Harry began searching for gnomes in earnest and releasing some of his pent up frustration by cleaning them out of the garden. He wasn’t certain how long he’d been there — long enough to work up quite a sweat — when Ron joined him. His ears were a deep magenta, and he was a scowling fiercely.
Harry silently handed him a struggling gnome. Ron looked at the ugly little creature for a moment without saying a word, then, with a snarl, he tossed it well past the garden gate.
"Nice one," Harry said appreciatively.
They tossed a few more gnomes in silence before Harry finally asked. "What set you off?"
"Have you seen the guest list for this wedding?" Ron asked, tossing another gnome.
"Er, yeah, Ron. It was the first thing I did when I got here," Harry said sarcastically. "How was I supposed to have seen the guest list? Why? What’s wrong with the guest list?"
"Turns out you and Fleur aren’t the only former Tri-wizard champions who will be attending," Ron said, viciously swinging a gnome in the air.
"Huh?"
"Viktor Krum, Harry. Vicky was invited, and he responded that of course he’d be here and looked forward to catching up with old friends. I’ll just bet I know who he’s really looking forward to catching," Ron spat.
"Ron. Fleur and Viktor competed together in a grueling competition. We bonded in a weird sort of way. It only makes sense that we’d all be here together when one gets married," Harry said, not quite believing he was actually saying it.
"Cedric won’t be here," Ron said testily.
Harry flinched.
"Sorry," Ron said quickly. "It’s not your fault. It just hacks me off."
"Yeah, I noticed."
"You’re one to talk. I saw you go storming out of the back garden. Ginny looked like she was about to cry," Ron said, crossing his arms across his chest.
Harry flinched again. If he’d felt bad before, he felt ruddy awful now. Maybe letting Ron and his brothers clobber him would help.
"Don’t worry. She’ll be all right; Mum will see to it. A few of my brothers might be ready to hex you, though, so I’d watch your back," Ron said.
Harry looked at Ron with some apprehension. He raised an eyebrow but didn’t voice the question.
"No, I’m not angry with you. You’re just as upset as she is; you just hide it better. Hermione told me," Ron said, smirking.
"Remind me to tell Hermione I owe her one," Harry said, tossing another gnome.
"You’ll work it out. Both you and Ginny are more resilient than most people are. You’re more resilient than me, anyway. Hermione told me that, too. It’ll all work out in the end, though; I’m certain of it. Maybe we can hex Vicky and Jean-Lucifer into fancying each other," Ron said, only half-joking.
"Maybe Jean-Lucifer is just what Ginny needs," Harry said despondently, unable to resist using Ron’s nickname.
"Don’t be stupid. What Ginny needs is you, same as you need her. I know my little sister, Harry. She didn’t spend how many years waiting for you only to give up now that you’re finally paying attention. Ginny’s way more tenacious than that," Ron said, shaking his head.
Harry smiled, feeling a little better.
"What’s going on between you and Hermione, Ron? Are you together or not?" Harry asked, not entirely certain he wanted to know. Still, Ron had made him feel better; he should at least try to do the same.
Ron was quiet for a few minutes. "I think so. I mean…we never actually said anything, but…after Dumbledore’s funeral…it just all sort of clicked, you know? We didn’t have to say anything."
"Er, Ron. I think maybe you do have to say something. This is Hermione we’re talking about. She likes words," Harry said, grimacing.
"You think?" Ron asked, looking dumbfounded.
"Yeah, I do," Harry replied confidently.
"Bloody Hell."
Harry snorted. "After all this time, you’d think we would have figured out what we’re doing."
"You’d think so, wouldn’t you?" Ron asked, handing Harry another gnome.
"Prat."
"Git."
Chapter Four
Until Death Do Us Part
The day of the wedding dawned bright and glorious. Harry was awoken at what felt to him to be an ungodly hour by the chirping of birds. The
sun streaming in from the cracks of the blinds in Ron’s attic bedroom pierced his skull with a fierce, unforgiving intensity. The ruddy twittering was driving him mad.
Harry had been to his first stag party the previous evening, and even the sobering charm that Mrs. Weasley had performed on them all before ushering them off to bed hadn’t stopped the pounding of his head this morning. He had a vague feeling of unease, but he wasn’t certain if it was only due to the nauseating headache.
It had been one of the strangest weeks in Harry’s life, and that was saying something. The Burrow – a hub for chaos and activity under normal circumstances – was the center of operations for the upcoming nuptials. If Mrs. Weasley had appeared frazzled to Harry over the previous years while working with the Order, it was nothing to her state while preparing this wedding.
