A/N: Hey guys, I know I haven't updated TTE in a while. It's not abandoned...I just have a lot of packing/wedding plans to finalize. Big day is in a little over 2 months! But these ficlits have deadlines, so they tend to be in the front burner. I do pray you continue to be patient with me. :)

Written for Round 5 of the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.

Prompt: Weasley, Ginny

Position: Beater 2

Team: Tutshill Tornadoes

Optional Prompts: winter; forgetful; "We are running out of time!"


"What's it like to be married to Harry Potter?" How many times have I've been asked that since we exchanged vows? Goodness, it's been too many times to count. It's like the public eye doesn't seem to realize that Harry is a warm blooded homo sapien. To them, he's just a legend. Maybe it's because they don't wake up in the morning next to him, or fall asleep listening to his breathing…

But to me, he's the most loving, most annoying, most messy, most caring, most stubborn individual I have ever met.

I once told a random wizard that when he asked me that infamous question a few years back. His eyes grew as wide as tea saucers. I think he actually wondered whether I was Ginny Weasley-Potter.

But no, people think so highly of Harry that they fail to realize he is just a typical man. There are these little things he does that drive me up a wall.

For breakfast, he makes a full pot of coffee despite the fact he only drinks two cups. He claims he might want more. I always end up vanishing the remainder three quarters of the pot.

He also like to take swigs of his drinks and swish them in his mouth before he swallows, a vain attempt to clean out his mouth. I tell him to buy a bottle of mouthwash.

He leaves the toilet seat up. He forgets to put the cap back on the tube of toothpaste. He turns his socks inside out when he throws them in the hamper. He is fully obsessed with racing brooms.

And don't get me started when I try to have a conversation with him during Quidditch season. There is no way to get his attention span when the sports commentators are on the air. You should see him eat. I actually counted the seconds it took for his fork to leave his plate to his mouth during an intense Chudley's game. His eyes were all glassy and the fork hovered for a good 110 seconds before he ate. It was futile though. Two seconds later, the food was spat out as well as a few choice obscenities at the bad call from the referee. It was pretty pathetic.

When Harry sleeps, it's just awkward. He is one of those people who has to sleep with his mouth open. Sometimes, he sounds like a dying dementor. And then his breath….ugh. Halitosis. After sleeping that long with your mouth open, that is all you can expect.

He is also forgetful. He's missed our anniversary twice so far. It doesn't help that a lot of things happen in December. Maybe we should have picked a date that wasn't so close to the winter holiday, but it was a great way to have all of my family come back to England and then stay through Christmas and the New Year. And then Albus was born a few days after our anniversary as well. (That year, I let slide. Who would want to do anything when you are about to pop?) But I have learned that he needs constant reminding of our wedding date, and that he shouldn't lump together both occasions for our special day. It's a little disappointing at times.

I know I paint him in a bad light, but believe me, it's not a bed of roses for him when he gets home. I tend to drag my feet when it comes to getting ready. It's not uncommon to hear him yell "Ginny, we are running out of time! We are going to be dead soon!" whenever we have that rare occasion of going out and I spend 45 minutes fixing my hair.

I nag. All the time. And I nag about more than just the little quirks I mentioned earlier. I tend to be obsessive compulsive about our Gringotts statements. Maybe it's because I never had money growing up. I am constantly worrying that we don't have enough money to pay our bills or if we are saving enough for our retirement. It takes countless talks for him to calm me down.

I tend to be very hard on my brothers, and my husband is the person I complain to the most about them. I'm sure it doesn't make him feel wonderful when I am berating his best friend, but he sits there quietly and listens whole heartedly without one word of annoyance or retort. And through that, he manages to convince me that I shouldn't be so hard on my brothers, that they are adults and that they will make the bed they sleep in. He doesn't this without setting me off. It's magical.

He's wonderful with the kids. He gets down on his hands and knees and let's them ride his back. He tells them he was a hippogriff in a past life. That makes them laugh. He's quite the storyteller too. They all sit on the floor surrounding him as he tells the story of meeting head to head with the Hungarian Horntail, or the mermaids in the Black Lake. Of course, I think he definitely over-exaggerated some of the minor details, but he assures me every last description happened to him. (If I remember correctly, that Horntail never snapped at him. He never got close enough to it, or he would have been singed to death),

We are good together. He makes a mess, I clean it up. I go mental, he calms me down. He has flashbacks, and I comfort him. I have cold feet from poor circulation, and he has unnaturally high body temperature to warm them up for me. Are we more special and blessed than other couples? I certainly hope to think so. But then again, after talking with my friends about their spouses, they share the same joys, sorrows, annoyances, fights, and love that I do with my husband.

If that's what it takes to have a loving, fruitful marriage, then maybe I am not as special as I think. But I am definitely blessed.

"It's nothing special, but I am definitely blessed." It may not be the response that the others are looking for, but it is exactly the way I see it. And I would not have it any other way.