AN: Well, this is it, ladies and germs. The end of the road. It's been an amazing ride and I can't thank everyone enough for every review, every view count, every alert, and every favorite. I'd like to thank in particular the people who made it a point to regularly review. It was a motivator like you wouldn't believe.
Oh yeah, and I own nothing. In case you forgot.
As it turned out, the summer sun in London was boiling. Puck could almost see the steam wafting off the black asphalt that cut through the old brownstone and brick buildings, an anachronism.
He stood with his arms crossed, baking away in a long-sleeved suit jacket as he leaned up against one of those iconic red telephone booths. Harry was inside the booth, having a fiercely whispered telephone conversation with God knew who. As Puck watched the clouds wheel over building that stretched to the sun, he thought. He thought about how at one point in his life, he figured that Columbus would be the biggest city he'd ever get to see, prison bars the only long-term relationship he'd ever find, a one night stand the most meaningful relationship he'd ever have.
And yet, there he was. In the middle of a busy London street watching the little people swarm past, and he wasn't even running from some kind of police warrant. He was just waiting for the love of his life.
Harry emerged from the phone booth carding his fingers through his hair, and it stuck up even more wildly than usual. Puck flashed him a crooked smile, and felt that uncomfortable sensation, like his heart was clenching, that feeling that never seemed to grow old. Harry returned the smile. He reached up to straighten Puck's hastily arranged black tie. Puck in turn smoothed out the lapels of Harry's suit.
"I seem to remember that this is how we started a truce of sorts," remarked Harry.
"We wasted all that time hating each other," said Puck. "And we could have spent it having some amazing sex instead."
Harry shrugged. "Hate, love, what's the difference? Besides, I think that we more than made up for the lost time."
"That we did," agreed Puck, and he locked both arms around the back of Harry's neck and pulled him into a deep kiss. Nobody passing by paid them the least bit of mind.
Harry finally pulled back, lips a little swollen, a little red. "Much as I'd like to continue that, we're going to be late if we don't leave now. And Hermione will not hesitate to eviscerate you or me if we are."
"That she wouldn't," said Puck, and he shuddered a little bit. Hermione was an amazing chick, no doubt, but she could scare the living shit out of him sometimes, even more than pregnancy hormone Quinn or PMS Rachel could.
He looped an arm through Harry's, and they set off down the sidewalk together linked at the elbow. For all the world, they looked like a pair of exceedingly well-dressed shoppers having a stroll together as they went window shopping. However, Harry seemed to be on the lookout for a particular building.
Harry stopped in front of a dingy old diner that nobody seemed to be interested in frequenting. In fact, shoppers continued on past it without a second glance or even a speculative look-over. Puck peered inside the fly-speckled windows. The plastic topped tables looked greasy, and a single stooped old woman in an equally grease spattered apron was sweeping the same patch of floor over and over and stirring up a cloud of dust.
"Are you sure this is the right address?" asked Puck, turning to Harry and giving him a skeptical frown.
"Absolutely," said Harry, and he opened the door, dragging Puck in along with him.
The cool air washed over them both like a blessing, and it took Puck a moment to register what he was seeing. There was no old woman determinedly sweeping. For that matter, there was no diner. Instead they stood inside what could only be some kind of cathedral without pews or crosses or any of the usual religious trappings, or perhaps an palace ballroom. Rows upon rows of white chairs with morning glories creeping up the legs filled the hall.
Harry chose the only pair of seats left, in the back right corner. It seemed the ceremony was just about to start; the enormous crowd's attention was focused entirely on the front, where Puck could just barely make out a pair of figures: one in a floaty white dress and one in some kind of black robes with a shock of red hair.
The ceremony was not half as strange as Puck might have expected out of a Wizarding wedding. The only real bit of magic came at the end, when Ron and Hermione were engulfed in a shower of silver stars by the wizened old man officiating the ceremony, as all the wedding goers rose to applaud.
Breaking away from her embrace with Ron, Hermione clapped her hands three times. The chairs vanished, and refreshment tables took their place along the walls, plates decorated with matching morning glories. A string quartet trooped in and set up fort in the far corner, striking up a cheerful waltz. Puck hung on to Harry's arm, not knowing any of the people milling about and not entirely sure what he would do if approached by one.
He saw Ron and Hermione struggle through throngs of well-wishers as they spotted Harry and Puck and attempted to make a beeline for them. When Hermione reached them, she immediately threw her arms around the pair.
"I am so, so happy you made it," she said breathlessly, fixing her hair, which she had left smooth and loose except for a few flowers braided in.
Ron gave them both a manly sort of clap on the back.
People turned to look at the source of the commotion that they were creating, and Puck heard something like a ripple go through the crowd.
"Did you just see that? I think it might have been Harry Potter?"
"Do you think that it's really him?"
"The papers said that he was hiding on top of Mount Kilimanjaro. Or dead."
"Are you sure that's him?"
"Look, you can see his scar and everything!"
Puck watched, bemused, as people goggled and pointed. Almost as if on cue, the swarm of reporters who had hung around the refreshment tables to chat people up and get quotes on the wedding descended upon Harry.
"Mr. Potter, Mr. Potter, what do you have to say about your sudden leave of absence?"
"Are the rumor that you were undercover and behind the dissolution of the rogue Death Eater gangs true?"
"What do you have to say about allegations made by Ministry Public Relations head Sawyer?"
"Will you marry me?"
Multicolored flashes of smoke went off as cameras clicked madly, and quills zipped across notepads and parchment of their own volition.
Puck could see why Harry had run away. It was like watching a pack of hyenas.
"Mr. Potter," said one of the younger female reporters, sidling up next to Harry. Her lipstick was red, her black pinstripe suit cut low in the top and short in the skirt. Puck felt an irrational surge of jealousy. "What do you have to say about your relationship status? Are the rumors true, did you elope with Miss Ginevra Weasley?"
Out in the crowd, Puck could see a red-headed girl press her index fingers to her temples, as if she'd contracted a sudden migraine. The man next to her patted her shoulder comfortingly. Harry, however, did not look concerned.
"Or are you currently…unattached?" asked the reporter, twirling her quill pen.
"No and no," said Harry cheerfully. "But I am the happiest man in the world."
And without further ado, Harry swept Puck into another deep kiss. Puck was dimly aware of the cameras going mad, the reporters nearly pissing themselves with excitement. It was all a little dramatic, he thought. Kurt and Rachel would approve. But all of that was eventually lost to the feel of lips on his, and the thought that if anyone was happier than Harry, it was probably him.
Well, the title is "The Happy Club?" How could I not give them a happy ending, big fat wizard wedding and all?