The Delacour family had arrived two days ago with more trunks and belongings than a small army should rightfully own. The ceremony itself was to take place in the meadow where Harry had played Quidditch with Ron and his family on many occasions. Therefore, the Delacour family took over the other side of the garden, where they had erected a large tent surrounded by lush flowerbeds.
Harry had never seen anything quite like it, even at the Quidditch World Cup. The tent was more like a castle – with peaks and turrets – and bore the French flag on the top. The area surrounding the tent blossomed with an array of exotic plants and flowers, and a small fountain appeared in a newly formed pond.
If Mrs. Weasley was stressed, it was nothing compared to the state of Mrs. Delacour. Harry had yet to hear her speak in anything but a shout, and he’d noticed Mr. Delacour liberally filling her tea with some oak-matured mead on more than one occasion.
Bill and Fleur appeared oblivious to all the fuss and merely floated in and out of the chaos with the sappiest expressions upon their faces. Fleur had moved out of the Burrow, where she’d been staying, and in with her own family, leaving Ginny, Hermione and Ekaterina sharing one room. Harry supposed that Ginny liked Ekaterina better than Fleur, because the tautness in her face had lessened considerably after the French girl’s departure.
Since their blow up in the back garden nearly a week ago, the tension between Ginny and him had been so thick it could be cut with a knife. They had taken great pains either to act overly civil to one another or to avoid each other entirely. Ginny again proved her accomplished acting ability by easily pretending that nothing was wrong, treating Harry as no more and no less than Ron’s visiting friend. She was civil, polite and frustratingly distant. It was only on brief, rare occasions that Harry thought he caught a glimmer of something in her eyes, but when he looked closely, it was gone.
Harry, on the other hand, was failing miserably at playing along. He couldn’t just close off his feelings and pretend there was nothing wrong, no matter how hard he tried, and the effort was making him increasingly bad-tempered. It occurred to him that while he had failed
dismally at mastering Occlumency during his fifth year, Ginny would probably be very good at it.
The presence of Jean-Luc Delacour certainly hadn’t helped matters. Suave and debonair, Jean-Luc was everything Harry wasn’t. He was only a year older, but he somehow managed to appear vastly more sophisticated. He had dark hair that he wore slicked back and robes that not only fit impeccably, but also were made of the finest material.
It gave Harry a new determination to go shopping for some Muggle clothes of his very own and in his own size for the first time in his life.
Jean-Luc had kissed Ginny’s hand when he first met her, and always seemed to know the right thing to say or had some witty response to everything said to him.
Harry felt as if he were tongue-tied in comparison.
All the women in the house were fawning over Jean-Luc, and Harry had memories of being back in fourth year and trying to compete against Cedric to get a date to the Yule Ball. The only consolation was that none of the other Weasley brothers cared much for Jean-Luc, either. Ron acted out overly exaggerated imitations of his prancing ways, and Harry suspected the twins were devising a major prank.
Couldn’t happen to a nicer bloke, Harry thought savagely.
Despite her brothers’ obvious disapproval – or maybe because of it – Ginny appeared quite enamoured with the dashing Frenchman. Every time Harry saw her, she was with him, laughing at his stupid jokes or listening intently to whatever it was he had to say. Harry had seen her take his arm on several occasions, and he appeared to take every opportunity to place his ruddy hands upon her waist.
The monster in Harry’s chest had been roaring with such intensity that Harry was shocked no one else could hear it. He’d been in a right foul mood, and most of the Weasleys had been giving him a wide berth because of it. The only one who apparently wasn’t bothered at all by his foul disposition was Gabrielle Delacour. She’d become Harry’s shadow, following him nearly everywhere and helping him with whichever task Mrs. Weasley or Mrs. Delacour assigned to him.
Gabrielle chatted incessantly as they worked, and Harry hadn’t yet found a way to disengage himself from her presence. She followed him, laughed at nothing, and then blushed the deepest shade of Weasley red if he happened to answer one of her endless questions. He remembered when Ginny had a crush on him, back in his second year, but that had been different somehow. Ginny had never been this annoying.
It was as if he were assigned Colin Creevey as a Potions partner, only with more giggling. The only slight positive to the whole situation was that Fleur had stopped pushing Harry to entertain Gabrielle. It was as if ever since Harry and Ginny’s shouting match in the back garden, Fleur had a new pet project. She purposely arranged tasks and insisted that both he and Ginny needed to work on them together.
Harry would have been eternally grateful to her if the circumstances been different, but spending time with Ginny while she was acting coolly polite and detached was nearly driving him to distraction.
