Epithalamium by Northumbrian
Summary: Weddings don't just happen you know, they need planning, careful planning.
Categories: Drama, Fluff, General, Humour, Romance Characters: Arthur Weasley, Bill Weasley, Charlie Weasley, Fleur Delacour, George Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Percy Weasley, Ron Weasley
Genres: Drama, Fluff, General, Humor, Romance
Warnings: None
Challenges:
Series: None
Chapters: 5 Completed: No Word count: 15433 Read: 2670 Published: 01/19/2012 Updated: 07/02/2013

1. One Hundred and Eleven Days: Plan, What Plan? by Northumbrian

2. One Hundred and Three Days: Press Here by Northumbrian

3. Ninety Eight Days: A Dress by Northumbrian

4. Eighty Seven Days: Sweeping Misconceptions by Northumbrian

5. Eighty-four Days: A Good Match by Northumbrian

One Hundred and Eleven Days: Plan, What Plan? by Northumbrian

One Hundred and Eleven Days: Plan, What Plan?

‘GINNY!’ Ginny shouted her name at the top of her voice. The windows in the kitchen of The Burrow rattled in protest.

Molly, her arms folded, shook her head firmly. Harry and Arthur, who stood near the stairs, watched Ginny and her mother glare at each other. They looked at each other questioningly as the immovable object which was Molly faced the irresistible force of Ginny. The two men mutely agreed that neither of them would intervene.

‘No!’ Molly’s response was firm, and almost as loud as her daughter’s demand, ‘Ginevra Molly! That is your name, the name we gave you, so that will be the name to go on the on the announcement, and on the invitations, too.’ Molly unfolded her arms, turned her palms outwards in a gesture of conciliation and, in a very small voice added, ‘Please?’

Ginny looked at Harry and at her father, but both men remained unspeaking and impassive. Ginny glared at her fiancé through narrowed eyes, demanding that he speak. He smiled at her and finally broke his silence.

‘Harry James Potter is going to marry Ginevra Molly Weasley,’ Harry told her. ‘Like it or not, they will announce your full name at the ceremony, mine too.’ He very wisely did not add, ‘The invitation is just a piece of card, it isn’t important enough to argue about.’ Instead, he watched in silence and waited for Ginny to reach a decision. As he did so, he thought back to the night before last.

On Friday evening he’d taken his soon-to-be brothers-in-law out for a drink, to announce that, after their long engagement, he and Ginny had finally set a date for their wedding. After several hours, and rather a lot of beer, each of the Weasley men had given him advice, some more useful than others.

Bill had said, “She’ll tell you that she values your opinion, that you’re both getting married, but she’s a girl, she’ll have been dreaming about, and planning, her wedding since she was … I dunno … six … probably. Just nod your head and agree to everything. If she tries to force you to make a decision, do it immediately, and be definite. Then back down instantly if it’s the wrong decision. You’ll know if you’ve said the wrong thing, believe me.”

Charlie hadn’t been any help. He’d simply said, “Don’t ask me, I think that you’re crazy to get married.’ Then he’d leaned across the table and added, “But if you ditch my sister now, Potter, I’ll kill you.”

Percy had said, “Believe it or not, there is a difference between cream, parchment and plain white for the invitations and place settings and all that other stuff. And it is very important to choose the right colour. All I can suggest is that you try to guess which one she prefers and choose that one. But don’t ask her! Whatever you do, don’t ask her.”

George had slurred, “I’m with Charlie, there are so many pretty girls out there, why get tied down to only one?” Then he’d glared. “If I ever catch you looking at another girl, Potter, I’ll use you for Sectumsempra practice, and it won’t be on your lug! Still, why get married … unless she’s pregnant … she’s not pregnant … is she? But … Ginny … I don’t want to hear about sex … why are you talking about sex?”

Ron had said, “Bill and Percy are right, mate. This is Ginny’s day. A lot of the time she pretends not to be girly, but deep down, she is. She knows what she wants, too, she always has. So just let her have it. It will save on the arguments, trust me. But watch out, she’s really sneaky, like Hermione. You can’t just agree with her immediately, she’ll get suspicious. You’ll be in real trouble if she suspects that you’re just nodding without thinking about it to keep her happy. Pretend to consider the options carefully, and watch her.

‘The wedding bit is easy; all you have to do is stand next to her and look happy. You should be able to manage that; you’ve had years of practice.” Ron had smiled when he’d said that, and then he’d turned serious.

“Just ignore dragon-boy and lugless. We all know that Charlie prefers dragons and George has “property of Angelina Johnson” tattooed all over his body, despite what he pretends. You will be happy. I am. So, just go with the flow and try to look like you’re interested, especially when they start talking about flowers and boring stuff like that. And if Ginny and Mum argue; for Merlin’s sake leave ‘em to it.”

Ginny finally came to a decision, interrupting Harry’s reverie.

‘All right, Mum,’ Ginny told her mother. ‘I’ll compromise. The invitations can use my full name, but the table setting will say Ginny Weasley!’

‘No it definitely will not,’ her mother said smugly.

Ginny took a deep and angry breath; she looked ready to explode again.

‘It will say Ginny Potter.’ Molly smiled as she corrected her daughter. ‘We don’t sit down and eat until after you become Mrs Potter, remember.’

Ginny’s fury dissipated instantly and she beamed happily.

‘Ginny Potter,’ she said slowly, as she tried the name out. ‘Mrs Potter.’ She stretched out her hand, ‘Hello, Mrs Weasley, I’m Mrs Potter.’ Molly ignored the outstretched hand and pulled her daughter into a bone-crushing hug, sniffing loudly as she did so.

‘Mum,’ Ginny continued wistfully. ‘Does it take long to get used to having a new name?’

‘I really can’t remember,’ Molly smiled. ‘I’m used to it now, but my wedding was thirty-three years ago.’ She lost herself in memories.

‘And a beautiful bride you were, too, Molly,’ Arthur Weasley told her fondly.

‘Mr and Mrs Arthur Weasley would like to invite “whoever” to the Wedding of their daughter, Miss Ginevra Molly Weasley, to Mr Harry James Potter.’ Harry read the draft invitation aloud before Arthur and Molly lost themselves in reminiscences. ‘The wedding will take place at The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole on Saturday, 24th May, 2003, at 11:00 a.m. Are we agreed?’

‘Trying to back out?’ Ginny asked mischievously.

‘The wording, Ginny,’ Harry explained patiently. He strode across to his fiancée, pulled her into his arms, and lightly kissed her nose. ‘Do you agree to the wording? The invitations are only the beginning. We’ve got a lot more planning to do.’

‘Mrs Potter, Ginevra Molly Potter, Ginny Potter, Mrs Ginny Potter.’ Ginny continued to experiment with her name.

‘Ginny,’ Harry tried to bring her back to the discussions.

‘Yes, okay, that will be fine,’ said Ginny, waving her hand in a dismissive gesture.

Harry kissed her forehead and exchanged a smile of success with Molly.

 ‘So, seating arrangements come next,’ said Molly. ‘The top table first. Ron’s asked if he and Hermione can sit together.’

‘Well they can’t!’ Ginny said. ‘Hermione wouldn’t let Harry and me sit together at their wedding. Ron can have Luna instead.’

‘That should be fun.’ Harry grinned.

Ginny smiled and looked thoughtfully along her mother’s kitchen table. Imagining it as the top table, she pointed at the chairs as she went through the seating arrangements. Molly hastily scribbled the names down.

‘Bridesmaid Luna, Best Man Ron, Mum, you, me, Dad, Matron of Honour Hermione,’ Ginny chuckled. ‘Oh I’m so glad they got married first—I don’t ever want to be a Matron of Honour.’

‘Not even for Luna?’ Harry asked.

‘I’ll probably be a Grand-Matron of Honour by then, Harry,’ Ginny snorted. ‘She hasn’t had a boyfriend since Michael; she’s much too busy siphoning Wrackspurts or something. But don’t interrupt, … “We’ve still got a lot more planning to do” … remember. So: the Matronly Hermione, then Page Boy Teddy, and finally Bridesmaid Victoire. I’m not sure about Victoire. By the time we get to the wedding breakfast I expect that she’ll want to be with “Maman”.’

‘She might be happy poking Teddy until he reacts,’ Harry observed, ‘she likes it when he turns his hair “vert”.’

Vert? I thought “blur” was her favourite colour,’ observed Ginny.

‘Keep up, that was last month,’ said Harry, laughing. ‘But we’ve got three more months. She might be able to say turquoise by then.’

‘She hasn’t mastered blue or green, yet,’ Ginny observed.

‘She can say “bleu” and “vert” perfectly,’ said Harry. ‘I think Fleur is only speaking French to her, except when Bill’s around. Unfortunately, Teddy doesn’t speak French.’

‘They’re both rather young,’ Molly once again voiced her concerns.

‘Teddy will have had his fifth birthday by then, and Victoire will be just three,’ said Harry. ‘Hermione and Luna will look after them during the service, and afterward.’

‘Luna’s at the other end of the table,’ Ginny pointed out. ‘It will be up to Hermione.’

‘That’s good, she needs more contact with children,’ announced Molly.

Harry winked at Ginny. Molly had two grandchildren, Victoire and Dominique. Percy’s wife, Audrey, was due a month before the wedding. Molly, however, was obviously impatient for more. Ron and Hermione, although married for less than six months, were already being expected to oblige. He and Ginny were anticipating similar pressure as soon as they married.

‘What about the other tables?’ Molly asked, her eyes still gleamed as she dreamt about the prospect of more grandchildren and she continued unthinkingly. ‘Do we mix up the families or…’ she stopped, embarrassed, ‘…sorry, dear.’

‘That’s all right, Molly,’ Harry told her. ‘I think that mixing family and friends will be the best idea. I shudder to think what might happen if you put all of the Harpies on one table, they need to be split up for everyone’s protection.’

‘We could put them all with Auntie Muriel, she’d enjoy that,’ suggested Arthur. He managed to keep his face straight for almost ten seconds after he’d made the suggestion. Ginny had already collapsed in a chair, laughing hysterically.

‘They’re a nice, well behaved bunch of girls,’ fibbed Ginny eventually, ‘and they’ve already organised my hen night.’

‘I thought that Hermione was going to do that,’ said Harry worriedly.

‘Don’t you trust me?’ Ginny teased.

‘You, yes. The Harpies, no!’ Harry told her seriously. ‘Especially not Tegan.’

‘I’m inviting all of the DA girls, too, Harry, don’t worry,’ Ginny reassured him.

‘I can have a word with Susan and Lavender at work,’ Harry mused. ‘They’ll keep an eye on you all.’

‘Susan probably will! But you’ve no chance with Lavender. She’ll be out for a good time, you know that! But they’ll both be off duty,’ Ginny protested. ‘A hen night is not an Auror mission.’

