Two Years Later: Dinner Date
Title: Two Years Later: Dinner Date
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Deathly Hallows, Previous Chapters
Rating: PG-13 for language
Characters/Pairings: Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Neville/Luna (suggested), Kreacher
Summary: Harry has his friends for dinner, where things are learned and decisions made
Notes: I once again find myself adding more chapter ideas coming out of this story. In the end, though, I have to decide if they’re worth writing a separate chapter later or just summarizing them elsewhere. I don’t own these characters; they all belong to JK Rowling.
Twenty-Two Months Later: Housewarming / Previous Chapters / Thirty Months Later: Thestral
After the door swung open, it took Hermione Granger a few moments to realize why there was no one standing behind it.
“Good evening, Miss Granger,” came a croaking voice from her feet.
“Kreacher!” said Hermione, looking down to see the ancient-looking house-elf bent low before her, long nose and thick white ear hair almost touching the ground.
“Please come in,” he said.
“What are you doing here?” Hermione said, her brow furrowed in concern. “Harry didn’t…”
“Kreacher is preparing your meal, Miss,” Kreacher said as she stepped into Number 12, Grimmauld Place, closing the door behind them.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” Hermione mumbled, her rage building quickly as she stormed down the hallway. “Harry!”
“In the kitchen, Hermione!” Harry called back. Hermione paused as she walked into the room, not expecting what she was seeing. Harry was standing at the kitchen counter, stirring a bowl of something.
“Are you wearing an apron?” she asked, aghast, staring at his chest.
Harry shrugged. “Thought I’d get into the act.”
“Harry,” Hermione grabbed Harry Potter’s arm and pulled him away from Kreacher as the elf rushed back into the kitchen. “What’s he doing here?”
“Who, Kreacher?”
“Yes, Kreacher!” Hermione said under her breath. “Isn’t his work day supposed to be over already?”
“Yes, it is.”
“And you’re paying him overtime, right?”
“No, I’m not.”
Hermione grunted in frustration, her fingers pinching the bridge of her nose. “Harry, you have to…”
“Master Potter!” Kreacher yelled from behind him. “The pasta’s boiling over!”
“Oh, shit,” Harry said, running past Kreacher, who Hermione noticed was staring at the stove, his face red with exertion but otherwise making no move to remove the overflowing pot from the stovetop.
“Sssss, that’s hot,” Harry hissed as he moved the pot to an unused burner.
“Harry,” Hermione continued unabated, “You can’t keep expecting Kreacher to be at your beck and call twenty-four seven. He’s an elf, and he deserves a fair day’s work, with a fair day’s pay, and nothing more. He should be allowed to think and decide for himself, and not be serving you hand over foot.”
“He’s not,” said Harry, returning to the bowl and pouring in some cream from a glass bottle. “That enough, Kreacher?”
“Recipe calls for seven hundred fifty milliliters, Master Harry,” said Kreacher. “That was only six hundred thirty two.”
“Oh…”
Kreacher sighed and pointed at bowl. The level of liquid in the bottle lowered slightly, as the concoction in the bowl grew slightly fuller.
“Thanks,” Harry said, stirring away.
“If Master wishes to be his own servant, Kreacher thinks Master should at least buy a fucking kitchen scale.”
“See?” Harry said to Hermione. “He’s swearing at me and not slamming his fingers in the cupboard door. I think he’s growing.”
“Harry…”
“Look, Hermione, I get it,” Harry said, walking back to her. “He’s here by his own choice, I promise.”
“You’re sure?” Hermione asked with a skeptical eyebrow.
“I’m not a Malfoy, and I’m not a Crouch,” Harry said slowly. “I did just like you suggested. He didn’t want to be free. He didn’t want to be paid, or to have work limited hours. So I ordered him to work here for eight hours a day, five days a week. I ordered him to stay at Hogwarts when he wasn’t working here, and ordered him to go anywhere else he pleased if he wanted to during those times. And I ordered him to make himself any meals he desired while he was here,” for this Harry leaned in, “so he’s working for board, which comes out of my pocket, so it’s kind of like paying him. I couldn’t do any better than that, and you know it.”
“So what’s he doing here now?”
“Kreacher was told that Master Harry was having guests tonight,” Kreacher said, apparently overhearing all. “Kreacher did not wish to disgrace his house by serving bad food, so Kreacher asked to stay.”