Hence the reason he’d imbibed so much at the stag party the previous evening.
It had started innocently enough. Charlie had gathered all the Weasley brothers (minus Percy), Harry, Jean-Luc, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Delacour, and they had Apparated to a private room at the Leaky Cauldron. Remus, Mad-Eye Moody, Kingsley Shacklebolt and several other members of the Order had met them there, along with some of Bill’s co-workers and old friends.
Harry had taken a seat with Ron in a corner, somewhat distanced from the rest of the crowd. He’d been happy enough with his cold Butterbeer when Charlie approached their table with a bottle of Firewhiskey and added a shot to his and Ron’s drinks. Harry hadn’t yet tried the legendary drink and was quite keen to oblige. It burned going down, and he spluttered and coughed until he got used to it.
He’d only intended on trying it and leaving it at that, but he’d ended up taking a fair share of ribbing over being the only bloke there still underage. He felt he had something to prove, particularly to Jean-Lucifer, whom the alcohol didn’t appear to be affecting at all.
He had soon found it very difficult to string words together clearly – more difficult even than he normally did – and he wasn’t quite certain how he’d got back to the Burrow at the end of the night.
Which was how he’d ended up lying here on the camp bed in Ron’s sickeningly orange room, trying to decide if he had the energy to cast a Reducto spell on the sun.
“Bloody hell,” Ron groaned from beneath the covers on his bed.
Harry tried to sit up but ended up falling back onto his pillow and swearing. “I am never drinking Firewhiskey again as long as I live,” he moaned. “Whose brilliant idea was that, anyway?”
“I think it was yours, mate,” Ron replied, and his voice sounded abnormally loud in the stillness of the room.
“Good morning, boys,” Hermione’s voice trilled as she pushed open the door and entered Ron’s room, grinning merrily. Both boys cringed and pulled away.
“Oh, it’s a perfect day for a wedding. Mrs. Weasley has breakfast ready. Come on, get up. The guests will be arriving soon, and you need to be dressed in order to greet them.”
“Hermione,” Ron groaned, rolling over and pulling the covers up over his head. “It’s only the crack of dawn.”
“Nonsense,” Hermione said, pulling the covers off him completely and then turning and doing the same to Harry. “It’s almost ten o’clock.
Everyone else is up and has been for quite some time. Ginny, Fleur and Gabrielle have already left to have their hair done.”
“Left where?” Harry asked, suddenly interested. He grabbed his blanket back from Hermione to cover his bare chest.
“Oh. They Apparated to some cousin of Fleur’s in London. Ron, your mother is going to be up here in a minute if you don’t get up,” Hermione said.
“My head,” Ron moaned.
“Oh!” Hermione said, starting. She pulled two phials from the pocket of her dressing gown. “Here. Your mum said to give these to you to help clear your heads.”
Harry took the phial eagerly and downed the contents, wincing at the taste. His mind cleared instantly, and the throbbing in his temples receded.
“Why didn’t you say that bit first?” he asked irritably. Now that he could think, he realized he still had that distinctly uneasy feeling. He suspected it had something to do with his hangover, along with his apprehension over having to spend the day watching Jean-Luc fawning over Ginny. Still, the prickling on the back of his neck caused him some concern. He’d have to remain alert. He wasn’t about to let anything spoil this wedding for the Weasleys.
***
Several hours later, Harry found himself dressed in his stylish gray dress robes and helping Ron and the twins escort guests to their seats out in the meadow. Rows and rows of white chairs were set up in a semicircle around a white gazebo adorned with more white roses than Harry had ever seen. Aunt Petunia would have been beside herself at the lushness of the blooms.
Viktor Krum’s arrival caused Ron’s eyes to narrow and his ears to grow red, despite the fact that Viktor arrived with a stunning blonde beauty on his arm. Harry hurried over to greet them and escort them to their seats before Ron could make a scene. Viktor did ask about Hermione, but Harry chose not to mention that fact to Ron.
When the wedding began, Harry went to take a seat towards the back of all the rows, but Ron grabbed him and dragged him to sit with him and Hermione in one of the rows reserved for all the Weasleys. Harry felt oddly touched.
He honestly didn’t remember much of the ceremony after Ginny walked down the aisle. Gabrielle had walked down first, wearing gold dress robes with a bit of a ruffle and lacing up the front. The sleeves rested on her shoulders, and she wore a gold shawl draped across the top. Her golden curls were piled heavily atop her head, and even Harry had to admit she looked thoroughly charming.