‘I’m a Senior Auror,’ Harry reminded her. ‘And they both work for me. The Harpies and the DA girls, how many is that?’

‘If everyone comes, there will be almost thirty of us. I’ve invited a few others.’

‘The female members of the England Squad,’ Harry guessed.

‘Yes,’ confirmed Ginny. ‘And Fleur, who’s said yes, and Audrey, who’s said no. She probably wouldn’t have come anyway, but as she’s already got a Slughorn-sized belly she’s got a very good excuse. Demelza and Fenella are coming too.’

‘So, with Fenella that’s three members of the Auror Office. Is it true about Demelza?’

‘She’s tied in to her contract with the Tornadoes, Harry. I know that the Harpies management want her, and I saw today’s Daily Prophet, but I don’t think that she will be my team mate next year,’ said Ginny. ‘What about your stag night, Harry?’

‘Ron and Nev are going to organise it. I want something quiet, but I don’t suppose I’ll get it.’

‘You won’t, I guarantee it. But Ron will keep an eye on you, he always does. And my brothers will make sure that you don’t misbehave.’ Ginny grinned. ‘Who are you inviting?’

‘The DA blokes, Hagrid and most of the men in the Auror Office, even Robards has said he’ll be there. If he is, that will put a real damper on the night. I’ve suggested that they invite Parvati’s husband, Parindra, too.’

‘Seating,’ Molly reminded them. ‘You have months to organise stag and hen parties.’

‘We could keep the immediate family together, and mix up the rest,’ suggested Ginny. ‘Bill, Fleur, Dominique, Charlie, Percy, Audrey, Weasley sprog three…’ Ginny was interrupted by her mother.

‘Do not call my third Grandchild “sprog three” Ginny! If she’s a girl, she will be Molly. If he’s a boy, he will be Arthur! Percy and Audrey have already decided on the names,’ said Molly proudly.

‘The creeps,’ Ginny whispered, rolling her eyes. ‘Okay, Mum. So, next to Arthurmolly we’ll have George, Angelina and the Dursleys, plus Dudley’s girlfriend. Is he still going out with Daisy?’

Harry nodded. ‘Yes. I phoned him last week to tell him the date and Daisy answered the phone. I think she’s moved in with him. That won’t please Aunt Petunia! But Vernon and Petunia probably won’t come, anyway.’

‘Mr and Mrs Vernon Dursley do not regret that they will be unable to attend,’ Ginny grumbled deeply. She tried to puff out her cheeks but, unusually for her, failed to capture the true nature of Harry’s uncle’s voice. ‘Vernon has a prior appointment washing his car and Petunia will be much too busy observing her neighbours’ lives to actually have a life of her own.’

‘Ginny,’ her mother scolded. ‘Why on earth must you be so rude about Harry’s only relatives.’

‘Because I’ve met them, Mum,’ said Ginny, grinning.

‘Anyway, that’s thirteen at a table. It won’t work,’ Molly announced, having quickly counted the names.

‘We can’t inflict Dursleys on anyone else,’ Harry said. ‘Perhaps we could give them a table to themselves ... in a separate tent ... a hundred miles away.’

‘Harry,’ Molly scolded gently. ‘Not you, too! I know that you don’t really mean that.’

‘And I know that you do,’ Ginny whispered in his ear.

‘We can put them with Bill and Charlie, and move Percy and George to another table,’ said Molly.

‘We could just put everyone’s names in a hat and draw them out randomly,’ suggested Harry, winking at Ginny.

Ginny’s eyes lit up, ‘That’s brilliant, Harry,’ she said, ‘that will get everyone talking.’

‘No,’ Molly pronounced. At the same moment her husband, a mischievous tinkle in his eyes said, ‘So long as you keep couples and families with small children together…’

Arthur and Molly stared at each other. Molly refolded her arms; Arthur merely raised an enquiring eyebrow.

‘Arthur,’ Molly began.

‘We could try it and see, Molly,’ Arthur suggested. ‘I’ll write down all the names and we can put them in a hat and draw them out randomly. We could always change them around later, if it doesn’t work.’

Molly looked sceptically at her husband.

‘I think that it’s a good idea,’ said Ginny. ‘We can’t have Harry’s family on one side and ours on the other, Mum. It would be one table for four Dursleys, and four tables of ten, at least, for the Weasleys and Prewetts. And why keep the friends together? We could try mixing things up, pulling names out of a hat. Keeping all of the Weasleys and Prewetts together is boring; there are simply too many of them.’

‘There will be one less Weasley when we get married,’ said Harry quietly. Ginny slipped her arms around her fiancé’s neck, stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

One Hundred and Three Days: Press Here by Northumbrian
One Hundred and Three Days: Press Here

Andorra Pugh’s office door burst open, and Ginny Weasley stormed into the room. Andorra looked up from the magazine article she was reading and tried to keep her face a mask of professional courtesy. As she watched her team’s most famous Chaser, the Harpies’ public relations officer realised that the storm was rapidly becoming a tempest. Andorra experimented with a conciliatory smile. It had no effect, the clouds continued to gather on Ginny’s face.

‘I see you got my message, Ginny,’ said Andorra politely. ‘Please sit down.’

‘Why?’ demanded Ginny.

‘Because we have a lot to discuss,’ Andorra told her.

‘There’s nothing to discuss, Andorra,’ said Ginny forcefully.

‘There is,’ said Andorra firmly. ‘Please, sit down, Ginny. The sooner we start, the sooner we’ll be finished.’

Andorra motioned to the plush chair opposite her. She did her best to ignore the glare and remained silent until Ginny sat, folded her arms, and stared across the desk.

‘Why didn’t you tell us Ginny?’ Andorra asked.

‘Why should I?’ asked Ginny. ‘It has nothing to do with the club, or the press. Besides,’ Ginny waved her engagement ring under Andorra’s nose, ‘I’ve been wearing this for a year; anyone who didn’t realise that Harry and I were going to get married must be extremely thick.’

Andorra lifted a copy of the previous day’s Sunday Prophet from the pile of papers on her desk and showed Ginny the headline.

Wedding of the Year!
Harry and Ginny finally set a Date!


‘Nothing to do with the club?’ Andorra sighed. ‘I suppose that you Flooed into the stadium via the player’s fireplace. I walked in through the staff entrance. We’re under siege, Ginny! I’ve been fielding enquiries from the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, Quidditch Today, the Wizarding Wireless Network, and goodness knows who else.’

As if to emphasise her point, an owl tapped on Andorra’s window. ‘Excuse me,’ Andorra grumbled. She opened the window and took the letter. She broke the seal and quickly glanced at the contents. It was more of the same, this time from the Harpies Fan-club Magazine.

‘This one’s from “Aello, Celaeno and Ocypete”, it’s the same as the others,’ said Andorra. ‘They all want to know whether you’ll keep playing after you’re married, whether we’re going to renew your contract at the end of the season, and what our contingency plans are if you fall pregnant! And that’s just the start. Why didn’t you let us know you’d set a date, instead of simply telling the press?’

‘We did NOT, tell the press!’ Ginny snapped. ‘We were going to put a formal announcement in the Daily Prophet, but not until Easter, long after we’d sent out the invitations.’

With that revelation, Andorra finally realised why Ginny was so angry. ‘Ah,’ she said. ‘The Sunday Prophet implied that you’d leaked the story deliberately.’

‘I know! I read every one of the articles. Harry’s busy trying to find out who told the Prophet. The only people who knew were family, and some of our very close friends. If this is George’s idea of a joke then he will be in serious trouble! And if anyone else we know leaked it…’ Ginny’s eyes flamed angrily.

‘I’m sorry, Ginny. But we are where we are, and in the current situation we must issue a press release,’ said Andorra.

Ginny pursed her lips, and Andorra noticed the flicker of a mischievous smile. But before Ginny could say anything Andorra added, ‘Despite what you might think, Ginny, “Bugger off, it’s none of your damn business,” is not a statement to the press.’

‘It is!’ said Ginny firmly, but the smile moved from a flicker to a broad grin as she spoke. ‘It’s simply not what they want to hear.’

As Ginny finally began to relax, Andorra began to plan.

‘I’m Harpies’ Press Officer, Ginny. It’s my job to protect players from the press, and I’ll do everything I can to help you. But you can’t simply shout at the reporters, you need to keep them on your side. This is a good news story, isn’t it?’

Ginny smiled, ‘Not for some of Harry’s crazier fans, or some of mine, either.’

‘Some creeps and weirdos will do stupid things, but most people will be happy for you, and that’s how you should play it. We’re a family club, so I’m going to advise the management to play this like a family event. But we need you to be on your best behaviour, Ginny, I don’t want another “Harpies Hellions” episode,’ said Andorra firmly.

‘That was years ago,’ said Ginny. ‘And I was under an enchantment.’

‘Yes, but the press still have the photographs, and they’re continuing to use them,’ said Andorra. ‘I’ve drafted a few questions. We can run through them now, and then I’ll draft a press release. You can check it over before I release it, okay?’

‘Later,’ said Ginny, glancing at the wall clock. ‘I need to get changed and get on the pitch. Training starts in five minutes.’

‘No, Ginny, we’ll do it now! You’re not flying until I have your answers. And you’re not leaving the training ground until you’ve agreed the press release,’ said Andorra firmly. ‘And it’s no good looking at me like that. I’ve agreed it with Gwenog, and the management.’

Ginny gave a reluctant grunt of acquiescence.

‘I’m sorry, Ginny, but now that the papers know something, they will want to know everything.’ Andorra pulled out a quill and prepared to take notes. ‘Have the Prophet got the date right?’

‘Yes.’

‘The place?’

‘Yes, that’s right, too. We’ll be married at The Burrow, but the Auror Office will be organising security, the press will be excluded, and any uninvited insects will be swatted.’

‘Uninvited insects?’ Andorra asked.

‘Private joke; it doesn’t matter, forget it.’

‘Fine,’ Andorra shrugged. ‘How many guests have you invited?’

‘About a hundred and twenty, but it’s restricted to family, friends, and work colleagues.’ Ginny grinned mischievously. ‘You’d better do a bloody good job with the press release, Andorra; otherwise I’ll cross your name off the list.’

‘I … I’ll do my best,’ Andorra spluttered, trying to regain her composure. ‘You’re inviting your teammates and colleagues?’

‘Yes,’

‘And Harry’s inviting his colleagues in the Auror Office?’

‘Yes, well, not all of them, obviously.’

‘Will the Minister of Magic be getting an invitation?’

‘Damn it, Andorra, you’re no better than the reporters, you’re trying to lead me on. I’m not going to name anyone who’s being invited. The invitations will go out soon, next weekend, I hope. The press can have lots of fun finding out who’s coming after that.’

‘Okay,’ said Andorra. ‘Can you at least tell me who your bridesmaids will be?’

