Title: Normal and Pure Enough for Marriage
Characters: Harry/Ginny, implied Snuna, Hermione Granger, Luna Lovegood, Severus Snape, Molly Weasley
Word Count: 2624
Summary: On the night before their wedding, Harry and Ginny each wrestle with jitters of their own making—and find help toward being able to "make it."
Disclaimer: This piece is based on characters and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling; various publishers, including, but not limited to: Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books; and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Harry had never planned to wait, not for sex, not once things were settled, but that was how things had worked out. It hadn't been his fault that things had taken a lot longer than he'd anticipated to be settled after he'd killed Voldemort, had it? It definitely hadn't been his fault that Mrs. Weasley'd gone off her gourd making preparations for an event he hadn't even asked Ginny about before it was assumed to be already in the works. But there it was. There he was: standing nude in front of the mirror in his room at Twelve, Grimmauld on the eve of his wedding and wondering.
Am I normal?
To be honest, it was his prick that was worrying him. He knew he was a regular bloke. But he'd made camp with Ron—and before that, seen other boys in the bath at school—and he wasn't at all certain that his prick was . . . right.
Big enough. No. I don't think it is. . . . Shit.
Ginny was going to laugh at him.
"And then she'll leave me," he said, giving his flaccid, wrinkled prick a disappointed look before turning away from the sight of it.
Why he'd never taken any of those other girls up on their offers he couldn't say.
If I had, I'd've known before now, Harry thought, sadly. "I'd've known I wasn't normal."
It wasn't fair. Heroes were supposed to have massive, impressive-looking cocks.
Giggling amongst themselves, Ginny, Luna, and Hermione were busily making floral head garlands for the ceremony.
"—and he was so angry about it, too," Ginny said, laughing. "He couldn't believe Mum practically proposed for him—not that I didn't let him ask me in his own way later, you understand."
"Oh," Luna replied, blinking and summoning her wand. "If that's the case, we can charm the dress cream."
"Luna!" Hermione chided, "Ginny didn't mean that—"
"I wasn't a virgin," Ginny interrupted, looking vexed when she noted how far up her forehead Hermione's eyebrows rose at that statement. "There's been no time."
"There's been lots of it," Luna answered, lowering her wand and appearing confused. "Severus has also been busy, but he and I've still—"
"Right!" Ginny exclaimed. "No more 'Adventures in Shagging' from you!"
Luna didn't even have the good grace to blush.
"Yes, they have been adventures," she said, her usual dreamy expression somewhat flushed.
Hermione placed a finger into her mouth and mimed choking on it, making Ginny laugh again.
When she'd recovered, she whispered, "I wanted to. I did. I think . . . maybe he just didn't—"
"Oh, no, Ginny. I know that he did. He's spent loads of time trying to hide his erections from you. Haven't you noticed?"
"Luna!" Hermione again exclaimed.
"But it's true! And they were big ones, too."
Hermione choked in earnest.
Pounding her on the back, Ginny muttered, "How would I know that? He hasn't let me touch him—it, I mean."
"Does it matter?" asked Luna. "I mean, you'll have the rest of your life to touch 'it', and you've had other 'its' in your hands, so at least you'll know what to do your first time."
Ginny stopped pounding Hermione on her back, and both of the other witches stared at Luna.
"What?" she asked.
"If anyone else had said that to me, I'd've known it was an insult. Having had two pricks in my hands doesn't make me a slag."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Only two?" she mouthed.
Ginny, happily, did not see her.
"No, having two penises would make you something of a medical oddity," Luna agreed, "not a slag. But I wasn't insulting you. I just meant that I'd never had any boyfriends before Severus, and it was . . . embarrassing not to know what to do with his penis."
Hermione coughed. "I expect he remedied that quickly enough."
Luna smiled. "He has books, you know. Lots of them."
There was no appropriate book in the library to show Harry if he had a normal-sized prick or not, so he started pacing, pacing and wondering.
Who can I ask?
He knew he couldn't possibly ask Ron; his best friend was having enough trouble with the thought of his baby sister marrying as it was.
Definitely not Fred and George!
The sort of help they'd provide was too horrible to contemplate. In fact, Harry decided, there was no way he could ask any of the Weasleys.
Perhaps Hagrid would . . . .
No, asking a half-giant about prick averages would be the definition of idiotic, Harry decided.
What about a mediwizard? That would— "That would be just as stupid. Worse, it would be the next headline in the Prophet! I can't ask anyone! No one knows how to keep anything a secret when it comes to me, and . . . ."
And suddenly, Harry realized that there was someone who could keep secrets—lots of them—someone who owed him a life debt. It would be embarrassing to ask Snape, he knew that.
But Snape will keep his mouth shut.
And nothing, Harry knew, could be more embarrassing than going to his marriage bed with an inadequate prick.
