Author's Note: One of my reviewers for the first chapter of this pointed out to me that what I was missing was the scene in which Ginny and Dean rowed about Harry's injury. I'm amazed I didn't think of it myself, but I am grateful for the suggestion. So—here's the second chapter. Also, all the dialogue in the part where Harry interrogates Hermione about Ginny/Dean is taken from pages 423 – 424 in the US hardback of HBP. Please review!
Disclaimer: I'm not JK Rowling and thus don't own anything. Sadly.
When Ginny strode back into the common room, she had her excuse fully planned as to why she had taken so long on her alleged visit to Professor Flitwick. She had expected that Dean might be waiting around for her in one of the chairs near the portrait hole; but no, there he was sitting at the back of the room, encircled by Lavender, Seamus, and Parvati and roaring with laughter at some highly amusing joke. Ginny had to work not to make a face as she trotted toward them—Parvati and Seamus were all right, but Lavender was grating on her nerves more and more often lately. One reason, obviously, was the girl's absolutely vomit-inducing behavior toward Ron; but another reason that Ginny's patience wore thin with Lavender was the fact that she enjoyed complaining about Hermione (her bookishness, Ron's relationship with her, her know-it-all mannerisms, and Ron's relationship with her were just a few favorite topics). This was a habit that had earned Lavender more than one sharp telling off from Ginny.
"Hi," the latter said now, dropping off her book bag in one armchair and then sitting down in another.
"Oh, hey, Ginny," said Dean, wiping at his eyes, which had been watering from mirth. "We were just talking about the Quidditch match."
Ginny raised one eyebrow quizzically. "Is that really something to laugh about? We lost, remember? —Where is McLaggen, anyway? I wanted to use him for target practice."
Parvati, Seamus, and Dean laughed. She didn't bother telling them she hadn't really been joking.
"He's gone off somewhere, probably to hide," Seamus replied with satisfaction. "Everyone was glaring at him and a few people came this close"—he held up a hand to show thumb and index finger an inch apart—"to hexing him. So he ran out of here pretty fast."
"But that's not what we were laughing about," Parvati snickered.
Ginny mustered a smile. "What's so funny, then?"
"Dean, do your impression again!" Lavender squealed.
At once Dean stood up and started energetically miming something. . . . It looked like someone getting whacked with a hard object and then falling off of something . . . a broomstick. . . .
The rest of Dean's audience was sliding down their seats, clutching their stomachs as they roared with enjoyment at his ridiculously crossed eyes and flailing arms, but Ginny was rooted to the spot, torn between sheer disgust and boiling outrage. Before she knew what she was doing, she had stood up abruptly, planting herself solidly in Dean's path so that he had to stop his flapping about and meet her face-to-face.
Flushed with laughter, Dean wobbled a little as he came to a halt in front of her. She merely stared at him; her face was also reddening, but with the anger leaping up like flames in the back of her throat.
"What is this supposed to be?" she found herself saying stiffly.
"Ah, come on, Ginny, you know!" Dean crowed.
"No, I don't. And unless it was you pantomiming McLaggen being pushed to his death from the top of a fifty-foot cliff, then I really can't find it funny at all."
"It was Harry! At the match today, when McLaggen rammed half his brains out with that club—didn't you see, Ginny? I've never seen a stupider-looking fall—"
At these words Lavender, Parvati, and Seamus had all begun guffawing again, but Ginny had never been farther from hilarity.
"A stupid-looking fall?" she repeated incredulously. "Don't be a prat! He could've been killed!"
Dean shrugged. "Oh please, Coote and Peakes caught him in a second, didn't they? And he's not so bad off, Demelza told me he had a—"
"Cracked skull! There's nothing funny about that, Dean!"
"He'll heal!" said Dean indignantly.
"That's not the point. You shouldn't make fun of something like that, it could've been fatal!"
"Yeah, but it wasn't. Do you honestly think I'd be acting that out if Harry had died?"
"Don't you care that he's—"
"What? Got a hole in his head for the night? I'm not that fussed, to be honest, Madam Pomfrey can fix that sort of thing in a minute! Anyway, I mean, he did sort of ask for it, coming right at someone who's waving around a bat . . ."