“I couldn’t talk him out of it,” said Harry. “So I negotiated with him. He’d tell me how to make some good stroganoff, and I’d make it.”
“Master Harry told Kreacher that some wizards enjoy making meals for their friends,” said Kreacher, somewhat dejected. “Kreacher does not understand, as his Mistress Black never touched her oven.”
Hermione looked back and forth between Harry and Kreacher, ready to continue the argument. In the end, she shook her head. “I’m not going to get my way here, am I?”
“No, you’re not,” said Harry. “Sorry about that.”
Hermione sighed. “Can I help with anything?”
“No, because you’re my guest,” Harry said. “Grab some wine. Make yourself comfortable. Say hi to Luna.”
Hermione turned around, and was surprised to see Luna Lovegood sitting at the kitchen table. She had a glass of red wine next to her, along with the nearly-full bottle, and appeared to be quietly listening to their entire conversation.
“Hello,” she said to Hermione.
“Hello, Luna,” said Hermione, walking over to the table. “I didn’t know you were here.”
“I know,” Luna said. “You were too busy yelling at Harry. I understand.”
Hermione reddened slightly. “I wasn’t yelling at him.”
“Yes, you were.”
“Yes, I was,” Hermione admitted.
“Kreacher is having a difficult time with it,” said Luna as Harry poured the mixture into a second pot. “He wishes that he could be more useful. He keeps giving Harry angry looks.”
“If I felt like I’d been forced to work overtime for no extra pay, I’d be angry, too,” Hermione grumbled.
“Kreacher doesn’t believe overtime exists,” said Luna. “He believes that Harry is infringing on his territory. It makes him uncomfortable.”
“He’s uncomfortable because Harry’s not asking him to do everything?” Hermione said, pouring a glass of wine from the bottle. “God, we have to do something about that mindset. House elves shouldn’t have to think that way.”
“He doesn’t understand that Harry has lived most of his life alone,” said Luna. “That he prefers to be independent, to do his own work, to have no one in his house but Ron, Ginny, or yourself when he falls asleep. He wishes that he could free Kreacher, but knows that Kreacher would not like that. So they try. They come from two different worlds. But I can see that they’re starting to come together.”
Hermione, relenting, took a sip of wine. “So you’ve been watching them a while, have you?”
Luna shrugged. “I have been here for an hour, since Harry and I do not have jobs. You can learn a lot about people in an hour.”
Hermione shook her head. The Unemployed Ones, she thought as she looked between Luna and Harry. Well, technically not. Luna did have some work, as a freelance writer for her father’s newspaper. One or two of her articles, which she had written on their tour and which contained information that wasn’t too far-fetched, had actually made it into the interior pages of the Prophet’s travel section. She still didn’t have full-time employment, but the commissions for publication were decent enough. And Luna had once briefly mentioned writing a full book on their travels, and was gauging interest from Xeno’s publishing sources.
Hermione only hoped that Luna stuck to information about their destinations, and doesn’t delve into Rita Skeeter tabloid territory. Some of the more disreputable publishers might press for a chapter or two on The Chosen One’s exploits with Ginny, or for any juicy bits of drama amongst his friends (Ron and Hermione were both shocked to see the publicity they received soon after The Battle of Hogwarts, along with fan mail that came with it, but tired of the exposure quickly). She didn’t think Luna would ever stoop to that level, but Hermione also knew that the media could be very tricky when it came to getting the story they wanted.
So Luna at least had some source of income. Harry, on the other hand…
“How was work, Hermione?” Harry asked as he stirred a pot on the stove.
“Same as it ever was,” Hermione sighed. “This whole entry-level, foot in the door thing’s getting fairly tedious.”
“You’re an advisor to the Minister of Magic,” said Harry. “I wouldn’t exactly call that ‘entry level.’”
“But it feels like it, though,” said Hermione. “Advisor means that he’ll ask my opinion, along with the opinions of, oh, a dozen, two dozen other people, any of whom he may or may not decide to listen to. There’s no real power to it. It’s just talking to Kingsley occasionally, and a lot of paperwork from Percy for the other eight hours. It’s still the same bureaucracy, still the same hogwash that it’s always been.”
“Weren’t you the one telling me that things have changed, that things are getting better in the Ministry with Kingsley in charge?”