‘Yes, because they’ve already been asked. Hermione is Matron of Honour, Luna and my niece Victoire are bridesmaids and Harry’s godson, Teddy, will be pageboy. My brother Ron will be Harry’s best man. They’re all pretty obvious choices; the Prophet guessed the names, apart from Teddy and Victoire. That should be enough for you. Can I go now?’

‘No, not yet. Do you intend to continue to play for the Harpies after your wedding?’

‘Why shouldn’t I? There are plenty of married players in the league, and even more in long term relationships. I’m a professional Quidditch player. I bet no one is asking Harry if he’ll continue working as an Auror after we’re married, and his job is much more dangerous—and worse paid—than mine.’

‘Are you planning to start a family soon?’

‘That’s none of your business.’

‘You aren’t already pregnant, are you?’

‘Hell, no!’ Ginny stared into Andorra’s face. ‘Who’s spreading that rumour?’

‘Witch Weekly issued a “Wedding of the Year” special edition today.’ Andorra indicated the magazine she’d been reading when Ginny entered. ‘The “early visit from the stork” story is in the “Weather Vane” gossip column, along with a lot of old photographs of you and Harry, together and separate. You should take a look at it; they’ve included some “Hellions” photos, and several photographs of Harry with his arms around lots of other girls.’

‘The “other girls” will be Hermione, Luna, Susan, Bobbie, Lavender and Hannah, and possibly Parvati,’ snorted Ginny dismissively. ‘They’ll all be photos I’ve seen before.’

‘You’re right about the photos,’ said Andorra. ‘But there’s an absolutely gorgeous blonde, too.’ Andorra showed Ginny the photographs.

‘It’s only Gabrielle,’ said Ginny dismissively. She read the headline, “Harry’s girlfriends” and sighed. ‘One day I will kill Romilda Vane. You have my permission to put that in your press release.’

‘I won’t,’ Andorra dismissed Ginny’s empty threat. ‘Can I say that the Witch Weekly gossip column manages to get your names right, but nothing else, and that you have no immediate plans to start a family?’

‘I like that,’ Ginny chuckled. ‘If you want, you can say that I hope to get a lot of baby-making practice with Harry first.’

‘Have you bought a dress? Will you be using Madam Malkin?’

‘I haven’t even started looking at dresses. The wedding is months away. I’ve no idea where I’ll be buying the damn thing. I’ll probably look in some Muggle shops. I liked Hermione’s dress.’

‘What about the honeymoon?’

‘Ask Harry, he’s in charge of that.’

‘So you don’t know where you’ll be going?’

‘I know that we’ll be in the Muggle world somewhere. But Harry’s organising it.’

‘That’s romantic.’

‘I suppose it is, yes.’ The storm clouds had long since fled Ginny’s face and, as she thought about her fiancé, she radiated happiness. ‘Harry volunteered to do it. He wants to be involved, he wants to surprise me, and he knows more about Muggle holiday destinations than I do.’

‘You won’t be going to a Wizarding location?’

‘We never do. We like to have a holiday where we aren’t pestered by the press and public. But do not tell anyone that.’

‘There are four weeks between the end of the Quidditch season and the European Cup. Did you deliberately fix the wedding date to make sure that you’d be available to play for England over the Summer, if you’re re-selected?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Harry is okay with that?’

‘Of course he is. He’s a Quidditch fan, remember?’ Ginny grinned.

‘Are you going to change your name?’

‘Am I what?’ Ginny was startled by the question.

‘After you marry, will you be Mrs Ginny Potter,’ asked Andorra

‘Yes. What’s wrong with becoming Mrs Potter? It’s the name that will change, not me. There are lots of Weasleys and not many Potters. Why even ask?’

Andorra, who knew exactly why Gwenog Jones had wanted that particular question answered, struggled to think of an acceptable reason. Fortunately, she heard Harry Potter’s voice coming from Ginny’s shoulder bag.

‘Ginny?’ said Harry. Ginny reached into the bag and pulled out a mirror.

‘Hello, Harry,’ said Ginny, smiling.

‘Oh!’ Harry sounded startled and a little worried. ‘I didn’t really expect you to answer. I thought you’d be flying. Is everything okay?’

‘I’m with Andorra in the press office. The Harpies want to issue a statement about us. Can you get here for the end of the training session? If you can, we can both check the press release with Andorra. Have you found out who leaked the story?’

‘Yes and yes,’ said Harry. ‘I’ve cancelled my meetings today, there was nothing important. I’ve taken the day off to sort this mess out. I can be in Holyhead within the hour. The printers, Bind Brothers, are responsible for the leak. Barrington Bind sent a copy of the draft invitation to the press. I reminded him that he’d promised to keep our order confidential, so I’ve cancelled the order and spoken to someone at Deckle and Block instead. I haven’t placed the order with them yet, I was going to come and talk to you about it first. Will I have to sneak into the ground to watch you practice?’

‘Definitely not, Mr Potter,’ called Andorra quickly. ‘I’ll arrange for you to use the Manager’s personal Floo connection.’

‘Thanks, Andorra,’ Harry called. ‘Get flying Ginny, you need the practice. You only scored eight goals last week.’

‘In an away game, against the best Keeper in the League,’ protested Ginny, smiling at his teasing. ‘I’ll see you soon, Harry, bye.’

‘See you soon, Ginny,’

Ginny broke the connection and looked hopefully at Andorra, who indicated that she could leave. The second Ginny left, Andorra began to organise.




Holyhead Harpies would like to join the rest of the Wizarding world in congratulating our International Chaser Ginny Weasley in her forthcoming marriage to Senior Auror Harry Potter.

Both Harry and Ginny have expressed their sadness at the way the news of their wedding date was leaked to the press. “We’ve sacked the person responsible,” Harry told us. “We both lead busy lives and we do not seek publicity. We were hoping for a quiet family wedding and we hope that people will respect our privacy.”

In an exclusive interview with Harpies Press Officer Andorra Pugh, the happy couple revealed that, as from the end of this season, Ginny Weasley will no longer be playing for the Holyhead Harpies. But don’t worry, fans, your favourite Chaser is simply teasing you. Ginny will still be here, but next season you’ll need to look for a new name: Ginny Potter. In her own words: “It’s the name that will change, not me”.

The timing of the wedding means that, if England choose to reselect our Chaser, then Ginny Potter’s first ever Quidditch game will be for England, not the Harpies.


Andorra watched anxiously as Harry continued to read the article. It was vague and full of good wishes, with a couple of snippets of news (like the fact that Harry was organising the honeymoon).

‘It looks okay to me, Andorra,’ said Harry. ‘But Ginny might want to make a few changes. Can we go out into the stands now? I like to watch Ginny fly.’

‘Of course,’ Andorra smiled. ‘Bernice Baker—the club’s official photographer—is here, Harry. Is it okay if she takes a few photographs of you and Ginny? We’ll use them for our press release and also for next week’s match programme. Of course, you can have final approval of any photos we use.’

‘I suppose so,’ Harry shrugged. He was already on his feet and heading for the Director’s box. Andorra watched him leave. He was still in his Auror uniform. This would be perfect, provided the photographer did her job properly.

As they sat in the box, Andorra didn’t watch the Harpies training, she watched the photographer snapping Ginny flying, and Harry watching. When Gwenog finally blew the whistle on the practice session, Harry stood and waved. Ginny flew towards him. Bernice Baker gave Andorra a happy smile, and an urgent grimace. Realising that she’d be in the shot, Andorra dived under the table and hid. Above her, Harry and Ginny kissed, and the camera clicked.




‘Well done, Bernice, and you too, Andorra, for spotting the opportunity,’ said Harpies Manager Gwenog Jones the following day. She waved the photograph triumphantly. It showed Ginny, in her Harpies gear, kissing Harry, who was in his Auror uniform.

‘This photograph is everywhere, in every newspaper and magazine. It’s the most published new photo of the happy couple, and the bride-to-be is in her Quidditch gear. It’s brilliant! I don’t know how you persuaded them to let us use it, Andorra, but it is wonderful publicity for the club. I reckon we can expect a capacity crowd at the game on Saturday. Make sure that we’ve got plenty of Ginny Weasley posters, Andorra, and be sure to talk to marketing. Tell them to source some new Harpies shirts with the name “Potter” on the back. I don’t care how much they cost; we need them before Saturday’s game. And tell them to keep the “Weasley” shirts on the shelves, too. I’m certain that a lot of the fans will buy both.’ Gwenog smiled contentedly.
Ninety Eight Days: A Dress by Northumbrian
Ninety Eight Days: A Dress

Jocasta Robertson prided herself in being able to accurately assess her customers.

‘The instant they walk through the door, I can tell,’ she said confidently, tilting her head backwards in order to look down her nose at her new assistant, Sandra Simpson. ‘I can tell their likely price range, the style they will like, and which brochures they will want to look at. It takes a great deal of practice, of course.’

Sandra nodded in agreement, but there was something in the girl’s eyes which made it obvious to Jocasta that she did not entirely believe her. Jocasta was still uncertain about her new member of staff. Sandra’s references were good and she dressed well enough, especially given her size. She was a large and rather plain-featured girl, and she certainly looked smart and efficient. But looking efficient was not the same as being efficient and, in that respect, Sandra was an unknown quantity.

Sandra! What a dreadful name, so common! The girl didn’t really fit in with the image Jocasta wanted to project. She wondered whether she’d be able to persuade Sandra to use a different name in the shop. Juliette, or possibly Tamsin, would be so much better. Unfortunately Sandra did not look like a Juliette or a Tamsin, she looked like a Sandra.

Jocasta was contemplating broaching the subject when the familiar tinkling of the bell, which always accompanied the door being opened, brought her mind back to more important matters. She was immediately alert, they had customers!

Sandra looked expectantly at Jocasta, and the middle-aged proprietor of “Jocasta’s Bridal Wear, Exeter” realised that her new assistant was now expecting her to prove her expertise.

Jocasta smiled at the three young women who had entered her shop. Her hopes soared when she saw the first girl, and then plummeted when she saw the other two.

This would be difficult. Usually, there was some clue, but Jocasta could see nothing which could possibly bind these three young women together. They were attractive enough in their own very distinctive ways, even the blonde, but they did not appear to be related. They didn’t appear to have anything else in common either.

First through the door had been a young woman of average height. Jocasta had smiled smugly at Sandra, assuming that her job would be easy.

The first girl was slim and attractive, although her brown hair was untamed and possibly untameable. She wore a smart skirt and jacket combination; they were clothes of good quality and Jocasta was immediately certain that she was dealing with a young, professional woman in a well-paid job. However, when she checked the woman’s left hand and saw that she already wore a wedding ring, she realised to her dismay that this was not the bride.

Behind the brown-haired woman came the blonde. The blonde was gawping in astonishment at the expensive satin mermaid dress which took pride of place in front of the shop door. In fact, Jocasta realised, she wasn’t actually staring at the dress, but at the floodlights surrounding it. It was almost as though the blonde had never seen a floodlit display.