Chortling, Dean pretended to swing a large invisible Beater's bat. It was then that Lavender had the supreme misfortune of giggling shrilly. The look Ginny gave her a second later was reminiscent of the way a lion might eye a zebra right before it rips its head off. The giggle caught in Lavender's throat and seemed to lodge there; she looked somewhat scandalized.
"C'mon, Lavender," Parvati muttered in a dignified sort of voice. She took her friend's hand and they hurried away to whisper together mutinously in another corner.
Ginny turned to pointedly glare at Seamus, who was still lounging on the couch in front of them.
"Oh—I—er—sorry, I'll just . . ." Seamus stammered. Scratching the back of his neck embarrassedly, he mumbled something about unfinished Transfiguration homework and darted off with the air of a man glad to be getting away.
"What'd you make them go for?" Dean demanded, his good cheer fast replaced by annoyance.
"Because," said Ginny levelly, "this is between you and me. They don't have to see it."
"Sorry, but what's between you and me? Other than you getting worked up about NOTHING?"
The volume of Dean's voice had risen dramatically on that last word; a group of fourth years seated nearby turned to goggle at them, and Ginny distinctly saw Romilda Vane smirking unpleasantly at the fact that she and Dean were rowing.
"You don't have to shout . . ." Ginny began, but the look on his face said that he was going to shout whether he had to or not. For caution's sake she flicked her wand and said, "Muffliato." At once a gentle buzzing noise hummed in the ears of those surrounding the pair, rendering their conversation noiseless to anyone except them.
Dean frowned, taken aback. "What was that spell you just did?"
"Muffliato. Keeps nosy gits from listening in. Harry taught it to me."
Dean's expression contorted once more. "Oh Harry taught it to you, did he?"
"Yes," said Ginny, nonplussed.
"Why're you so angry about this whole thing anyway?" Dean continued sulkily. "I was only having a laugh about Harry getting hit, and you go off and have kittens about it—"
"I am NOT having kittens!" Ginny yelled, an assertion quite at odds with the loudness of her voice and the fury in her eyes. Her common sense was whispering pragmatically, Shut up, Ginny, shut up, you're not doing anyone favors by alienating Dean. But her rogue mouth kept on going.
"Just because I don't like you making fun of what could've very well been a horrible situation—"
"Don't give me that, it wasn't even that hard of a hit! But that's just like a woman, being overdramatic and making everything ten times worse than it really was . . ."
"I'm being overdramatic? I'm being overdramatic? Well, I'd much prefer being an overdramatic girl than a boy with my head shoved up my—"
"Ginny!" called Hermione from across the room, apparently just having returned from the library, as she was weighed down with what looked like half the Arithmancy Section. Dumping a load of books onto the nearest table, she waved Ginny over and said, "If you're not too busy, would you like to quiz me on formulas?"
But Ginny knew perfectly well that Hermione didn't need anyone to quiz her—she was quite capable of studying adeptly by herself. More likely the older girl was just trying to bail Ginny out of a potentially nasty situation.
For several seconds Ginny was tempted to refuse, just so she could continue her argument with Dean (which, at the same time as being utterly frustrating, was somewhat satisfying as well, though she would never admit it to herself). Then sense kicked in; Hermione was being her usual sagacious self, offering her a way out. And at least this way she wouldn't be up into the late hours of the night, bickering herself hoarse.
"I'd better go, Dean, I don't think I'm going to convince you of anything tonight," Ginny said curtly, picking her book bag up off the armchair and slinging it across one shoulder.
"Or any other night," he retorted. "Maybe I'll just go sit with them." He gestured in the direction of Seamus, Lavender, and Parvati, who were watching avidly and pretending not to be. "At least they know how to have fun." And with that he swaggered away.
The angry comeback was on the tip of Ginny's tongue, but she swallowed it back with difficulty. Let Dean be immature; that was fine with her. With the air of a solider marching away from bloody battle, Ginny stumped over to Hermione's study table and plunked down across from her.
Ginny expected Hermione to resume her perusal of a month's worth of Arithmancy notes, but, once again, she surprised Ginny by shoving the jumble of parchment and books to the side and surveying her friend knowingly.
"What's happened now, then?"
"We had a row," said Ginny, rather abashedly.
"I could tell that, even if you did quiet it down with one of those stupid Prince spells." As usual Hermione looked sour at the merest mention of the ingenious Half-Blood Prince.
