Epilogue

Three years later . . . .

“Ginny, you can’t be serious! I am not wearing this thing!” Draco shouted from the bathroom in their hotel suite.

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” Ginny shouted back.

“I look like a bloody poofter, that’s what’s wrong with it!”

“Oh, you do not! Just get your arse out here!”

“What kind of fantasy is this, anyway? We should have gone with mine – at least I wouldn’t have dressed you in some poncy get-up.”

“That’s because your fantasy involves complete nudity, the center of a Quidditch pitch, and a large number of spectators, and I’ve told you already – I’ll think about it! Now come out! If you can survive the reception, you can survive this!”

Draco mumbled something incoherent through the door.

“What was that, darling?” Ginny asked in her sweetest voice.

“I said I barely survived the reception,” came the huffy reply.

“Oh, Draco, I told you, hexing you repeatedly is just my brothers’ way of showing affection! You’ve really been accepted into the family now. And besides, you sound like a Hufflepuff – the Slytherin I know and love would have gone for revenge, not whined about it.”

Ginny heard a faint chuckle from the bathroom.

“Draco . . . what did you do?”

“Oh, I’m sure we’ll get plenty of owls about it tomorrow – wouldn’t want to ruin the surprise.” He chuckled again. “But back to this fantasy of yours,” he drawled, finally opening the bathroom door and striding out, “I’ll wear the outfit, but I’m not sure swords are really appropriate to the bed-” He stopped suddenly upon seeing his scantily-clad wife.

“Gin, are you tied to the bedpost?”

“I am,” Ginny replied with a cheeky grin. “But Draco, you’re talking to my chest. My face is a bit higher up.”

“They’re just so . . . .” There was a hint of wonder in Draco’s voice.

“Yes, quite large. The charm will wear off in a couple of hours though, so you better get over here already.” Ginny took in her husband’s appearance: tight dragonskin pants, a billowy silk shirt open to reveal his well-muscled chest, a black scarf tied securely around his head. Gods, he was hot. And he was all hers.

“Ravish me, you dread pirate, you,” she said huskily.

“Yes, my lady,” Draco replied, a wolfish grin spreading over his face.

-----

“Bloody honeymooners! A chap can’t get any sleep with these kids frolicking all night, and this was supposed to be such a nice quiet vacation for us!” said a grizzled old man in the next room. His wife looked at him and sighed.

“Don’t say it, Louisa-love. I know I shouldn’t begrudge them their youth. We used to be quite frisky ourselves back in the day, eh?” He chuckled. “But dog’s bollocks! It sounds like they’re staging a battle in there, not-”

His tirade was interrupted by Louisa planting a firm kiss on his lips.

“Oooh, Louisa . . . why you randy old she-goat, you . . . .”

--Finis--