The blonde was in hobnail boots, a long flower print dress of an extremely unfashionable style, a man’s dinner jacket with the sleeves rolled up, and a purple and yellow patterned woolly hat with ear-flaps. She was a mess! At best she was charity-shop-chic! The girl wore no engagement ring, but given her attire, that meant nothing. Could this be the bride? Realising that the blonde had turned her attention from the display and was now staring at her with wild and wide grey eyes, Jocasta suppressed a shudder of despair. She masked her despondency with her most professional smile and looked past the blonde to the third girl.

The third girl was a redhead. Redheads were always difficult. They were difficult to advise, because they usually knew exactly what they wanted and often refused to acknowledge that they may, just possibly, be wrong. They were doubly difficult, because making certain that the bridesmaids dresses did not clash with the hair could be something of a problem, and this particular redhead’s hair was almost fiery in colour.

The redhead was petite and curvy; she wore tight jeans, black boots and a leather motorcycle jacket over a short green t-shirt which showed a taut midriff. She strolled into the shop with a confident grace. Her clothing, however, gave nothing away, it was impossible to guess either her occupation, or how much she earned. Was she rich and eccentric, or simply a biker-girl? There were no visible tattoos, and her belly-button wasn’t pierced, so Jocasta fervently hoped for the former.

A biker-girl, a crazy hippie and a business-woman! It didn’t make sense.

As she moved alongside her friends, the red-headed woman finally pulled her left hand from the pocket of her leather jacket. There it was! The engagement ring was interwoven wires of white gold and it contained two emeralds and an impressively large diamond. There was no doubt that it was very expensive. Jocasta’s worries began to evaporate away. Whether this woman had money or not was suddenly immaterial. Even if she did not, then her future husband was obviously wealthy. Jocasta strode forward with a smile and greeted her customers.

‘Welcome to Jocasta’s,’ she said to the redhead, ‘I do hope that we will be able to find something for you, Miss?’

‘Weasley. Ginny Weasley,’ Ginny said.

‘Virginia is such a beautiful name,’ said Jocasta, smiling politely.

‘It might be, but my name’s not Virginia, it’s Ginny,’ said Ginny forcefully.

Jocasta determinedly kept the polite and professional smile on her face, a task made more difficult by the fact that, behind her, Sandra had failed to disguise her snort of laughter as a cough.

‘Are these your bridesmaids, Ginny?’ she asked, determinedly ignoring her assistant. She would deal with Sandra later.

‘Yes. Hermione,’ said Ginny, nodding at the brown-haired young woman. ‘And Luna,’ she indicated the blonde.

Luna! Jocasta thought. Oh dear, hippie parents too! She’s probably never been dressed any other way, poor thing.

‘Do you really only sell wedding dresses in this shop?’ Luna asked. ‘And there seem to be so many of them, too. Are there really so many Mu-people wanting to get married?’

‘Luna,’ said Ginny warningly.

‘I want to know, Ginny, that’s why I’m asking. Knowledge is important, isn’t it Hermione?’ said Luna.

‘Yes, Luna,’ Hermione sighed. ‘But you can ask us later. This is the first shop we’ve tried; we might be spending days, or even weeks, doing this. You’ll soon learn what these places are like. They are all the same!’

Luna appeared to be prepared to argue. Jocasta looked worriedly between Hermione and Luna. If they began to argue, Jocasta realised, she could lose any chance of a sale. Why did brides choose bridesmaids who were so different? Finding a bridesmaids dress which would suit both girls, and which both would like, would not be easy.

‘I do hope, ladies, that you’ll find Jocasta’s Bridal Wear a little different. We pride ourselves on the care and attention we give our customers. I am certain that we’ll be able to find something for you here. When is the wedding; may I ask? How long do we have to find your perfect dress?’ Jocasta spoke rapidly and managed to divert Luna from continuing her disagreement.

‘In three months. The twenty-fourth of May,’ Ginny announced. She smiled radiantly as she spoke. It was obvious that she was looking forward to it.

‘How wonderful, and do you have any ideas what you would like, Ginny?’ she asked.

‘Something Harry will want to tear off the moment he sees me,’ said Ginny. She spoke with absolute certainty and with a twinkle of mischief in her eyes.

Jocasta heard Sandra stifle another giggle and turned to admonish her new assistant.

‘But also, something which Dad will think is perfectly suitable for his only daughter,’ she added.

‘How difficult can that be?’ asked Hermione sarcastically.

‘Not very,’ said Luna. ‘Harry thinks that Ginny is beautiful whatever she’s wearing, and he doesn’t like her to be too … obvious.’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that, Luna. He really liked the little black dress I wore at last year’s Harpies’ Christmas Party, and it certainly didn’t cover much,’ said Ginny. She winked at her friends. ‘But he liked the bridesmaid’s dress I wore at your wedding too, Hermione.’ Ginny lost herself in thought for a moment.

Jocasta looked enquiringly at the two young women. Ginny deferred to Hermione.

‘It was a strapless ball gown,’ Hermione supplied.

This way, ladies,’ said Jocasta, she turned to lead the three young women to a display of ball gowns, but Ginny remained rooted to the spot, refusing to follow.

‘I did like the bridesmaid’s dress,’ said Ginny firmly, crossing her arms and sounding rather irritated. ‘But I’m not going to have anyone say I copied from you, Hermione. I want something similar, but which looks completely different.’

‘What about that?’ Luna asked, pointing to the display dress. ‘I think that you would suit something like that, Ginny.’

Jocasta’s heart skipped a beat. The embroidered satin mermaid dress was one of the most expensive dresses in the shop. Ginny strolled over and examined the dress. It was figure-hugging from cleavage to knees before finally flaring out into a long train.

‘No,’ said Ginny with certainty. She stood on tiptoe and teetered forwards, keeping her knees clamped tightly together. ‘How could anyone possibly walk while wearing something like that? I don’t want to fall arse over tit when I’m walking up the aisle.’

‘Ginny! Language,’ scolded Hermione.

‘Interesting turn of phrase,’ said Luna thoughtfully.

‘It’s what my Uncle Bilius used to say,’ said Ginny. ‘When people complained he simply said: we’ve all got ar…’

‘It’s actually quite easy to walk in, Ginny,’ Sandra stepped forwards and interrupted the redhead. Jocasta failed to stare her new assistant into silence. ‘You just need to swing your hips a bit. You don’t stride, you sashay.’ Sandra demonstrated as she moved, making a surprisingly good job of it. ‘In my opinion, you need a decent figure to be able to look good in this dress. I think that you would look absolutely wonderful in it, Ginny.’

‘You are very good at swinging your hips, Ginny,’ observed Luna. ‘And Harry likes to see you do it, too. I’ve watched him watching you. But you’re usually in too much of a hurry to bother.’

Ginny looked at the dress closely and turned to face Sandra. ‘I don’t like the sleeves,’ she announced. ‘And I don’t care what you say. I still don’t think that I could walk in it.’

‘We have dozens of dresses on display,’ said Jocasta. ‘If you don’t like that one, we can certainly look at something else. After all, no one buys the first dress they see.’

‘True,’ Hermione spoke with feeling.

‘Why not?’ Luna asked.

Jocasta smiled sweetly at the blonde. Luna was obviously going to question everything. This was going to be very difficult.

‘That’s a very good question, Luna,’ said Sandra, ignoring Jocasta’s glare. ‘If the first thing you see is right, why not buy it?’

‘Because it isn’t the right dress!’ said Ginny.

‘Your friend Luna thinks that it would suit you, and I agree,’ said Sandra. ‘You have the curves to carry it off, that’s obvious from the clothes you’re wearing. The display dress flares from the knees, but if you really want to march down the aisle, there’s a version which flares from mid-thigh. The dress comes in a strapless version too, with a sweetheart neckline.’

Jocasta looked at Sandra in surprise.

‘It’s in the catalogue,’ Sandra spoke to Ginny but it was obvious that her words were for Jocasta’s benefit. ‘I’m new, so I’ve been familiarising myself with our stock. Let me show you.’

‘I don’t know…’ Ginny began hesitantly.

‘The only one we have in stock is the display dress. It’s a very expensive dress, and we can’t keep every size. I think that it will fit you, although we’ll need to pin up the hem,’ said Sandra. ‘It can’t hurt to try, can it?’

Jocasta found herself in a quandary. It had taken her two days to set up that display, but if they could sell it, and two matching bridesmaids dresses, then it would be worth it.

‘You’ve got to start somewhere,’ Sandra suggested. She opened the display cabinet.




‘One coffee, Hermione, and one Camomile tea, Luna,’ said Jocasta. As she handed the drinks to the two bridesmaids, Jocasta brooded over the pig-headedness of redheads. This was her shop, she was in charge, but when she’d tried to escort Ginny into the changing rooms the bride-to-be had said “It was her idea, she can help me into this damn thing, and if it’s no good, I’m not even coming out. You’re not going to see me in something I don’t like.”

Ginny had firmly indicated that Sandra, and only Sandra, would be the one to help. Jocasta had found herself relegated to waiting on the bridesmaids while Sandra fitted the dress, pinned up the hem, and scuttled back and forth collecting a pair of high heels, and, for some reason, a length of bright green silk.

‘They’re taking their time,’ observed Hermione.

‘Perhaps I should go and see…’ began Jocasta.

‘Ginny said no one should go in,’ sang Luna happily. ‘It’s really best not to upset her. We’ll just wait.’

Jocasta smiled sweetly and contented herself with trying to overhear what was going on in the changing room.

Eventually, Sandra emerged. ‘Please stand for the bride,’ she said, putting on a mock falsetto.

Ginny floated elegantly through the curtains.

‘You look wonderful, Ginny,’ said Luna.

‘You do,’ agreed Hermione, rather reluctantly.

Jocasta was speechless. The transformation from leather-jacketed, jeans-wearing biker girl to beautiful bride was remarkable. Ginny was wearing a solid silver neck ring containing four emeralds. Her long hair had been tied up into an ornate pile using the green ribbon.

‘I’ve had to pin the waist, and take four inches off the hem, but we can take measurements, and make the alterations. We can order ribbon in a different shade of green, too, an emerald, to match your engagement ring and the torc you’re wearing. Provided that this is the dress you want, Ginny.’

It is,’ said Ginny firmly. ‘And identical bridesmaids dresses in emerald green.’

Jocasta’s initial instinct, to suggest that Ginny try more than one dress, was rapidly silenced as she totted up the profit from one very quick sale.

‘You do look wonderful, Ginny,’ said Jocasta, smiling happily.

Ginny ignored Jocasta and turned to talk to Sandra. ‘It’s surprisingly comfortable, and easy to walk in, too,’ Ginny admitted. ‘You’re right, Sandra, walking is easy; all I need to do is swing my hips.’ She demonstrated, talking four sultry steps before twirling around.

