for you. I’m sure he was just full of helpful advice on place settings and decorations, and all sorts of useful stuff.”

Hermione arched an eyebrow, something she had learned during several years of marriage to a Slytherin. “I wouldn’t know about that. You’d have to ask Ginny. I hear she and Draco had rather an interesting conversation about the arrangements for your forthcoming wedding!”

‘Shit!’ Harry cursed silently. He should have known better than to expect Malfoy to keep his mouth shut.

“It was just a misunderstanding,” he mumbled.

“So Ginny didn’t tell Draco that you and she were getting married?” Hermione pressed.

Harry squirmed a little; he was never very good under interrogation. “Well, yes. But it was just a misunderstanding.”

Hermione just looked at him, shaking her head sadly. “Harry, what are you doing? I thought after your last break-up that you had finally seen sense; especially after what happened with you and Charlie.”

Unfortunately, for Harry, he had just taken a big gulp of his drink at this point. At his friend’s last words, he sprayed a mouthful of hot chocolate across the room.

“W-w-what do you mean? What about me and Charlie?”

Hermione cast a quick Cleaning Charm and then looked at her friend meaningfully.

“Harry, you’re a terrible liar, always have been. Even if you weren’t, and even if you hadn’t just spat the contents of your mouth over me, there’s still the fact that I saw you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry muttered defensively, his cheeks flushed a bright red.

“Come on, don’t insult my intelligence. You had sex with Charlie. I know. I saw.”

Harry didn’t think it was possible for his face to get any redder. “I was drunk, it was a mistake.”

“Well, yes. I can see that sleeping with your girlfriend’s brother would qualify as a mistake.”

“We were broken up at the time.”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded. “And then you slept with her brother, freaked out about it, and went running back to what is possibly the most dysfunctional relationship I have ever seen.”

“I’m not gay,” Harry declared, a little louder than he had intended.

“I don’t remember saying that you were,” Hermione replied calmly. “Although, you must admit that sleeping with men is a bit of a clue.”

“Not men,” Harry corrected angrily. “Man, singular.”

“Really? So what about Justin Finch-Fletchley? You were sneaking round with him for weeks at the start of our seventh year. And don’t even get me started on your obsession with Draco.” As she finished speaking, Hermione cast a quick Shield Charm to protect her from the spray of hot liquid that she just knew was coming her way.

Harry did not disappoint; hot chocolate even came down his nose this time. “Fuck, Hermione! How do you know these things? I’ve never…Hang on, what obsession with Malfoy?”

“It’s common knowledge, Harry,” she replied smoothly. “Not about Charlie, obviously. But certainly about you and Justin.” She wisely sidestepped the issue of Draco for now.

“Even Ginny?” Harry managed to choke out.

“She was the one who told me. She saw the two of you together, behind the Quidditch stands.”

Harry ran his hands through his hair, trying desperately to process all these revelations.

“I don’t get it,” he said finally. “If she knows, why would she want to be with me?”

“You know why, Harry,” Hermione said, her tone very gentle now. “We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Yeah, but that was before I knew that she knew I liked men.”

“Doesn’t matter to her. You’re Harry Potter, that’s all she sees, all she’s ever seen. You’re the hero she dreamt of when she was little, then she met you and you became her hero for real. Ginny’s been obsessed with you since before you even met; she’s not going to let a little thing like your sexuality get in the way of securing the Boy Who Lived.”

Harry slumped in his chair; elbows on his knees, head in his hands. “What the fuck am I going to do?” he muttered.

Hermione got to her feet and came to perch on the arm of his chair. She threaded her fingers through is messy locks. “You know the answer to that. You have to talk to Ginny, tell her the truth. This relationship you two have now, it’s not healthy for either of you.”

Harry nodded despondently; he knew she was right.