"Yes, well, passing over that," said Ginny hastily, not wanting to linger on the sore subject, "Dean was being tactless, and I told him off for it, and he got snappy with me. That's all there is to it."
"Hmm." Hermione picked at her cuticles casually. "What did you row about, exactly?"
Ginny neglected to answer for a short while; she really didn't want to see the smug glint that would surely be in Hermione's eye should she hear the truth.
"Well, it was over the Quidditch match, mainly," Ginny replied, evasive as you please. "Dean and the rest were laughing at when—when McLaggen knocked Harry out . . ."
Sure enough, there was that telltale glint in Hermione's eye, along with a wide smile that really didn't fit the situation at all.
"What're you so happy about?" Ginny asked suspiciously.
"Nothing." Hermione quickly composed her features into sober interest once more. "So, what did you say to him?"
"I told him a fellow member of our Quidditch team nearly getting killed isn't something to howl at like monkeys, it's lucky Harry isn't really hurt, and he should shut his fat mouth about it."
"Well, I quite agree!" said Hermione, looking alarmed at the very mention of Harry's accident. "It looked awful from a spectator's point-of-view, I can't imagine what it must've looked like from the air. I mean to say, if he'd just dropped without Coote and Peakes there to save him, what would've happened?"
Ginny didn't bother concealing a wince. "Don't even say that."
"Yes, you're right . . . that's not the question to ask. No, the question I should be asking is, why are you so upset about Dean making fun of McLaggen hitting Harry?"
"Did that sentence even make sense?" said Ginny, wrinkling her nose.
"It made perfect sense, Ginny. Haven't you asked yourself why you're so distressed by this? After all, Harry isn't really badly hurt, it would be okay to shake your head and laugh at what happened, I'm sure once he wakes up and cools down a bit he'll—"
"No, it wouldn't be okay!" said Ginny emphatically. "That's not the point, it's that he—"
"Ginny." Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"But . . . well, fine then, maybe I am a bit . . ." To her horror Ginny could feel herself flushing again. "Well, what are you trying to say?"
"I'm suggesting that perhaps it's not quite natural for you, as a friend, to be so overprotective of Harry . . . unless you were more than a—"
"Why are you trying to push this with me?" Ginny interrupted furiously. "Didn't we just talk about this?" Lowering her voice, she hissed, "I'm with Dean. Dean. Harry doesn't matter!"
She faltered as the lie passed through her lips. An uncomfortable silence fell between them for a minute or two. Well, an uncomfortable silence for Ginny—Hermione seemed to be almost enjoying herself.
"I don't mean to be pushy," the latter went on primly, after a pause, "but I am trying to make you see things clearly. . . . Maybe you two shouldn't go on suppressing your feelings like this. It's just unhealthy."
"Well I'm not going to go off and—wait, what d'you mean, 'you two'?"
"You and Harry. You two."
Disgruntled, Ginny shook her head. "Hermione, if you're still going on about this Harry-liking-me stuff . . ."
"I draw my own conclusions based on keen observation. You don't have to believe me if you don't want to, but I'm sure a day will come when you will." The corners of Hermione's mouth twitched.
Ginny shrugged, as though quite unfazed. "Fair enough, Hermione. And in the meantime, I'll draw my own conclusions, which are that Dean is a git and you're acting like a nutter."
Hermione merely chuckled good-naturedly in response. Then she glanced down at her watch and gasped. "Oh no, is that really the time? Where is the night going! I still have to study for Arithmancy, finish my antidote list for Potions, and then there's that prefects' meeting at seven—and I still have to have time to visit Ron! —And Harry," she added hastily.
"Ron's really counting on you to do that," Ginny put in, happy to steer the conversation away from her own love life. "Kept mentioning it when I saw him."
"Did he really?" Hermione asked, and for a moment her expression became quite unfocused.
"Yeah, which is quite a bit different from what he does whenever Lavender tries to visit—he always fakes sleep to avoid seeing her. Lavender whines about it nonstop, you should hear her go on . . ."
"Ron fakes sleep whenever Lavender's around?" Hermione repeated, as though to confirm she had all the facts straight. When Ginny nodded, Hermione sat back with a pleased smirk; she had the features of a girl who'd just been given a large and extravagant birthday present.