Jocasta caught sight of a large bruise behind Ginny’s shoulder and gasped.

‘The hockey season finishes soon,’ Sandra explained to her boss. ‘And anyway, you should see the other girl. First fitting in two weeks, Ginny?’ She turned to Hermione and Luna. ‘Now, if I can just take some measurements.’

‘No one buys the first dress they try on, Ginny,’ Hermione protested.

‘Why not?’ chorused Ginny and Luna.
Eighty Seven Days: Sweeping Misconceptions by Northumbrian
Eighty Seven Days: Sweeping Misconceptions

The familiar kitchen of Grimmauld Place was full of the mouth watering smells of Kreacher’s cooking when Ginny stepped out from the flaring green flames.

Harry was sitting alongside the long scrubbed oak table; he was wearing a pair of comfortably shabby old black jeans, a little frayed at the cuffs, and her favourite t-shirt. The faded green t-shirt, with its now rather worn Holyhead Harpies logo, was beginning to split at the seam under his left armpit. The split had been increased in size when he’d last worn it. That had been entirely his fault. He’d teased her, so she’d tickled him through it and he’d pulled away with her finger still inside. He hadn’t repaired it, she noticed, but she hadn’t expected him too; he was hopeless at most household spells.

Harry’s feet were bare and his curled toes were gripping the edge of one of the kitchen chairs. He was rocking back on the two rear legs of the chair on which he sat, pushing himself into a precarious point of balance and holding himself mere arc-minutes away from tipping.

Ginny smiled a greeting at her fiancé but got absolutely no response. She looked at him curiously. He had not looked up when she’d arrived; he had not acknowledged her at all. Harry was ignoring her. It would be deliberate; there was no doubt that he was teasing her. Nevertheless, it was something which could never be tolerated.

There was a large pile of newspapers and magazines on the table beside Harry, and he was busily reading ... she stopped and looked again to make certain that her eyes weren’t deceiving her … he was busy reading “Rogue” the most trendy of the current crop of witches fashion magazines, a magazine whose tagline was “Muggle fashions for with-it witches”. Her curiosity was piqued. It was a magazine he would never ever read, unless he was forced to.

Ginny dropped her Harpies kit bag on the floor. The padded thud wasn’t loud, but it was enough to attract his attention, to force him to react to her presence. He looked over the top of the magazine, pretended to be startled by her arrival, and grinned at her.

‘Hi, Ginny,’ he said, his eyes twinkling.

‘Looking at the underwear adverts, Potter?’ she asked playfully.

‘Should I be? Do you want me to make a few suggestions about what you should wear under your wedding dress? I’ve got a few ideas already, none of them substantial. Would you like to hear them, later?’ he asked.

He lowered the magazine slightly, his face full of mischief. ‘You will have to wait. I’d be grateful if you didn’t interrupt me for a few minutes. I’m reading a very interesting factual piece. It’s all about…’ he glanced down at the page, ‘the forthcoming wedding of the Harpies famously feisty flame-haired temptress to the nation’s most eligible bachelor.’ He looked into her eyes and asked, ‘I wonder why they stopped the alliteration at flame-haired? Couldn’t they think of another “F” word or two … flouncing floozy, for example.’

So, he’s in one of those moods, is he she thought. She watched him mentally prepare for her riposte.

‘Those words are taken, Harry, didn’t you know? Lavender and Romilda are fighting for exclusive rights to the flouncing floozy headline,’ Ginny told him archly. ‘So the real issue is the typo.’

‘Typo?’ he asked.

‘Isn’t it obvious?’ she asked. ‘You are not eligible, they must have meant something else, negligible bachelor, probably.’ She dismissively flicked her hand at him.

Harry burst out laughing. Throwing down the magazine he allowed his chair to topple forward onto all four legs and sprang to his feet. Ginny simply waited as he took two strides, pulled her into his arms and gave her a familiar, but no less pleasurable, welcoming kiss.

‘Hello, flame-haired temptress,’ he said. ‘How was training?’

‘Training was straining, and draining, and it was raining,’ she replied, making him chuckle. ‘It’s good to be home after a rotten day. But, I’ll tell you all about it later, Harry. You’re obviously busy, and I want to know what’s going on here.’ She kissed him again, this time more slowly, savouring the moment.

‘Hello, ineligible negligible bachelor,’ she said. She grinned at his puzzled expression. ‘Let’s be honest, Harry. You haven’t been “eligible” since the battle and neither have I, despite the rumours and various futile attempts to magically force the contrary on us.’

Harry smiled as he finally understood. ‘Did you know that you are a fashion icon, too?’ he asked playfully. He waved towards the magazine he’d just discarded, and took a couple of steps back to take a look at her.

‘Of course,’ Ginny agreed. ‘I always look my best, even when forced to wear the only dry clothes left in my locker.’

She, too, stepped back. Holding her arms out to her sides, she twirled.

‘Miss Weasley is wearing: a pair of scuffed old trainers; joggers with grass stains on the knee, and; the first ever official Holyhead Harpies sweatshirt she was issued with, which, due to an administrative error when she first started at the club is, in fact, two sizes too big for her.’ Ginny had raised her voice to an unnatural pitch and was speaking in the excited whisper of the Wizarding Wireless Network’s most famous fashion guru. Bringing the backs of her hands together under her chin, fingers pointing downwards, she swept them down and apart in a gesture intended to show off her attire.

‘The washed out blandness of the old Harpies green training outfit has been accessorised by a large tea-stain and some brown sauce smudges on the chest, courtesy of a clumsy reserve Beater, whose name I will not reveal to spare Miss Cardie’s blushes … oops, sorry…’ She smiled as Harry laughed and continued. ‘The additions were made during the lunchtime tactics discussion. In addition, the right sleeve is marked with … what on earth is that?’ Ginny stopped and cautiously sniffed her cuff. ‘Ah, it’s broom wax, a particularly unpleasant, if not to say excretiating colour…’

‘Don’t you mean excruciating?’ Harry asked, still smiling. Ginny stood on her tiptoes and attempted to walk like a fashion model on a catwalk.

‘It looks very much to me like something has excreted on my sleeve, Harry,’ she said, grinning. Returning to her fashion critic’s voice, she continued. ‘The nasty brown stain does, however, serve a useful purpose. Rogue readers may be unaware of the remarkable aphrodisiac effects the smell of broom wax has on a certain ineligible negligible bachelor.’

‘Not exactly broom polish, just brooms and you,’ Harry corrected her.

Ginny smiled and dropped from her tiptoed stance. Striding forwards she perched on the edge of the table, left leg on the floor and right leg swinging idly. She swept an enquiring arm over the pile of newspapers and magazines.

‘What on earth is all this stuff?’ she asked.

‘It’s the product of an Auror Office sweepstake, Ginny. It was Lavender’s idea,’ Harry said. He looked despairingly at the periodicals. ‘It cost everyone a Galleon to enter, and looking at all this lot, I think everyone has. Half of the money will go to the winner, the other half to the Auror Office Benevolent Fund. Everyone who entered had to bring in a newspaper or magazine containing an article about us. Lavender collected them, collated them, rejected any duplicates, and made anyone who tried to submit an already submitted magazine, find something else. She also took note of who entered each of them.’

His eyes met hers, and she noticed the slightly desperate look on his face. ‘It’s now my job to judge them. The one containing the least accurate article about us will win the money. When I said yes to Lavender I thought that there wouldn’t be many entries, and that judging would be easy. But every single one of these contains lots of elementary mistakes.’

‘That really shouldn’t surprise you,’ Ginny told him, smiling in understanding. Once Harry agreed to do something, he’d do it, and he’d try to do it to the best of his ability.

‘True, but look at this lot!’ He looked helplessly at the cluttered table. ‘Every one of them is full of mistakes, and there are dozens of them! A lot of it is simply sloppy work; Quidditch Weekly even managed to get our birth years mixed up. But, it’s going to be difficult to decide on a winner. Do I choose the most mistakes, or the biggest mistakes?’ Harry frowned in resignation. ‘I’m beginning to feel a bit guilty, too,’ he admitted. ‘It’s supposed to be anonymous. Lavender hasn’t told me who submitted which magazines, but…’

‘But you’re not stupid. You know the people you work with,’ she said. She rifled through the magazines, reading out some of the titles. ‘Cheat: scorching celebrity news! or, as Lavender calls it, the only news worth reading,’ she said, glancing at the cover. There were two separate cover photographs, and they had been arranged so that the photograph of her (drunk and in a revealing top) faced a photograph of an angrily shouting Harry, who was embracing a weeping Hermione. Even the cover photographs told a lie.

Harry grumbled, and Ginny wondered what was written inside the notorious gossip-magazine, but moved on to some of the others. ‘Advances in Magical Law Enforcement, that can only be Susan’s. Puddlemere Forever is probably Bobbie’s. Knitting Today must be Phillipa’s, and Essential Arithmancy, can only belong to Terry, because no one else outside the Department of Mysteries understands that stuff.’

Curious, Ginny picked up the penultimate magazine she’d mentioned and looked at the cover. ‘Wow, the matching sweaters Mum gave us two Christmases ago have made it onto the cover of Knitting Today, she will be pleased! But…’ She stopped and stared at the other magazines. ‘Harry, we’re on the cover of all of these, even Essential Arithmancy! They’re using the photo the Harpies released a couple of weeks ago. Why in Merlin’s name are we on the cover of Essential Arithmancy?’

‘Magazines with our photo on the cover sell better, apparently,’ he replied. ‘There are a couple of articles about us inside, too. One is about the statistically significant effects of Potter/Weasley cover photos to sales, and the other is about how your goal scoring patterns correlate to my case closure rate. The authors seem to be trying to prove cause and effect, and I suspect that Terry thinks they are wrong. Unfortunately, I have no idea how to start on that article; I’m going to have to ask Hermione to translate it for me. I got lost in the squiggles long before the first backwards 3,’ he admitted ruefully.

‘Backwards 3?’ Ginny asked.

Harry opened the magazine and pointed to an “ε” symbol. ‘It’s apparently something called an epsilon and according to the notes it represents an extremely small, but positive quantity. Perhaps it means you!’

‘Cheek,’ said Ginny, playfully slapping his arm. ‘I’m not extremely small; I’m almost five foot two!’ As she spoke, Ginny glanced past Harry and noticed that Kreacher had turned away from the stove. The elderly house elf’s arms were folded and he was staring at the cluttered kitchen table.

‘What’s for dinner, Kreacher?’ Ginny asked.

‘Kreacher has prepared lamb shanks in a rosemary, mint and red wine sauce, mistress,’ the house elf said, ‘with crushed potatoes, and an assortment of vegetables.’

‘And it was ready for my arrival, thank you,’ said Ginny. ‘But Harry has cluttered the table with his silly magazines and you don’t want to interrupt us, even though we’re only chatting, and teasing each other. Sorry! I’ll clear the table and Harry will set it.’