Ginny followed next, and Harry felt his mouth go dry. He couldn’t even manage to swallow. The gold robes, while pretty on Gabrielle, looked
stunning on Ginny. They appeared to hug every curve, and Harry would have been hard pressed to drag his eyes away if Voldemort had chosen that moment to attack. Her hair was curled softly and piled into an intricate pattern of plaits atop her head with thin wisps surrounding her face. She’d tied the shawl more closely around her than Gabrielle had done, but even with it there Harry could tell the sleeves on the robes bared her shoulders completely.
She was stunning, and he was lost.
The ceremony commenced, and he supposed Bill and Fleur had said their I do’s at some point. Honestly, however, Harry hadn’t been aware of anything else but the shine of the sun on Ginny’s fiery hair, and the pink lipstick she wore on her softly smiling lips. He watched several times in fascination as Ginny’s small tongue darted out to moisten them, making the lipstick shine.
Before he knew what was happening, Bill and Fleur were kissing one another, and small white doves flew from all the trees surrounding the gazebo.
“Now, let’s get this party started,” Fred said, slapping George on the back.
“Right, brother mine. We promised to dance with each and every one of Fleur’s friends. I, for one, took that promise as a personal oath,” George replied.
Harry rolled his eyes and followed them to the area where tents had been set up holding tables of food and drink. He took a seat with Ron and Hermione and wasn’t surprised to find Gabrielle at his elbow almost instantly.
“Oh, there iz an empty zeat right next to me, ‘Arry,” the young girl said eagerly, patting the chair beside her.
Gritting his teeth and ignoring Ron’s snigger, Harry sat down. Ron and Hermione sat across from him, looking extremely cozy. Fred and George were up and already instructing the band by the dance floor in the middle of the tent.
Bill and Fleur were seated at a table for two at the front of the tent, with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Mr. and Mrs. Delacour occupying a table to their right. Harry sat with the other Weasley siblings and Gabrielle at a table on the left of the happy couple. Harry looked up in time to see Ginny and Jean-Luc taking the remaining seats at his table.
Harry’s eyes locked on Ginny’s for a moment as she sat down, and he was unable to pull them away. She was wearing make-up on her eyes that made them look kind of smoky and unbelievably sexy. He didn’t remember ever seeing her wearing more than lipstick at school.
“Let me pour you zome of zis wine, Ginny,” Jean-Luc said, and it sounded like he was caressing her name.
Harry’s beast snarled crossly.
“Thank you, Jean-Luc,” Ginny replied sweetly.
Scowling, Harry took a liberal drink of his own wine.
Despite all the delectable food that was offered, the dinner dragged excruciatingly slow for Harry. Between Gabrielle’s hints about how much she wanted to dance and Jean-Luc’s constant attentiveness to Ginny, Harry was ready to leap on his Firebolt and dive bomb the whole affair.
The only upside was the wine that had made him pleasantly warm. He’d quickly forgotten his promise of just that morning never to imbibe again. Even a hangover would feel better than the way he felt at the moment.
When he finished his dessert, he thought he’d managed to make it through the evening. He’d planned on slipping away from the festivities quietly and making it an early night. They were leaving for Godric’s Hollow in the morning, and he wanted to be well rested.
That plan changed when Jean-Luc asked Ginny to dance. She nodded brightly and turned around. Looking directly into Harry’s eyes with something he thought looked like a challenge, she allowed the shawl that she’d been wearing to drop from her shoulders.
Harry gulped as his mouth went dry. He felt as if all the air in his lungs had been forced out of him. The neckline of Ginny’s dress suddenly appeared much lower than the modest cut of Gabrielle’s, and Ginny’s bosom looked as if it were barely being contained. Her robes no longer looked as if they had been made for a little girl at all.
Harry’s jaw dropped open, and he wasn’t even been aware of it until Hermione elbowed him sharply in the ribs. Ginny’s eyes sparkled with triumph.
Jean-Luc, of course, handled the situation with much more grace than Harry had managed. He leaned over and whispered something in Ginny’s ear, causing her to blush and look toward her feet. In doing so, she missed the appreciative look the Frenchman cast down her cleavage.
Harry didn’t miss it, however, and jumped to his feet.
Once again, it was Hermione who held him back. “Don’t make a scene, Harry,” she hissed.
Harry glared at her. “Did you see where he was looking?” he demanded crossly.
“Yes. The same place you were looking. Honestly, Harry. It’s called a push-up bra,” Hermione said, her cheeks turning pink.
“What the bloody hell has Ginny done to herself?” Ron demanded, finally finding his voice after Ginny and Jean-Luc had walked onto the dance floor. “That…that doesn’t look like my baby sister, and I don’t want all these blokes looking at that.”