“Yes, I did,” Hermione admitted. “But only so much. I mean, Kingsley’s an Auror. A great Auror, and a great man, but still just an Auror. He’s trained in criminal apprehension, not politics. He runs things extremely by the book, I knew that when I saw him dealing with my parents in Australia. He doesn’t trust his gut instincts, so he relies on the decisions of past Ministers when he’s in a jam, as well as whoever is still working there from previous administrations.”
“Things will get better, though.”
“Of course they will,” Hermione said, pouring another glass. “But, in the meantime… I just wish I could make a difference, you know? Do something important.”
“And you will,” said Harry, sitting down beside her and putting a hand on her knee. “You’ve got one hell of a brain in that head, you’ll do great things someday. But, Hermione, you’ve only been out of school for a year. You’ve only been working at the Ministry since, what, February? You can’t expect to change the world in four months.”
“I know that,” said Hermione. “But… it’s just frustrating to feel powerless again, I guess.”
“You three have done more in your first twenty years than most have done in three lifetimes,” said Luna. “The world does not turn at the pace that you are used to. But do not worry. I think you could make an adequate Minister of Magic someday, Hermione.”
Hermione stared at Luna for a few moments, then started to laugh. “Not many people would try to comfort someone by calling them ‘adequate,’ either.”
“Well, you could make an adequate Minister,” Luna insisted. “Or you could make a good one, or a great one. You just have to learn a few things first. Begin to see other perspectives besides your own. Once you learn that there are better ways than yours, then you can begin to become great.”
“Wow,” said Hermione, shaking her head. “Just when I think she couldn’t get any more blunt...”
“You’re welcome.”
Harry laughed, shook his head, and went back to their dinner.
“I don’t know if I could be Minister, anyway,” said Hermione. “Too much paperwork. Gets in the way of what’s important. I’d rather work somewhere with a little more focus.”
Before the conversation could advance any further, a huge fire erupted from the hearth in the corner, and three people stepped out of the flames.
“Be careful of the ashes!” Kreacher yelled, running forward. “Kreacher just cleaned this morning!”
“Ah, damn,” Ron Weasley said, carefully removing his shoes as Ginny Weasley and Neville Longbottom removed theirs behind him. “Sorry about that, Kreach.”
“Didn’t expect to see all three of you at once,” said Hermione.
“Zonko’s had a special order,” explained Ginny. “George sent me, Ron, and Lee to make the shipment at the end of the day...”
“He probably just wanted some alone time with Verity,” Ron interjected. “Business doesn’t pick up until Hogwarts gets out, so we were pretty much it by four.”
“…So, since we were in Neville’s neighborhood, thought it might be easier just to Floo from his place.”
“They actually used my shower before we left,” said Neville. “They smelled a bit.”
“Zonko’s bought a huge order of the new Skiving Snack Boxes,” Ginny explained as Ron sat down with Hermione and Luna. “Diarrhea de Menthe.”
“Ew…” Harry and Hermione said at once.
“Yes,” Ginny continued, “And George decided to try some Scratch and Sniff packaging, and it got all over our hands, and God, it’s been a long day, and baby needs some sugar.”
Harry stared at Ginny for a few moments. “Did you just say what I think you said?”
Ginny’s nose wrinkled. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did.”
Ginny shook her head. “I blame… God, I don’t know what. Could you just kiss me and we can never speak of it again?”
“Gladly,” Harry said, and Ginny walked up and kissed him on the lips.
“Two more weeks,” he said to her after they released. “Then you won’t have to worry about any more poop-smelling hands.”
“Well, first off, I’m not going to stop helping George,” said Ginny. “Second, no one says I’m making the team.”
“Of course you will, because you’re fantastic.”
“Kiss up,” Ginny said, kissing up again.
“I could use one of those,” Hermione said slyly to Ron.
“Mmmmm,” Ginny said, her arms still around Harry. “You’ll have to ask my boyfriend, I don’t know if he wants to share me.”
“But I don’t have my camera with me...”
“Funny,” Ron sneered at Ginny and Harry. “You’re very funny. Both of you.” He pulled Hermione in for a kiss. “Hi, love.”
“Hi.”
“Long day at work?”
“When isn’t it?”
Neville looked down at Luna, who stared back up at him. A nervous smile crossed his face as their friends continued to flirt around each other.
“Hi,” he said.
“Hello, Neville,” Luna replied. Their eyes remained locked for a few uncomfortable moments before Neville looked away, his face turning red.
“So…” he said loudly, clearing his throat, “Dinner almost ready?”