‘Mistress,’ Kreacher protested in alarm. ‘There is no need…’

‘It’s been a cold, wet training session and I’m starving, Kreacher,’ said Ginny firmly. ‘You concentrate on serving the meal, and we’ll do the rest.’

She waved her wand, and the magazines and newspapers floated from the tabletop and neatly stacked themselves onto one of the many unused chairs.

Harry grabbed cutlery from a drawer, goblets from a shelf, and an already open bottle of red wine from the bench.

‘Been drinking alone, Harry?’ Ginny asked, moving to sit opposite Harry and taking her cutlery and a goblet from him.

‘Kreacher needed some red wine for the recipe,’ Harry explained. ‘And according to the Muggle wine guide Hermione bought for me last Christmas, this is a good wine for lamb.’

‘It’s also a very expensive wine to use for cooking, Harry,’ said Ginny as she examined the bottle of Guillaume Gilles Cornas. ‘What’s the special occasion?’

‘Tonight, my fiancée is dining with me,’ he said seriously as he poured a generous quantity of the deep red and pungently earthy wine into her goblet.

‘Tonight and almost every night,’ said Ginny, laughing. She raised her goblet and tapped it against his. ‘To us. Cheers,’ she said. ‘Less than three months to go, Harry, we’ll be married before you know it.’

‘Cheers,’ said Harry. He hesitated, and then continued haltingly. ‘We do eat together a lot, but not always here. We eat out, or at your place, or at The Burrow, too.’ Harry smiled gratefully at his house elf as Kreacher placed two laden and steaming hot plates in front of them. ‘Thanks, Kreacher.

‘Yes, thanks, Kreacher,’ Ginny added. ‘This looks delicious, and it smells delicious, too.’ The house elf scuttled away, a contented smile on his face and Ginny turned her attention back to Harry.

‘Are you okay?’ she asked, knowing full well that he wasn’t. Harry had got himself worried about this silly competition.

He smiled apologetically. ‘I finished work at lunchtime, Ginny, and I’ve been reading these magazine articles all afternoon. They’ve made me think about … about us. The Witch Weekly article was all about the romance of us “making a home together”. But as I read it, I realised that we already have. We’ve already done all of the practical stuff. The last time we redecorated, we chose the décor together. From bed sheets to furniture, this is already our house. And at least half of your clothes are here. Really, practically, this is your home. You know it is. When you arrived, you even said “It’s good to be home after a rotten day.” I know that you’ve got your own place…. And I know that you don’t sleep here every night…. And we aren’t married…. So legally it isn’t your home.’ He paused, gathering his thoughts. ‘This is my house, and you’re my guest, but I’ve never treated you like a guest. The copy of Witch Wedding talks about great romantic gestures, and wining and dining, and wooing and stuff. I’ve never really done that, either. Sorry.’

Harry thoughtfully took his first mouthful of food. Ginny gave him an understanding smile.

‘You have, Harry, in your own way,’ she told him. ‘I don’t want to be your guest. And if you suddenly turned into a romantic, if you started showering me with flowers, or writing poetry, I’d begin to worry about you.’ She caught the look in his eyes, and laughed. ‘Oh, Harry, you have! You’ve bought flowers, haven’t you?’ She asked as she, too, began to eat.

He nodded, and swallowed. ‘They’re upstairs, in the sitting room. I was going to give them to you later.’ He sighed. ‘I’m hopeless, aren’t I?’

‘Don’t be silly, Harry. Thank you, it really is a nice gesture, but you didn’t need to make it. Which magazine do I have to thank for that?’

‘Yes,’ Harry grinned. Ginny was puzzled, but only for a second.

Witch Magazine,’ she said. ‘Now shut up and eat, Potter. It looks like you’ve still got a lot of work to do, and I was hoping for an early night.’ She took a second mouthful. ‘Kreacher, this is absolutely wonderful,’ she called.

They had been eating in thoughtful silence for a few minutes when Ginny spoke. ‘I think that I know what you mean, Harry,’ she said. ‘We’ve been together for so long that, in a way, the wedding is nothing more than a way of making us legal. Look at it this way, when we’re married this will be our house, not yours, and you’ll be able to get your hands on my enormous b-b…’ she hesitated. The second Harry lifted his head in surprise and stared at her, she continued, ‘…bank account, whenever you want.’

He snorted with laughter.




When she finished arranging the huge bouquet in the crystal vase, Ginny carefully centred the vase on the small glass table in front of the sitting room window and turned to face him. Harry was sitting on the large sofa watching her, admiring her. The fact that she was still in her scruffy old training gear did not seem to bother him. She was far from her glamorous best, but Luna’s words from their visit to the wedding dress shop came back to her: ‘Harry thinks that Ginny is beautiful whatever she’s wearing…’ Luna was right, again.

‘The flowers are beautiful, Harry. Thank you,’ she said

‘So are you,’ he said, as though he’d read her mind. ‘How was your day?’

She strode across to the sofa and jumped onto it, straddling him. Running her fingers through his untidy hair, she brought her lips down to kiss his scar. He gently placed his hands on her hips.

‘Three words: wet, miserable, uncoordinated,’ she told him, ‘Gwenog was a great Beater and Captain, but she’s a pain as a trainer. We’re still struggling to fill her position. Actually, that’s not true, we’ve got four decent Beaters but, as you know from last weekend, they don’t understand each other the way Gwenog and Blodwen did. The critics are right, our Beaters are playing as individuals, not a pair, and it’s throwing the rest of us off. But, I’m hoping that my day will improve.’ How was your day, she thought, he always asks, and he always listens to my answer, and that’s worth more than flowers and fancy talk. She thought back to her own bad days, when her form had dropped, when the fans had heckled. He had listened to her complaints about training, about tactics, and about the fickleness of fans. Her lips hungrily sought his.

As they kissed, Harry’s hands found the hem of her sweatshirt and began to lift it. She clamped her elbows onto her ribs and pulled away from him.

‘Work first; play later. That was the agreement,’ she reminded him. ‘You have to decide on a winner for your office sweepstake.’

This is work,’ he told her, pulling up the front of her sweatshirt to reveal her bra. ‘According to Quidditch Weekly you have a Quaffle tattooed over your heart. I don’t remember seeing it, but I thought I’d better check, just in case.’

Ginny laughed and swatted his exploring fingers away before they managed to change her mind. ‘Good excuse, Harry. But no! Let’s look at these magazines.’ She grabbed his still grasping hand and stood, hauling him to his feet.

‘You still owe me for calling me negligible,’ he said, trying a different line. ‘I was deeply hurt by that remark.’

‘No you weren’t, Harry,’ she told him. ‘But you have given me an idea for later.’

Harry’s eyes gleamed wickedly. He picked the wine bottle from the sitting room floor and re-examined it. ‘It’s all gone,’ he said. ‘Do you want to open another bottle?’

‘No, thanks, I’d rather have a coffee,’ Ginny told him.

It took Kreacher only moments to arrive with a cafetière of strong Italian coffee, a jug of cream, two cups and two glasses of water.

Soon they were lying side-by-side in front of the fire resting on their elbows while sipping coffee and looking through the final few magazine articles. Harry had shuffled sideways and his hip was resting against hers. She was idly caressing his right calf with her left foot.

‘Why haven’t I seen your tattoo?’ he asked as he closed Which Broomstick.

‘I’m not letting you re-examine me, Harry,’ she told him. ‘You are not getting under my sweatshirt until we’ve finished.’

‘Different tattoo,’ said Harry hopefully. He reopened the magazine and showed her the article. He twisted onto one elbow and moved his free hand down to caress her bum.

‘I have broomstick on my buttock,’ she spluttered. ‘If I had one, you’d think I’d have noticed, wouldn’t you, but who’d want a broomstick tattoo? But if you’re a good boy, Harry, you can make sure it’s not there, later.’ She slapped his hand away, closed the magazine and threw it onto the “definitely-not-a-winner” pile.

Harry sighed. They lapsed into silence and continued to read for several more minutes.

‘I think that it’s going to be Rogue, after all,’ said Ginny. ‘Who’d have thought that Cheat would have fewer mistakes than Rogue?’

‘Yes, but Cheat’s are bigger,’ said Harry in annoyance. ‘All of these people we’re supposed to have been with. I’ve never even heard of this Bronwen Griffith I’m supposed to have had a “passionate fling” with. And when did you lure Cormac McLaggen into a broom closet?’

‘The whole Cheat article is nonsense, Harry, but it’s not actually inaccurate.’ she said slowly. She watched his face carefully, and kissed him before he could protest.

‘It isn’t,’ she said, her face only inches from his. ‘Read it carefully. It’s “anonymous sources told us” reporting. They never actually claim that any of it is true. It is “alleged that Ginny was very close to several fans” and “there where whispers about Harry’s relationship with old school friend Hermione Granger”. Everything they say is, in that sense, true. It was alleged, there were whispers. They simply don’t bother saying that the allegations and whispers were a load of bollocks. They must have had their lawyers look at it,’ said Ginny with certainty. She shuffled slightly further from him in order to better gauge his reaction. He looked thoughtful, and didn’t attempt to contradict her.

‘If they report allegations as allegations, we can’t do anything about it. Even the Cormac story is true, remember? I did lure him into a broom cupboard at Hogwarts. And the conceited cretin thought he knew why. But Katie and Demelza were there, too. It was the year you were Quidditch Captain, and it was just after we’d won the cup, just after we got together.’ Ginny’s eyes sparkled happily at that memory. ‘The idiot intended to pose with us for the “Winning Team” photo, despite the fact that his only contribution to our victory was to make us lose us the only game he played in, by knocking our very fanciable Captain unconscious. I acted as decoy. Katie and Demelza stunned him, and we locked him in the broom cupboard until after the photograph had been taken. You know how unbearable he was about being on the winning team. We only won because we’d finally listened top his advice, apparently. Had he been in the photo, he’d have pushed his way to prominence.’

Harry laughed.

‘I’d forgotten all about that. So, the winner is Rogue, unless Hermione tells us that the Essential Arithmancy article is complete rubbish,’ concluded Harry. ‘The Rogue article is dreadful. Although you could argue that, as the entire thing is about the wedding of Harold James Potter and Ginerva Mary Weasley, it’s not actually about us, but about two different people,’ he said with a grin.

‘Do you know who submitted it to the sweep?’ asked Ginny.

‘One of the trainees, I think,’ said Harry. ‘Possibly Trudi Pepperell, but probably Anne Wright.’ He glanced back down at the article. ‘The only error free section is where it talks about “the happy couple’s forthcoming nuptials on Saturday 24th May”. I’d have been happy if they’d managed to get the date wrong.’ He smiled wickedly. ‘Is it just me or does “nuptials” sound a bit naughty? Fancy some pre-nuptial nuptials, Ginny?’