"If you ask me, they'll be over soon, Ron and Lavender," Ginny said bracingly. "They don't even kiss that much anymore. When they are together, it's usually Lavender pouting at Ron for one slight or another. And Ron's hardly trying to make amends. He seems to want to chuck her as soon as possible."
At this Hermione appeared irritated again. "If he wants to get rid of her so much then why doesn't the great coward do it himself?"
Ginny rolled her eyes. "It's Ron, Hermione. You know how he is. He'd sooner gnaw off his own foot than try to have a serious conversation with a girl, especially a girl with temper tantrums as bad as the ones Lavender can throw."
Hermione heaved a deep, heartfelt sigh. "All the same . . ."
Remembering what Hermione had said about being pressed for time, Ginny shook herself from a stupor and then selected a sheet of notes from the table in front of her. With distaste she examined the complex equations scrawled there, then asked, "Did you want me to quiz you, then? . . . Hey, what's this drawn in the margin? Wait—is that an R and a—"
At once Hermione woke from her own reverie. She snatched the parchment from Ginny's hand, crimson staining her cheeks as she said brusquely, "Yes, I'll have that back now, please."
Ginny bit the inside of her cheek to keep from giggling. She had distinctly seen an intricate sketch of the letters R and H intertwined.
Obviously embarrassed, Hermione started stuffing items at random into her bag. "Thanks, but you don't have to do that, I think I'm going to stop by the hospital wing now. See if Harry's up, you know . . ."
Ginny had to work to hide another smirk; she highly doubted Hermione cared a great deal whether Harry was conscious or not. Either way her main focus would no doubt be the redheaded boy in the bed beside his. Why Hermione would fancy her brother Ginny couldn't altogether fathom, but then again as Ron's sister she supposed her opinion was bound to be biased.
"Ron'll be pleased," she said smoothly.
Hermione didn't respond, still busily putting things away, but the color in her cheeks darkened even more so. With a wave of her wand she banished her books and bag to her dormitory; then, with a somewhat smug air, she turned back to Ginny. "Well, see you later. Unless you want to come? I don't know if Harry will be awake yet, but if he is I'm sure he'd want to talk to you."
Now it was Ginny's turn to redden. She opened her mouth for an automatic yes, but on the whole decided it was a bad idea. For one thing, Ron would be perturbed that she had come back after barely half an hour away (besides, he probably didn't want Hermione to be accompanied by anyone). And two . . . what if Harry was up? She had promised herself to keep a distance, hadn't she?
"Sorry, but I can't." Ginny pulled a convincing grimace of displeasure. "Got a load of History of Magic homework . . . I'm going to kill Professor Binns—well, I would, if he weren't already dead. . . ."
With a laugh Hermione strode toward the portrait hole and disappeared. Ginny was left sitting alone at the table, resolutely not so much as peeking in the direction of Dean. Instead she tugged her History of Magic homework from her bag, but only succeeded in writing a few lines before her brain carried her off again.
Hermione had asked her why she'd reacted so strongly to the way Dean had mocked Harry. She hadn't said as much to Hermione, but there was a cut-and-dried reason for that. . . .
Absentmindedly Ginny began to sketch in a corner of her parchment, not aware of what she was doing, her quill seemingly making the strokes of its own accord. . . .
Though she would deny it to her last breath, there was a very good reason for her reaction to Dean's ridicule of Harry. . . .
When she glanced down and finally realized what it was she was drawing, Ginny saw that the answer lay on the parchment before her. Nestled in the bottom corner of her essay on nineteenth century goblin wars, written in flourishing script, were two entwined initials: HP + GW.
Crumpling the parchment up and lobbing it into the fire over the heads of a group of second years, Ginny sighed grimly. Thoughts like that made her feel guilt-ridden and depressed, and yet . . . at the same time . . . very, flutteringly happy.
The root of all my troubles, and the cause for all my happiness, she reflected irritably, picturing Harry's face in her mind's eye. Just like a boy.
The Next Day
Harry walked down the corridor with Ron and Hermione by his side, marveling at the fact that they were all friends again—Hermione had clearly decided that she could forgive Ron in light of his near-death experience. Harry wasn't really paying attention to anything but how appealing breakfast sounded at the moment when Hermione said unexpectedly, "It was a bit tense last night in the common room, you know. Dean and Ginny had an argument."
Harry's head jerked toward Hermione; the monster in his chest awoke from hibernation.
"What did they row about?"