“Pretty much, yeah,” said Harry, pulling himself away from Ginny to pour the pasta into the colander in the sink. “Ron, grab some plates, would you?” Ginny sat down with Neville and Hermione.
“I love my domestic goddess,” she said to Hermione with a small smirk as Harry gave her a look.
The next ten minutes or so were passed in the type of silence that can only be found at a table full of six hungry people: not at all uncomfortable, just filled with clinking silverware, chewing teeth, and the occasional moan in finding a particularly good bite.
“This recipe’s really good,” said Neville eventually. “My Gran would love it.”
“I don’t know if I’m allowed to give it out,” said Harry, taking a sip of wine. “It’s Kreacher’s.”
“It’s not Kreacher’s, Master,” said the house elf from the corner. “Kreacher doesn’t skimp on the salt. Tastes better than this one, Kreacher’s recipe wouldn’t disgrace his house.”
“It’s not a disgrace, Kreacher,” said Luna. “It is quite tasty. But I am sure yours is even better.”
Hermione looked toward Kreacher, who was sitting in the corner of the kitchen, on the floor, knees pulled up to his chin, and had seemed to be lifted by Luna’s words. “Would you like to sit with us, Kreacher?” she asked.
“No thank you, Mistress,” he replied. “Kreacher is simply waiting for you to finish eating so he can begin to do the dishes.”
“Oh, no, we can’t have that,” said Hermione. “Please, come join us.”
“Yeah, Kreach, pull up a chair,” said Ron. “Enjoy some disgrace with the rest of us blood traitors,” which earned him a glare from Hermione.
Kreacher turned to Harry, his face blank. “Master?”
“You’re welcome to have a plate and join us, Kreacher, you know that,” Harry shrugged.
“Thank you, Master,” Kreacher said, walking over to the stove to put some pasta and sauce on a plate. From the tone of his voice, Hermione couldn’t tell if he was being honest in his thanks or simply following orders, but decided to leave it be.
“So how are the wedding plans coming?” Neville asked as Kreacher sat down on a spare chair. Hermione noticed that the short elf, who would normally be having difficulty seeing over the top, was having no trouble at all, until she discovered that he was floating, his legs crossed, a foot above the chair.
If elves wanted to revolt, they could without any difficulty, with the power that they possess, she thought. But do they want to? Hermione didn’t like that line of thought, and decided that now wasn’t the time to pursue it.
“We’re still debating specific dates,” said Ron. “Sometime next summer.”
“You, too?” Neville asked Harry and Ginny.
“Yeah,” Harry replied. “Actually, we’re trying to coordinate things a bit. Since our guest lists are going to be matching up so much, we’re going to try to do them within a week of each other. That way, anyone who needs to come in from a long way can just stay the week if they don’t want to travel back and forth.”
“Plus we’re all going to be at the Burrow,” Ginny continued. “So we’re thinking it might be easier to have whoever goes the first week have their tents and whatever set up, then just leave them there all week. Might even have a little campground for some people who can’t afford to stay in town. Might give Mum a little less of a meltdown than if she had to worry about weddings two or three months apart.”
“Sounds like a lot of work,” said Neville. “I forgot that your lists would be so similar.”
“Pretty much,” said Ron. “Ginny and I have the same fam, so that’s easy. And we all share most of the same friends from Hogwarts. Only differences are that Hermione and I would have a small contingent of Grangers, and Harry and Ginny would have a couple more students from Ginny’s year and from the version of the D.A. that you three put together. Otherwise, we could swap our guest lists and share ninety percent, easy.”
“More than that,” said Ginny quietly. “I’m not sure if a lot of the D.A. is going to be ready to come back, not since the battle. I mean, you all heard about Dennis, right?”
“What about him?” Harry asked, surprised that he hadn’t been told anything by his fiancée about the youngest Creevey.
“Well, it’s pretty much a rumor going around, since no one’s heard from him,” she said to everyone. “But they say he’s gone Muggle.”
Neville gasped. “You’re kidding.”
“Oh, my God,” Ron said, dropping his fork.
Hermione, on the other hand, merely nodded. “I could see it. After what happened to his brother, I mean.”
“Wait, I’m lost,” Harry said. “What do you mean, ‘gone Muggle’?”
“’Gone Muggle’ means that Dennis has abandoned the wizard world,” explained Luna. “Broken his own wand and given up the magic lifestyle, gone off to live with Muggles for the rest of his life.”