‘The secondary meaning of nuptials is breeding, and I suspect that you knew that, Harry,’ she told him. ‘I suppose that we’re done here, now. You tidy the magazines away. I’ll be back in soon.’

She kissed him lightly on the cheek, sprang to her feet, and dashed from the room before he could stop her.

When she returned, a few minute later, she peered around the door. The magazines were in a neat stack on the floor, although he was still browsing through one of them.

She carefully adjusted her negligee. It was short and low cut and so transparent that it was difficult to justify calling it black. She pushed the door open, leant a shoulder against the doorframe, and asked, ‘What am I wearing, Harry?’

His face was a picture. Pleasure, astonishment, lust, and confusion fought with each other, and then his sense of humour caught up too.

‘A negligible of course, in every sense of the word, what else would you wear for a negligible bachelor?’ he told her, laughing.
Eighty-four Days: A Good Match by Northumbrian
Eighty-four Days: A Good Match

The wind was gusting from the north, and its arctic blasts were cold enough to make Harry’s cheeks sting. He looked up into the clear and cloudless sky; it was the sort of flying weather Ginny loved. As he followed the chattering orange-clad crowds through Uppandown Wood, Harry wondered which combination of Beaters the Harpies would be playing. He had his own ideas of course, every fan did.

As Harry neared the stadium, he spotted his two best friends in the distance. They were standing outside the Gold Club entrance, waiting for him to arrive. Ron, like most of his fellow fans, was in orange. He wore a bright orange sweater with the double-C logo of the Cannons on the front, together with a matching hat and scarf. Hermione had, as she usually did during these games, decided to remain neutral. She wore a smart burgundy-coloured coat with matching gloves and cloche; she was a solitary red berry on the edge of a sea of orange.

On seeing that Ron was already wearing his team’s colours, Harry pulled his own hat and scarf from his pockets and put them on. It would help his friends to spot him in the crowd, but it was also a provocative act, he knew that. He was still adjusting his scarf when someone shouted at him. It was friendly banter; the Cannons fans were a good-natured bunch, and they rarely indulged in serious name-calling or violence. Ginny always told Ron that it was because they weren’t very good at hooliganism, either.

‘Yeh migh’ need a new pair o’ glasses, pal. The visiting fans entrance is the other side o’ the ground.’ The dumpy little middle-aged man who shouted at Harry was wearing a knitted orange pullover Harry glanced at the orange sphere, which was straining under enormous pressure as it fought a losing battle with the man’s belly, and tried not to think of him as a giant Satsuma.

Harry caught the man’s eyes and grinned. ‘I only come here once a year and I always sit on this side of the ground. My mate’s a Cannons fan,’ he called. ‘He’s so daft about them that my girlfriend and I bought him Gold Club membership for Christmas.’

As Harry shouted back, he saw the man’s eyes widen in recognition. Glancing around, he realised that many other fans had recognised him, too. He heard the name “Harry Potter” as it whispered its way through the crowds.

Now it will really start, Harry thought. He was right.

‘Do us all a favour, Potter. Get your girl up the duff sharpish-like,’ someone shouted. Harry looked, but was unable to identify the owner of the voice.

‘He don’t need to, the Harpies are off their game anyway. Their new Beaters are crap,’ someone else said.

And so the banter ended and the heckling began. Words, some sharp, some blunt, some witty, some witless, buzzed around Harry like maddened bees. Many were attempting to sting him, but he was immune to most. He caught only a handful of the dozens of shouted comments, and they were easily swatted away.

‘The Harpies Chasers aren’t much better. That’s why they’re dropping down the league.’

‘Yeah, they’ve almost dropped into the bottom half of the table! They won’t be getting into the European Champions League this year.’

‘Huh, so what? When’s the last time we qualified for Europe?’

‘Nineteen-twelve.’

‘I know that. It were a rhetorical question, ye’ nugget.’

‘Weasley’s still scoring.’

‘I’d like to score wi’ ‘er.’ Harry heard that particularly gruff and lust filled voice with perfect clarity. He usually did, his ears seemed to have an uncanny ability to attune to the words he didn’t like to hear. He looked around, but the owner of the voice was well hidden within the crowd. That was when the swarm of words turned a little nastier, and really tried to sting him.

‘What’s she like in the sack, Potter? If she’s as energetic as she is in the air, I’m surprised that she hasn’t broken yer broom.’

‘Seen the calendar? They’ve used the pictures in the match programme.’

‘Yeah, it’s true what they say, Ginny has her knockers.’

‘Yeah, and I’d like to get a hold of ‘em.’

‘She should play in that bikini.’

There was a lot of laughter, but Harry clenched his teeth and didn’t rise to the bait. He’d heard it all before, he reminded himself sternly. After three years of following Ginny to almost every game, both home and away, he’d eventually become used to the catcalls. Every Harpies player was subjected to ribald, rude and sometimes sexually explicit comments by the opposing teams’ fans. As the final few comments proved, the Official Harpies 2003 Swimsuit Calendar hadn’t helped matters.

‘Don’t listen to ‘em,’ a wizened and ancient witch who was hobbling along next to Harry observed under her breath. ‘Hearing this lot, you wouldn’t think that, even though they’re off-form, the Harpies are a lot higher up the league than us. We’re still rubbish; I don’t know why I bother coming here.’

‘I do,’ Harry told her. He leaned in close and whispered conspiratorially. ‘It’s because you’re a fan.’ The old lady chuckled and patted his arm.

Because Harry wasn’t rising to their baiting, the fans simply began chanting: ‘Cannons! Cannons!’ The chant increased in volume as the crowds approached the turnstiles. The queues were forming rapidly, snaking their way into the woods from the entrances. Harry moved sideways past the queues and towards Ron and Hermione, who were still standing outside the ornate glass canopy which sheltered members of the Cannons’ Gold Club.

‘Hi, Ron, happy birthday,’ said Harry, giving his friend a quick brotherly hug before turning to Ron’s wife. ‘Hi, Hermione.’

‘Hi, Harry,’ said Hermione, hugging him and kissing his cheek.

‘Your present is still at Grimmauld Place, Ron. We’ll give it to you after the game,’ Harry told his friend.

‘Thanks, mate. Ready for a trouncing?’ Ron asked. He stepped back and rubbed his hands in anticipation.

Harry snorted with laughter. ‘The Harpies haven’t been playing well this season, Ron, but they aren’t so badly off form that the Cannons will be able to beat them.’

‘Huh,’ Ron gave a dismissive shrug.

‘How is the wedding planning going?’ Hermione interjected. ‘Is everything organised?’

‘Almost,’ Harry lied, not looking her in the eyes.

Hermione didn’t argue, instead she simply showed her disbelief with a sceptical look powerful enough to make his stomach churn. Turning away, she led her husband and her friend into the Cannon’s ground. While Hermione was showing the Gold Club season pass to the reception-witch, and ordering teas and pies for their box in the executive area of the ground, Ron took the opportunity to return the conversation to the Quidditch match they were about to see.’

We’re sure to win,’ said Ron as they made their way through the corridor which led to the executive box.

‘No you’re not,’ said Harry confidently.

‘We are,’ said Ron. He raised his fist to count the points in his team’s favour, and began by unfurling his little finger. ‘One, your team lost their International Seeker last summer when she went back to Australia and her replacement—what’s her name?’

‘Jeannette Pinder,’ said Harry.

‘Yeah, her! She has a snitch-catch percentage of only thirty-seven,’ said Ron dismissively.

‘Which is twelve percent more than the Cannons Seeker,’ Hermione murmured. Harry looked at her in amazement; she didn’t usually remember Quidditch statistics.

Ron ignored his wife and unfurled his ring finger. ‘Two, they’ve played a different combination of Beaters in every game since Christmas, and their Beaters’ strike-rate has plummeted since both Gwenog Jones and Blodwen James retired.’ He unfurled his middle finger. ‘Three, Gillian Gilfillan is injured, so they’re playing some girl called Raveena Singh, she’s just eighteen and she’s never had a first team game.’

‘She’s the age Ginny was when she had her first game,’ said Harry, grinning.

Ron ignored the comment, straightened his forefinger held his hand in front of Harry’s face. ‘Four, Tegan Godolphin is nowhere near as good a Captain as Gwenog Jones was.’ Ron triumphantly extended his thumb. ‘And, five, last weekend, the Harpies lost their first home game since they signed Ginny. Ballycastle Bats, of all teams, beat them. Even we can beat the Bats!’

‘Twice in the last five years,’ said Hermione.

‘Have you been swotting, Hermione?’ asked Harry curiously.

‘She bought me the Official History of Chudley Cannons for my birthday,’ said Ron. ‘I think she read it first.’

‘It was a lot more interesting than I thought it would be,’ said Hermione. ‘They’ve got a huge number of league records, you know.’

‘Yeah, they’re the only team in the league to have completed a season without winning any games, or even catching the Snitch, and they also hold the all time record for least goals scored in a season,’ said Harry knowledgeably. He grinned at Ron.

‘That was forty years ago,’ said Ron grumpily. ‘You won’t be laughing after we trounce the Harpies. Your team was rubbish last week.’

It was true, Harry knew, and he knew how hard Gwenog, who was now the Harpies trainer, had been pushing her team. The constant practicing and the tactical changes had intensified almost to the point of insanity after their home defeat the previous weekend.

The match against the Bats had been farcical. A misunderstanding between the two Harpies Beaters had resulted in them both being drawn to one Bludger, and “Gil-Gil”, as the fans called Chaser Gillian Gilfillan, had taken the other Bludger to the back of the head. She had been carried off, seriously injured and it would be weeks before she’d be fit enough to fly. One Chaser short, and with the Beaters’ confidence shattered by their elementary mistake, the Harpies had fallen to pieces. Harry, however, was not particularly worried, as he knew a few things about the restructured squad which Ron didn’t.

Ron opened the door to the warm and cosy private box, but Harry remained outside and gave his friend a knowing smile.

‘Five interesting points, Ron, but they aren’t important. I only need one,’ he said. ‘You’re coming to our place for a birthday meal tonight, and we’re going to your mum’s for Sunday lunch tomorrow. There is no way Harpies Captain Ginny Weasley will allow her brother to get bragging rights.’

‘There… wait… what?’ said Ron. ‘They’ve made Ginny Captain? Seriously?’

Harry nodded. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to sneak down to the Visitors’ changing room. I have to ensure a Harpies victory.’

‘Are you still doing that?’ Hermione asked.

‘Ginny’s pre-match warm-ups are very important for both of us,’ said Harry, nodding. He turned to his best friend and stared up into his face. ‘The real reason the Harpies lost last weekend, Ron, is that Ginny couldn’t warm up properly. We had an unscheduled “All Auror alert” only twenty minutes before the start of the game. Polly and her team walked into a carefully prepared ambush.’