But at that moment Hermione's concentration was deflected, as a small girl in front of them dropped the scales she'd been holding. Harry waited impatiently while Hermione kindly repaired the scales with a tap of her wand; as they walked away, he persisted, "Never mind her. What did Ginny and Dean row about, Hermione?"
"Oh, Dean was laughing about McLaggen hitting that Bludger at you." Fortunately Harry didn't notice the smug smile on her face as she said it.
Ron shrugged. "It must've looked funny."
Hermione launched into a lecture about how it had hardly looked funny, but before she could get into full flow Harry said, as casually as he could, "Yeah, well, there was no need for Ginny and Dean to split up over it." At the expression that came over Hermione's face at this, he amended hastily, "Or are they still together?" His heart was sinking even as he said it.
"Yes, they are—but why are you so interested?"
Harry couldn't remember what he next told her—he thought vaguely it had been some excuse about the Quidditch team. He was most relieved when Luna called out to them from behind, which redirected Hermione's attention. The last thing he needed was for her to deduce his feelings for Ginny. True, she might offer useful advice, but at the same time she might be pushy about his acting on it, or, worse, she might tell Ron. Anyway, his insides all but squirmed in embarrassment at the thought of trying to have in-depth conversations with her about how he felt. . . . It wasn't just some pretty girl he had hardly known, as Cho had been; it was Ginny, for heaven's sake. . . .
But his spirits lifted once more as he savored the fact that Ginny and Dean had fought. And over him as well . . . well, more specifically his injury, but it still essentially came down to the same thing, didn't it? . . .
Harry was probably more cheerful for the rest of the day than he had any right to be, given that they had lost the match spectacularly the day before. But of course, Ginny always had that effect on him.
When he returned to the common room after supper that evening, it was to find Dean sitting alone in an armchair by the fire, his Charms textbook open in front of him. He wasn't reading, however, judging by the fact that his glaring eyes never moved. Hermione had chosen a seat nearby to do some homework of her own, and as Harry went to her and sat down he couldn't help smirking to himself. He thought he knew what was causing Dean such displeasure.
Hermione was consulting some notes she had made for herself and frowning. "I've got so much to do; you wouldn't believe the number of assignments Professor Vector gave us!"
"Really?" yawned Harry, stretching languorously in his chair and throwing another smug look over at Dean.
"Haven't you got anything to do?" Hermione said waspishly.
"Yeah," said Harry without concern, "but I figure it can wait . . . I can just do it in one of my free periods tomorrow. Frankly, I don't feel at all like studying. I've sworn it off for the night."
Hermione gave him her patented "you'll-regret-your-laziness-later" look, then started yanking materials from her bag.
Harry couldn't let her warning bother him, however. His smugness grew tenfold when, a moment later, Ron and Ginny came through the portrait hole together, and instead of sitting with Dean, who was only a few feet away, Ginny plopped down next to Harry.
Ron was quick to pick up on this. Throwing a sly glance over at Dean (who was glaring more determinedly into his book than ever), Ron said in a carrying whisper, "You chuck the git yet, then?"
"You chucked Lavender yet?" Ginny retorted in an undertone. "And don't call him a git, Ron. . . . Hi, Harry."
"Hey." Harry smiled.
Hermione sniffed at the mention of Lavender. Ron himself looked around nervously, as if checking to ensure the coast was clear.
"Is she here yet?"
Harry gave the room a brief scan. "I don't think so."
"Good, because she always expects me to sit with her, and then she makes me do stupid couples' quizzes in Witch Weekly or prods me about how I 'really feel' about her." Ron shuddered.
"And what do you say?" Ginny asked, amused.
Ron colored slightly. "Oh—I dunno—just that . . . I dunno, I like her all right and everything. . . ."
Ginny and Hermione rolled their eyes in unison.
Ron looked exhausted. "But I don't even know if that's so true anymore."
"Why don't you break it off with her?" Hermione demanded rather severely.
Ron screwed up his face. "Because I think she'd hurt me."
Ginny and Harry laughed; Hermione harrumphed and Ron scowled.
"I'm serious!" he said indignantly. "She's probably up in her room now, practicing the Cruciatus Curse in the event of me breaking up with her."
"Her?" Hermione wrinkled her nose scornfully. "She can't even do a Summoning Charm, let alone any good jinxes, let alone the Cruciatus Curse. She was one of the worst in the D.A., I remember that. . . ."