“I tried writing him after the funerals,” said Ginny. “Tried a few times over the past two years. But Errol and Artemisia kept flying back after a day or two with the letter still attached. Now Artie won’t even leave for him. Almost like she knows that Dennis doesn’t want to be contacted, or that he’s somewhere where he can’t have magical contact, like a Muggle school.”
“Maybe… do you think his parents are keeping him from Hogwarts?” Harry asked, but part of him didn’t believe that to be the case. Dennis Creevey had shared an almost reverential love of magic with his brother, Colin, when he first came to Hogwarts in Harry’s fourth year. To know that that same magic was what killed his strongest bond to the wizarding world… Harry didn’t know if he could blame the boy for not finding the trust in magic that he used to have.
“It might be,” Ginny admitted. “But he’s sixteen, which means he comes of age in the next year. If his parents are the ones making this decision for him right now, he’ll be able to make that choice himself soon enough.”
“In the meantime, he should be safe,” said Hermione. “The Ministry has him registered as a magical being, even if he is wandless and not using spells. Statute of Secrecy requires it in case he starts to reveal any information to people he’s not supposed to talk to. Plus, since he’s still underage, he still has the Trace.”
“God,” Ron said, staring dumbly at his plate. “Poor Dennis. I don’t think I could ever abandon magic…”
The six sat in a depressed silence for a few minutes, lost in their thoughts as they slowly went back to picking at their food. Eventually, Neville was the one to break it again. He cleared his throat and took a sip of wine.
“So, um,” he stumbled, realizing that he was suddenly the tension-breaker, “How does it work, anyway, Hermione? With your family?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, your parents know that you’re a witch,” Neville explained. “And your sister will obviously know that you’re one once she’s old enough to figure out the difference. But how about the rest of your family? How many of them know about you? Can they be come to the Burrow? Or are you going to have to have a Muggle wedding somewhere else in Devon, with Ron’s family and the rest of us pretending to be powerless?”
Hermione took another bite while she thought of a proper answer. “I don’t know,” she said eventually, noticeably disappointed with herself for her lack of information. “The Statute is pretty vague for a law written centuries ago. It’s been interpreted so many ways, I don’t think anyone knows what’s right. One group could argue that any Muggle can know you’re a witch as long as you don’t use magic on them for personal gain. Another group could argue just as fervently that a wizard who marries a Muggle is in violation of the Statute. Or that any witch or wizard born to a Muggle family has to disappear as soon as they’re discovered.”
“What happened with Andromeda and Ted?” asked Ginny. “How did their marriage go?”
“The woman who went by the name of Black had a Muggle wedding,” said Kreacher. “My Mistress would not allow herself or anyone in her family to attend.”
“You can call her by her real name, you know,” said Ron. “Just because your former owner shunned her from the family doesn’t mean that she wasn’t blood.”
“Bet you Sirius was there, though,” said Harry with a smirk. “At the wedding.”
“No,” said Kreacher with a snarl that reminded Harry that he and Sirius had always hated each other, “Sirius was not there. He was only twelve when… Andromeda was married. He was still a member of the Black family at that time.”
“What about your parents, Harry?” asked Luna. “Has your aunt told you anything about their wedding?”
“Aunt Petunia?” Harry snorted. “I know my grandparents were there, but if anyone else in my mother’s family were at the church, if anyone other than her parents knew that she was a witch, my aunt’s probably blocked it from her mind. Hagrid was the one to tell me the truth about them, and Aunt Petunia wasn’t any more receptive to the concept after he gave Dudley a tail.”
“Well, you should ask,” said Luna. “Both of you,” she added to Hermione. “Petunia might be in a more hospitable mood now that you’ve saved her family’s life. She might be willing to talk about Lily’s family, especially with someone who was Muggle-born like Lily was.”
Hermione and Harry exchanged an awkward glance. “Yeah,” Harry said. “Yeah, I suppose it might not hurt, but…”
“Do you even know where they are?” asked Hermione.
“They might be back at Privet Drive, but I never asked,” admitted Harry with a shameful shrug. “Hestia and Dedalus will know, but I figured the Dursleys wanted me out of their life, and I’ve been more than happy to oblige.”
“So they’re not being invited to the wedding?” asked Neville.
“I don’t know,” said Harry. “I should probably send them an invitation, just to be polite. I’d be amazed if they showed.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised either way, to be honest,” said Ginny. “After what you told me about your cousin, how he acted before they left, it sounds like at least one of them’s starting to turn towards the light.”