‘Bloody hell,’ said Ron. ‘It wasn’t in the papers. Was anyone…’

‘Some minor injuries, but we caught most of the gang who carried out the ambush. It hasn’t made the papers. There were no other witnesses, and I’ve told the Press Office to keep it quiet, I don’t need to tell you two not to tell anyone. You won’t read about it for a few weeks. Someone had Imperiused the gang leader, and we’re still trying to find out who. But that’s work, and you aren’t an Auror any longer, Ron.’ He grinned at his friend, and strode out from the box. ‘You know where I’m going; I won’t be long,’ he called over his shoulder.

Harry strolled along the corridor, used his wand to open the door marked “Staff Only”, slipped down two flights of stairs, and stepped out into the players’ tunnel. About ten yards away to his left, on the opposite side of the tunnel, was a door marked “Visitors”. To his right, about thirty yards away, the three security wizards who had been looking out over the pitch turned and marched towards him.

‘What’re ye’ doin’ down here?’ the nearest began.

‘Visiting my fiancée,’ said Harry.

‘What? Fiancée? You can just stop right there, mate,’ the man called threateningly. ‘This is a staff and players only area, you’re not allowed down here.’

As the security wizards had been facing away from him, looking out onto the brightness of the pitch, they had not recognised him in the semi-dark of the corridor. The three men began marching towards him, so Harry moved rapidly away, dashed up to the door to the visitors changing room, and gave three rapid knocks.

The door was opened immediately, and Ginny jumped into his arms. It was a manoeuvre with which they were very well practiced. Harry stood just outside the door. Because of the foibles of the Harpies Keeper, he wasn’t allowed to enter and Ginny wasn’t allowed to set foot outside the changing room.

‘Warm up time,’ said Ginny happily.

They kissed. It was a slow and gentle kiss. After a few moments Harry was vaguely aware that the security wizards had arrived. However, they did not interfere.

‘It’s only Potter and Weasley,’ said one of the security wizards gruffly. ‘They were at it last year, as well.’

‘They do it before almost every game,’ Tegan Godolphin called from within the changing room. ‘My advice is that you leave them to it. You don’t want to cross either of them.’

There was some grumbling, but by the time Harry carefully lowered Ginny back inside the changing room, the security wizards had left.

Remembering his earlier discussions with Hermione, Harry decided that he’d better warn his girlfriend. ‘Oh, Hermione’s worried that we haven’t got the wedding completely organised yet, Ginny. Expect…’

‘I’ll tell her that I threw that damn stupid wedding organiser she bought for us in the fire,’ Ginny snapped. ‘It’s our wedding, and we’ll organise it in our own way, and in our own time.’

‘Don’t you think…?’

‘Merlin, Harry, now is not the time to start on this! I’ve got a match to win. Besides, if you want Hermione to run your life, why didn’t you ask her to marry you?’

‘She’s my friend, Ginny. She worries about us,’

‘She worries about everything, Harry,’ said Ginny forcefully. ‘She’s my friend, too, remember. She’d have plans and lists and notes and charts, because it helps her. It drives me crazy! And it drives you crazy, too.’

‘True,’ admitted Harry. ‘But she has a point, Ginny, we…’

‘Tomorrow, Harry! We do need to sort stuff out, I know that, but we can do it tomorrow. It’s been a busy few weeks for both of us.’

‘Is everything okay, Captain?’ Harry asked. He could see her nerves. They were obvious in her slightly lop-sided stance, and the way she was unconsciously fiddling with the Captain’s armband she was wearing. It was apparent that her outburst wasn’t entirely due to Hermione’s interference.

‘Fine,’ Ginny told him, but when she looked up into his face and smiled, he could see the anxiety in her bright brown eyes.

‘You’ll make a great Captain, Ginny,’ he told her with certainty. He reached forwards and tenderly stroked her cheek with the tips of his fingers, trying to physically pass her his support and encouragement.

Ginny’s hair was, as always during a game, tied into a ponytail with ribbons of Harpies green. She smiled at his words and her nerves were replaced by a look of fiery determination. She threw off her worries with a sudden shake of her head which sent the flaming red rope of her hair flying, and caused Harry’s heart to skip a beat.

‘Thanks, Harry. I think that the changes are going to work,’ she told him. ‘Everyone knows what they’re supposed to be doing.’

‘Don’t forget that it’s Ron’s birthday,’ he said.

‘I’ve told the team,’ said Ginny, grinning. ‘We’re going to make sure he’ll never forget it.’

Harry laughed.

‘It’s time to go, Harpies,’ a voice called.

‘Bye, Harry,’ said Ginny. She blew him a final kiss, and then reluctantly closed the door in his face.

‘Bye Ginny, and good luck Harpies. Go out there and win,’ he told the door quietly.




‘Cheer up, Ron,’ said Ginny. ‘It’s your birthday.’

The four friends were sitting in the dining room at Grimmauld Place, and Kreacher had just placed a steaming steak and kidney pie on the table in front of them. The room had been decorated with banners proclaiming “Ron Weasley: 23 Today” but Ron wasn’t in a mood to celebrate.

‘Yeah, it’s not the first time the Cannons have been beaten by a one thousand point margin,’ said Harry. He tried his best to sound consoling. Unfortunately, his pride in his fiancée’s achievements in her first game as captain won out, and what he’d intended to be soothing words came out sounding very much like a gloat. Ron’s scowl deepened.

‘Although we did manage to it in one hour and fifteen minutes, which is a record fast time,’ said Ginny, who obviously had no intention of letting up on her brother.

‘Making the book I bought you out of date,’ added Hermione, who, it seemed to Harry, was more annoyed about that fact than anything else.

‘Gits,’ Ron told them.

‘Happy birthday, Ron,’ said Harry, concerned by his friend’s mood. He gave Ron an apologetic smile and handed him a small rectangular parcel. ‘I hope that this will make up for your team’s defeat.’

‘At least a little bit,’ added Ginny.

Ron took out his frustration on the wrapping paper, ripping and tearing it into tiny shreds before carefully opening the flat orange box inside. As he looked inside, he gasped, and stared in astonishment at both Harry and Ginny. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

Curious, Hermione tried to take the box from her husband’s hands. He simply tightened his grip, staring into the box as though he was afraid to give it up. Hermione stood and moved behind Ron in order to better see the framed photograph he was holding so tightly. The photograph was black and white, and was of a team in old-fashioned Cannon’s robes jumping for joy, waving happily, and passing a shining cup from player to player. Underneath every player, there was a signature.

‘It’s the League Cup squad from 1950. The last time we won anything! And it’s autographed. Is … is it really genuine?’ asked Ron, his voice hoarse with emotion.

‘That’s an Autoquill Dictation Deluxe,’ Hermione began, pointing to one of the signatures. Ginny looked up at Hermione, and motioned her into silence.

‘It’s as genuine as we could make it, mate,’ said Harry. ‘Ginny should tell the story, she bought the photograph, and it was her idea.’

Ginny, too, stood. Walking around the table to stand next to her brother, she pointed to a woman standing in the centre of the photograph. ‘The photograph is genuine, Ron. It’s an original, that’s Naomi Godfrey,’ she said. ‘The Cannons owners sold most of this team during the closed season, just after they won the cup.’

‘They made a fortune, and retired, and the club never recovered,’ Ron grumbled.

‘Naomi Godfrey was signed by the Harpies,’ said Ginny. ‘She played for us for the rest of her career. Her daughter, Isabel, still works for us, she’s head of our grounds staff. Naomi died just before Christmas.’

‘Yeah, there was an obituary in the Cannon’s programme the following weekend,’ said Ron.

‘Isabel Smith—Godfrey as was—found this photo when she was clearing out her mum’s house. She brought it into the stadium—just to remind us who her mum was, I think. I asked her what she was going to do with it, and she said she was going to try to sell it. I knew you’d like it, so I contacted Harry and he agreed that we should make her an offer. It’s Naomi Godfrey’s official copy of the team photo, Ron, one of only a dozen in existence. The players all got one, and so did the management. The official Cannons stamp, and issue number is on the back. This is number six of twelve, but you’ll have to take it out of the frame if you want to check it. When we bought it, it had been signed by Naomi and four of the other players. And that’s where Harry comes in.’

‘I wondered whether we could get the missing signatures,’ Harry told his friend. ‘So I tried to track down the two remaining players. I didn’t have much luck until I discovered that one of the players who’d signed it had never left Chudley.’

‘Nobby Carlton,’ said Ron, nodding. ‘He’s still on the Cannon’s board. In fact, he’s the only sensible bloke we’ve got on the board.’

‘I spoke to Nobby, and he told me about the two players I was looking for. He’d lost touch with them. He had no idea where they were, but he gave me a few clues. I got enough information for me to be able to track them down. Mary Spinnaker took me a while. She lives in France, but I found her and persuaded her to sign it.’

Ron peered at the signature. ‘“To Ron, Happy Birthday, Mary Spinnaker”. ‘Wow,’ he whispered.

‘That left only Albert Barrington…’ began Harry.

‘The infamous “Bazza”,’ said Ron, looking at the Autoquill signature sadly. ‘He was the only player who wasn’t sold, because no one would have him. The joke was that he was an average player who was never average. The trouble was, half the time he was brilliant, and the other half he was absolute rubbish. The club fired him a couple of years later. He had a serious drink problem. I assume he’s dead, and that’s why…’

‘No, he’s not dead. He still has a drink problem, in fact I think he’s pickled in alcohol,’ said Harry. ‘I eventually traced him in a retirement home. His hands shake so badly that he can’t write. It is an Autoquill signature, but it’s Bazza’s own Autoquill, and they’re his words, Ron, that’s what he dictated to his quill. I tried to make him understand what I wanted, but think he thought you were someone else. He certainly had no idea who I was.’

Ron read the words, “To my old drinking buddy, Ron – from your mate, Bazza”.

‘That’s…’ Ron stifled a sob and began to laugh. ‘That’s bloody brilliant. It’s typical of Bazza; he never seemed to know what was happening, even when he was playing, and he must be at least ninety now. Thanks, Harry. Thanks, Ginny.’ He looked across the table at Harry, and gave his friend a watery-eyed smile.

‘Any time, mate.’

‘You’re welcome, Ron,’ added Ginny. ‘Now put the photo away, you don’t want to spill gravy on it, and you don’t want this pie to go cold, either.’ She served her brother a large piece of pie, and then impetuously kissed his cheek. ‘Happy birthday, Ron. Now, can we eat? I’m famished. I always am after a match.’

‘About the wedding, Ginny…’ Hermione began while Ginny walked back to her seat.

‘Planning meeting here, tomorrow morning, at ten o’clock!’ said Ginny. ‘It’s Ron’s birthday, we’re not talking about it tonight. This is Ron’s special day, and I want to spend the evening gloating about the Harpies win.’
This story archived at http://lumos.sycophanthex.com/viewstory.php?sid=5123