"I don't remember that," said Harry honestly. "I always thought the Creevey brothers were the—" He shut up when Hermione glowered at him.
Ginny cocked her head. "I could teach Lavender the Bat-Bogey Hex. She'd be a slow student, but it might be worth it; when we see you with great flapping things all over your face we'll know you've broken up with her."
Harry chuckled. Ron wasn't amused.
"I don't know if I'll ever break up with her," he mumbled to himself.
Hermione's hand jerked so badly that her quill made a foot-long streak across the essay she was writing. "What did you say?"
Ron waved a placating hand. "It's just—I hope she ends it with me first, you know?"
"Don't be such a coward about it, it can't be that bad—"
"You don't know her that well, Hermione! You know her boyfriend last year left Hogwarts and never came back!"
"That's because he was a seventh year—honestly, Ronald—"
Ginny and Harry watched them bicker for a few minutes more, before Ginny nudged Harry and said, "Fancy studying in the library? I doubt we'll get any work done with these two going at it."
"Yeah," said Harry at once, grabbing his books. "Yeah, I reckon so."
"Where're you two going?" Curious, Hermione postponed her debate with Ron.
"Oh—er—to the library to study," Harry said, uncomfortably aware of the fact that he had sworn to Hermione that he would not study tonight.
Hermione smiled sweetly. "Oh. Have fun."
Harry had to suppress his laughter as they stood up and strode past Dean, who was now bending his Charms book so far back that Harry heard the spine crack. Ginny tactfully ignored him.
Harry didn't learn exceedingly much that evening, as most of it was spent chatting with Ginny; or sometimes staring at her, as in the case of the brief lapses of silence where she bent her head down to read something from a book or page of notes. He had thought he was being terribly subtle as he eyed her, but on one occasion she glanced up and met his eyes.
"Why're you watching me?" she said, trying to sound suspicious, but a smile tugged the corners of her mouth.
"Oh . . ." Say something clever. Say something clever. ". . . I dunno."
Ginny propped her chin on her hand. "It's really discomforting. How would you like it if I stared at you all the time?"
I'd love it, Harry thought, but he only shrugged. "I s'ppose it would get a bit old." He grinned.
She laughed. "You could say that. . . . Blimey, this is boring."
For a moment Harry felt rather hurt, thinking she was talking about her study session with him; then she gestured down to the notes she was attempting to review.
"History of Magic," she said ruefully. "I can't wait till next year; even if I pass my O.W.L., I refuse to take the class. I mean, it could be an interesting subject if anyone but Professor Binns taught it; the only person who could be more boring at a lecture than him is Percy."
Harry started to reply, but at that moment the shriveled librarian, Madam Pince, swooped down on them.
"The library is now closed!" she announced sternly. "Now off with you! Shoo! Shoo! And don't forget to return anything you've borrowed to the proper shelf!" She swept off, extinguishing lamps with her wand as she went.
"What's she so eager to get rid of us for?" Ginny asked irritably, rising.
"Probably off to a secret tryst with Filch," Harry muttered. Ginny giggled.
As they hurried back to the common room together, Harry felt suddenly self-conscious. The time spent with Ginny had felt almost like a study date. Going back to Gryffindor Tower, where Dean was probably lurking, brought him crashing back to reality: she was not dating him, she was dating his classmate. . . .
"Well," said Harry awkwardly, during the pause in front of the portrait hole where the Fat Lady was waiting, "this was—well, we should, er, do it again sometime. . . ."
Ginny smiled. "And since Hermione's talking to Ron again, that means Hermione'll be bickering with Ron again, so we should have plenty of opportunities."
She gave the password and the Fat Lady swung forward to admit them. Harry felt somewhat depressed as he trudged after her. He had vaguely hoped she would take the hint about how much he enjoyed the study session, but judging by her casual air he doubted she did.
Dean and Ginny made up the next day, though from what facts Harry could glean from Hermione it was a tentative truce, with some heavy apologizing on Dean's part. Though he was disheartened by their reconciliation, Harry still felt a surge of triumph: he was, after all, one-up on Dean. And until the joyous day when she kicked that good-for-nothing prat to the curb (if it ever came—Harry blanched at the idea of attending their wedding), he would just have to make do with that.