Merlin hates me, Severus thought, staring with enforced impassivity at Potter. Potter, the Chosen One. Potter, Virgin Hero and Idiot Extraordinaire. "You're not serious."
"Uh, yeah. I am. So, so is there a potion for that?" Harry asked, nervously twisting his hands, which he'd hidden behind his back, together in an attempt to preserve some dignity.
Severus wanted to laugh, but he knew, even for him, it would be too cruel.
To be honest with himself, actually, he knew that, should he laugh at Potter, Luna would disapprove.
And I will not make Luna cross with me, he decided, summoning a book. "Take this. Turn to page twenty-seven, and follow the instruc—not here, Mr. Potter! The loo is through that door, down the hall, second door on the left." Good gods, was I ever so young? Severus asked himself, as he quickly went to his kitchen fire to contact Luna.
Harry's fingers shook as he unbuttoned his trousers and did as page twenty-seven directed, even though he didn't know what "folds" had to do with anything.
The bastard probably knows that I'm ugly, he thought, counting anyway.
"Severus says that you have to tell Harry's he's big—um, no—huge," Luna explained to Ginny, when she returned from taking her lover's fire-call. "He didn't say why, just that it was important."
Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth to keep from laughing, and Ginny bit her lip.
"I expect poor Harry is nervous," Luna remarked, settling herself amongst the loose flowers again. "I know Severus was."
"Harry never did . . . did he?" Hermione asked Ginny.
"I didn't know," she replied. Oh, no! Will he mind that I have?
Noticing Ginny's paling face, Luna smiled and reached out to pat her friend's shoulder. "Just don't tell him, whatever it is. It's enough that you love each other, isn't it?"
"Besides," Hermione added, "Neville and—" all the others, she thought, feeling vaguely jealous at her younger friend's greater level of experience, "would never be indiscreet."
Ginny's eyes narrowed at Hermione. "I heard your little pause. I know what you're thinking, you—"
"It's enough that we love each other, as well," Luna said pointedly. "Isn't it?"
"She thinks I'm a slag!" Ginny protested.
"No, she hates that you slept with one more boy than she did before getting engaged."
"How do you know I slept with Viktor?" Hermione demanded.
Luna smiled. "Because you just told me."
"It was just the once!"
"Does Ron know?" Ginny asked.
"Yes!" Hermione lied. "But don't mention it. It still bothers him."
"She won't," Luna promised. "Because then you might mention Ginny's tryst with Blaise Zabini."
Hermione and Ginny, both blushing, returned to twisting their flowers, and Luna smiled. It's almost enough that we love each other.
"Wait a minute. Do you mean that Professor Snape was a virgin when you—"
"Are you coming out of there or aren't you, Potter?"
"Justaminute!" Harry called.
Severus smirked. After a moment, the loo door opened, and Harry stepped out.
"Well?" Severus demanded.
"N—normal," Harry said, blushing.
"I imagine so. Have you any other bizarre questions before you take your leave?"
"Will she know?" Harry blurted out.
"That I'm . . . you know."
Gods, but I wish I still hated you enough to properly enjoy this, thought Severus, who replied, "I imagine she might, but that is nothing to be ashamed of. As it happens, I believe your future bride will be . . . touched that you waited for her. Indeed, that is what you will tell her if you have any sense at all."
"You're welcome. Now, get out. Miss Lovegood will be joining me soon, and I have . . . arrangements to make."
Having no real desire to know what those might be, Harry fled, somewhat reassured to know that his prick's ugly wrinkled resting state actually meant that it was above average in size. And my girth's pretty good, too, apparently, he thought, arriving home and falling into a relieved sleep.
"You're not a slag, Ginny," Luna assured her, after Hermione had taken herself to bed. "It's good that you've had some experience. That way, you'll appreciate Harry more."
"But you didn't have any—and Hermione said Viktor was rubbish."
"Neville, Dean, and Blaise weren't?"
"Well, uh, no. No, but . . . ."
"You were in love with Harry all the time."
"Yeah. Oh, Luna, he'll think I'm a slag, won't he?"
"No, he won't. Even if you told him about the others, he wouldn't, but you're not going to tell him, are you?"
"But that's a lie," Ginny protested.
The door creaked open, and Molly slipped inside the room, gently shutting the door behind her.
"Mum! Were you eavesdropping?"
"Of course not. I'm not here, and I never said what I'm about to say."
"Excuse me," Luna remarked, making herself scarce.
"What? What aren't you going to say?" Ginny asked.
"You know I love your father, don't you, dear?"
"Good. Well, I love your father for many reasons, and one of them is because I know he's a better . . . partner than my first three boyfriends," Molly whispered.
"It's normal to experiment, Ginny."
"It . . . it is?"
"We should know, now shouldn't we?"
Ew, Ginny thought, but she nodded anyway.