“I… I guess…” Harry thought, feeling extremely uncomfortable with the thoughts going through his head. He had always hated the Dursleys. Up until the minute they left their house on Privet Drive, Harry was glad to be finally rid of them, and always assumed that they felt the feeling was mutual.
But that last time together…
Why isn’t he coming with us?
I don’t think you’re a waste of space.
You saved my life.
He knew that Uncle Vernon would be doing handstands if Harry died tomorrow. But Dudley had actually been a decent sort when it came down to it…
See ya, Harry.
Take care, Big D.
God, had Harry actually called Dudley ‘Big D’? And meant it as a compliment?
And Petunia… Now that Harry knew her history with magic, her history with Snape and his mother… how her attitude had come as much from jealousy and protection of her sister as it did from hatred and fear…
She was going to say something to him before she left, but thought the better of it, perhaps because of Vernon’s overbearing presence… how did she feel now?
Wow, Harry thought, completely astonished by the thought, Am I actually missing the self-righteous morons?
“Might be worth a shot,” he mumbled to the group, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“Find out when they’re available next summer,” said Ron, grabbing a second plate as though the synapses weren’t firing in Harry’s brain. “That way it’ll be easier to decide who gets to get married when.”
“You still haven’t decided which one’s going first?” asked Neville.
“Well, no,” said Ron. “I mean, Harry and Ginny started dating a year before we did. But I’ve known Hermione longer. And I proposed first…”
“I met Harry before you met Hermione!” Ginny interjected. “Hell, he knew my name before he knew yours!”
“Yeah, but you were ten, and it was only for, what, five seconds?”
“I fell in love with him in those five seconds, what’s your point?” Ginny argued, sticking her tongue out.
“Yeah…well…” Ron stammered. “We’re older than both of you, so there!”
“What are you, twelve?” Hermione said to Ron and Ginny. “I didn’t realize our weddings were going to be one big competition!”
“Of course they are,” said Ron. “Because ours is going to be better, obviously.”
“Says you…!” Ginny said, flicking a gray-sauced noodle across the table at her brother.
“Thank you for giving Kreacher more to clean later, Mistress Ginevra,” Kreacher sighed.
“Any wagers on when they start pulling out the ‘your mother’ jokes?” asked Harry, causing Neville to snort laughter in his wineglass.
“We’re joining this family, aren’t we?” Hermione asked Harry sadly.
“We are,” he replied. “But at least I’m not taking their name.”
“I’m having second thoughts about that part…”
“Haven’t you talked about having just one ceremony together?”
The bickering stopped as soon as Luna asked the question. The four of them stared at her blankly, unable to find a response.
“It would give the Weasleys some relief,” Luna explained, “Because they would only have to prepare one meal, and wouldn’t have to deal with guests for a week. Plus you would have more guests, since not everyone is able to set aside two weekends in a summer. One couple wouldn’t have to hold off on their honeymoon while waiting for the other wedding. And you also wouldn’t have this competition that Hermione seems to be so displeased about.”
“But that’s half the fun,” Ron said weakly before getting elbowed by Hermione.
“Besides, you three, you four, have always been so close,” Luna continued. “I would think it would be a natural choice.”
Harry looked around the table at the other three. “I guess I’ve thought about it, yeah,” he said. “But I didn’t think anyone else would want to…”
“It might be fun,” said Hermione carefully. “I mean, if you all want to… it would be nice to have the four of us together.”
“It would give Mum a break,” Ginny admitted. “Especially with Percy and Penelope looking like they’re looking, and who knows what’s up with George and Verity. We probably won’t be the last wedding in the next few years.”
“Ron?” Harry asked, and Ron just shrugged.
“Wedding’s a wedding,” he said. “Whether it’s two of us or four of us. I can go either way, just so long as the food’s good, the people are happy, and the honeymoon’s on our lonesome.”
“We’ll talk about it. Weigh our options,” Ginny said, taking one last glance around the table to see the other three nodding agreement. “Thank you, Luna.”
“Glad to help,” she replied, wiping her plate with a piece of bread.
“It’ll mean we’ll have to recalculate the whole ‘best man’ situation, eh?” Ron said to Harry, who nodded.
“Shouldn’t be that difficult,” he said before looking around at the now-empty plates and standing. “So, who’s up for dessert?”
Twenty-Two Months Later: Housewarming / Previous Chapters / Thirty Months Later: Thestral