“Would you lower your voice,” Hermione snapped. “Ginny wanted something to make her dress robes look less childlike, so I told her what to get.
It’s a Muggle thing, and it’s designed to take what you’ve got and…push it all up a bit.”
“A bit?” Ron demanded furiously.
“Never mind your sister, Ron. She can take care of herself. Besides, she’s only dancing amidst the presence of her entire family. Speaking of dancing, I believe you promised me one,” Hermione said, raising an eyebrow.
Ron gulped but held out his hand and escorted her onto the floor, still throwing murderous glances towards Ginny and Jean-Luc.
Scowling, Harry turned on his heel and stormed away from the table. While Charlie was watching Ginny closely, Ekaterina was smiling knowingly at Harry, and he couldn’t stand it. He saw Remus standing with Tonks near one of the bars and walked over to join them.
“Wotcher, Harry,” Tonks said. She was wearing bright fuchsia robes with a hair color to match. Harry was happy to see that both her Metamorphmagus abilities as well as her relationship with Remus appeared to be back on track. The couple was nearly beaming. Despite the sting he felt from the mess his own relationship with Ginny had become, he was pleased the fates appeared to be smiling on his former professor.
“Hi, Tonks. Hello, Remus,” Harry said, shaking the older man’s hand.
“What’s the matter, kid? You look like you just lost your best friend,” Tonks said with concern.
Harry shrugged. “I’m all right.”
Remus’s eyes scanned the dance floor and came to rest on the glittering figure in gold with the fiery red hair. “Ah. I see,” he said, before handing Harry a shot of Firewhiskey.
Harry raised his eyebrow.
“Sirius always said it helped to take the edge off,” Remus said, raising his own glass. He and Harry clinked their glasses together before tipping back the shots.
“How are things going at headquarters?” Harry asked once his eyes had stopped streaming.
He noticed the furtive glance that passed between the two Order members before Tonks answered. “Busy. There has been a lot happening.”
“Like what?” Harry demanded. “I know someone’s staying there that you’re protecting.”
The last statement was merely a shot in the dark, but it appeared to hit its mark. “Not here, Harry,” Remus said, speaking in a low voice. “We can talk about it another time in a more secure location.”
As he spoke with Remus and Tonks, Harry’s eyes kept glancing surreptitiously at the dance floor. He watched as Ginny danced with several partners in addition to Jean-Luc, although he appeared at her side more often than not. She looked as if she were having the time of her life. He hadn’t known she could dance so well. If it weren’t for the fact that Jean-Luc was out there with her, he would have enjoyed watching her.
The monster in his chest was screaming at him to go out there and ask her to dance, but he held back. He couldn’t do that. If he went near her now, he’d be lost, and he knew it. It was better for her and all involved if he kept his distance and allowed her to move on with her life.
He just wished it didn’t have to hurt so much.
As Tonks turned to speak with someone from the Ministry, Remus leaned over to speak softly in Harry’s ear. “If she won’t leave your thoughts even when you try to keep her away, perhaps the answer lies in keeping her closer to your heart.”
Harry sighed, still staring at Ginny as she danced. “I wish it were that simple.”
“Sometimes it is,” Remus said mildly.
“It’s too dangerous right now, and I don’t want to see her hurt,” Harry replied, the standard answer suddenly sounding weak even to his own ears.
‘Ah, I see. That old mistress Nobility appears to run strong in your family, Harry. Your father went through a stage of wanting to protect your mother, too. He didn’t want her involved in the Order or fighting Voldemort, but he finally came around and allowed her to be herself. He realized that he fell in love with that feisty, stand-up-for-what-she-believed-in girl, and then he asked her to change. That wasn’t really fair to either of them,” Remus said, taking another drink.
“Is that what I’m doing?” Harry asked, shocked. He’d never quite looked at it that way. Of course his parents had both been involved in the fight against Voldemort. The prophecy had said they’d defied him three times. His mother was in the Order, the same as his father, yet he’d still tried to protect her when Voldemort had first arrived at Godric’s Hollow. How had he reconciled the two such opposing desires?
“It would be highly unfair if Ginny locks away her true personality in order to support your quest, only to have you fall out of love with her because she’s no longer the same girl with whom you fell in love in the first place,” Remus said.
“That would never happen,” Harry stated firmly.
“I feel like a hypocrite giving you this advice, Harry, considering my actions of the past year,” Remus said, wincing. “But take it from a man who knows where you’re coming from, you’re much stronger and a more able wizard with her than without her.”
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