About Last Night

The Thing About Happy Endings

"All right, settle down. I'm about to make a speech," George announced, clinking his champagne glass (filled with firewhiskey he nicked from Hagrid) with his fork. "Now, I know most of us have at one point been completely dumbfounded by Ronniekins and Pans' union. Did we expect him to end up with Hermione? No way. She's way out of his league. But maybe settle down with a nice Lavender Brown—sure, that's believable. Only kidding, Lav. You're a peach," he said with a huge grin before turning to the latter's fiance, shaking his head aggressively to suggest she was anything but a delight.

Seamus let out a loud laugh. "Too right, mate!"

Before George could raise his glass in unison with him, Lavender pulled her fiance's arm down, pinching him hard. At Seamus' yelp, Dean and Neville roared with laughter along with their friends.

"Pansy-Pans," George continued with some slurred affection and admiration at the smirking bride, "We all thought you'd marry rich—like Malfoy rich. Or by the very least some sort of politician rich, like a McLaggen. Instead you settled for an adequately well-off man. I had my doubts about you, I'll admit, but when I processed that you make more than Ronald Bilius does, I knew then it was real for you."

"Are you going to get to the sappy part yet?" Ginny demanded as Ron's ears started growing red at the anger boiling in his chest. She knew if he had not given Harry his wand for safekeeping, he'd be cursing their older brother by now with a Bat-Bogey Hex.

"All jokes aside," George then said with a scoff, like he very much doubted he was in any immediate danger of retaliation, "while none of us expected Ron and Pansy to end up together, that's the beauty of it all, isn't it? Of this thing we call love. Sometimes it's the person right in front of you, or the person you least expect. The world moves and turns to make it happen, to cross your path with your right one. And it did so for these two. No one can look at them and not see it. Because it's right there—in Ronniekins massive smile, his subpar jokes, and the way he can't wait to get home because he knows Pans will be there. And she's his home. So, really, what I'm trying to say is this: welcome to the Weasleys, Pans. You're in for life. No take-backs."

"To the bride and groom!" Ginny added, standing with her own champagne glass raised high (just as filled with stolen, century-old firewhiskey), urging others to follow suit. As everyone stood, toasting to Ron and Pansy at the head of the beautifully decorated tent in the Burrow's backyard, the previously upset groom had no other choice but to smile wide, especially when Pansy rested her head on his shoulder, looking up at him with absolute bliss.

She was happy—truly happy.

That was all anyone could see under the sunlight weaving through the ropes of white roses canopying over their heads. It was visible from the moment she walked out the backdoor of the Burrow, her dark, cascading black hair in perfect waves parted to the side with a stunning emerald serpent hairpin (that had once belonged to the Malfoy family, a something-old and something-new gift given to her by Draco), exposing her dark, glittering eyes and blood-red lips pulled back in the widest, most sincere smile. An expression that was contagious, that was reflected on her soon-to-be husband waiting for her at the altar with his brothers at his side, as well as on Blaise walking beside her, giving her away to whom she wanted to belong to the most.

Her happiness was even in the way she threw her head back, laughing loud and unrestrained at every conversation (finding absolutely nothing intolerable or ridiculous). It was in the way her arms were constantly around her new relatives and (old and new) friends, holding them close to her, muttering love and adoration and respect in their ears (even whispers of apologies years too late, but honest). It was in the way her fingers were always touching her husband, cupping his cheeks, their eyes meeting, melting together, and when she traced small circles at the nape of Ron's neck, gently, carefully (like she could not contain her love, like she could not contain how lucky she felt to be feeling all that love).