"Now then, Luna's right. Harry doesn't need to know. Get some rest. You'll need it."
And with that, Ginny was finally left alone. She didn't sleep at all.
Standing next to his bride as they were married, it suddenly occurred to Harry that, normal-sized—No, above average, he corrected himself firmly—prick or no, it might've been a good idea to read up on what to do with it. Sure, he had a good basic idea of where to put what and how, but he felt like style might matter, too.
Shit. She's going to laugh at me.
For her part, Ginny couldn't stand the thought of lying to Harry.
A lie of omission is still a lie—and what if he asks?
She was sure Harry would be able to tell that she'd had other lovers. She was sure, as his damp, hot hand closed over hers, that he would laugh at her.
So it was that Harry and Ginny made their "I do's," while each believed that the other was going to leave.
Neither one of them, therefore, was looking forward to their wedding night as they swept down the aisle.
Idiots, Severus found himself thinking, smiling, as he handed Luna his handkerchief and took a moment to admire the ring she had accepted the previous evening.
My babies are finally married, Molly thought, smiling happily at Arthur.
"Ew," Ron kept repeating, as he and Hermione followed Ginny and Harry—until his wife, outwardly smiling, surreptitiously elbowed him in the ribs.
So anxious were Harry and Ginny to leave the festivities that people began to make sly references to "the birth." It was unnerving to Harry, and he didn't mention it to Ginny. In fact, he couldn't make himself speak to her until they were safely ensconced in their decorated bedchamber at Grimmauld, and then, he only replied to her comment to him.
"The bed's pretty," Ginny remarked. "Help me off with my cloak?"
"Uh, sure. Yeah, it is—you are—beautiful, I mean."
"I should be, considering all this paint Fleur caked on."
"You don't need it."
"Paint. Stupid Fleur! She should have just left well enough alone," Harry said, hoping Ginny would understand his compliment.
"'Well enough', is that how you see me?"
"No. Not at—I mean—Ginny! Ginny, where are you going?"
The slamming of the loo door was her only response.
He hadn't expected her to leave him so soon.
In the loo, Ginny ripped off her dress and threw it over the shower bar, furious with herself. I can't take a compliment. I shouldn't have stormed off. I . . . I can't. He'll know! "I just can't," she whispered, looking in the mirror at her raccoon-like eyes and shuddering before scrubbing her face clean.
She was certain Harry would be gone when she finally got up the nerve to leave the loo.
Harry awoke the next morning with a cramp in his next. This was not a surprise to him because he'd fallen asleep against the door to the loo. He heard stirring on the other side of it, and called, "Ginny? Ginny Potter?"
Ginny's giggles made the door vibrate.
"Are you going to come out now, Mrs. Potter?"
"Why should I?" she asked, rubbing her neck.
"B—because I have something for you," Harry said, with an attempt at boldness.
The door opened abruptly, and Ginny jumped back as Harry landed on the floor.
"Oh, Harry! I'm sorry. Here," Ginny told him, kneeling down, "let me rub that for you."
Suddenly, Harry was as hard as he could ever remember being. "You want to rub something better, do you?" he asked, blushing.
Ginny grinned. "Oh, I see how it is," she said, moving to unbutton, with some difficulty, Harry's trousers. As his erect prick pushed up out of his y-fronts, she gasped.
"What is it?" Harry demanded.
"Nothing. Just, well, you're so . . . big. I'm not sure what to do with this," Ginny said, wrapping a hand around Harry's cock and beginning to stroke it.
Harry closed his eyes and groaned. "Tha—that's a good start."
And then a hot wetness enclosed him, and it was Harry's turn to gasp.
Ginny was pleased. I don't think he cares how I know to do this, does he? she asked herself, as she pressed the flat of her tongue against the underside of Harry's prick and sucked him, hard.
Almost at once, Harry found himself apologizing again. "Merlin, Ginny! I didn't mean to—I should have warned—gods, that was good."
"So you're saying I'm a natural?" she asked.
"I'm saying it's my turn now," Harry growled, somehow finding the strength to stand, pull Ginny up into his arms, and carry her to the bed. "I want to see you. All of you. Every night for the rest of my life," he told her, between kisses.
"But forget about the days?" Ginny asked, laughing.
"When I'm with you, Mrs. Potter, I don't want to remember anything else," Harry said, with a sudden, unexpected fierceness.
Ginny felt her eyes burn. "Or anyone?"
"There's never been anyone but you for me, Gin, never."
"No, not for me, either, Harry. Only you."
And that is how Harry and Ginny came to believe that they went to their marriage bed perfect and pure—because there never had been anyone else for either of them, not in their hearts, and, if they found each other perfect, well, then they were. All was marital perfection between them—
—until their first fight as the Potters, of course, but that is another story, one concerning parenthood.