AN: Hello, loves! I just watched Mamma Mia! again instead of studying for a midterm, and was inspired to write a Harry Potter fic with a similar premise instead of studying for that midterm! This is an AU that heavily borrows from Mamma Mia! But if you think you know the story, think again! Drop a review and tell me what you think :)
"So let me get this straight," Ron repeated for the third time, "You just invited four random strangers to your wedding on the off chance that one of them is your long-lost father?"
Harry ignored him in favor of adjusting the gears on his Omnioculars, zooming greedily in on the first man who had exited the boat.
Hermione, who had initially been similarly skeptical, was now skimming through Lily's old diary, highlighter in hand, lips pursed in concentration. She was approaching this venture, Harry was gratified to see, with all the efficiency and seriousness she would any class assignment. "Well if we're going to do this, we're going to do it right!" She had declared, before snatching the diary from Harry's hands when he had sheepishly confessed what he'd done.
"What do you think?" Harry demanded, glancing up from the Omnioculars to gesture to the figure of the man—tall, handsome, and proud-looking with sharp grey eyes and shaggy black hair.
Ron made an impatient noise and Harry reluctantly passed the Omnioculars to him.
"Could be!" Ron said excitedly, adjusting the gears. "He's got black hair, just like you!"
Hermione clucked her tongue, holding out her hand, and Ron immediately handed them to her. She peered through them for a couple seconds, before lowering them thoughtfully.
Harry was practically vibrating with excitement. "Well?"
"That'll be Sirius Black," she pronounced, thumbing through the hand-written pages, "Ah, here, see: 'tall, dark, and devastatingly handsome with an inexplicably haughty mien, never seen without a pristine Rolex strapped to his wrist, even on the beach.'" She read aloud.
Harry took the Omnioculars back and zoomed in again, this time on the man's wrist. Sure enough, a shiny watch glinted in the sunlight. He grinned.
"Oi, who's that then?" Ron asked, hitting him lightly to indicate another man who stepped off the boat to engage the first in conversation.
Harry swung the goggles round and studied the newcomer curiously. He was weary-looking and scarred, with rumpled brown hair and, Harry noticed when he impishly offered the first man a bar of chocolate, a very kind smile.
He looked up at Hermione.
"Remus Lupin," she said, without bothering to skim through the journal again. "'Professorial, addicted to chocolate, and perpetually in need of sleep,'" She listed off.
Ron took the Omnioculars from Harry again, and frowned. "His hair's not as dark as yours," he noted. "But it looks just as messy. And you certainly like your sweets."
That was true, actually; Harry rather did have a sweet tooth.
Two more men exited the boat— one tall and wearing black robes despite the heat, who held himself stiffly apart from the others, and another short and plump, who bounced happily onto the dock to engage the first two.
Harry allowed Ron several seconds to examine the new additions— "Oi, Harry, this bloke has black hair too! …But I really hope he's not your father. Merlin, even the thought of him coming near Aunt Lily makes me sick—" before snatching the Omnioculars again to look for himself.
"Severus Snape," Harry decided, eyes tracing over the greasy black hair, sallow skin, and hooked nose, his stomach roiling as he recalled a particularly nasty and tear-stained passage in the diary. He also hoped that this man wasn't his father.
He handed the Omnioculars to Hermione for a quick look, and she nodded in confirmation.
"Which makes that last bloke…" Hermione trailed off, her brow creasing slightly.
Harry skimmed the final man through the magical lenses, his heart sinking a little bit as he studied the short, balding man whose face was ruddy from the sun. "James Potter," He finished for Hermione, trying not to feel disappointed as he handed off the Omnioculars to an eager Ron. From the way James Potter had been described by his mother in the diary— brilliant, hot-headed, dynamic, charismatic, and noble— he had been secretly hoping that he would be the one, but this man was very clearly too fair-skinned to be Harry's dad. Not to mention, he didn't quite live up to Lily's description.
Hermione was sifting rapidly through the diary, brow still creased, "I don't understand," She muttered, "Lily was so spot-on with the rest of the descriptions— I recognized them so easily."
"Why?" Ron asked, still trailing the four men through the Omnioculars. "How did she describe James, then?"
"'Strong-jawed,'" Hermione read out from a passage detailing one of the first encounters Lily had had with James (they'd had a spectacular row), "'Broad-shouldered and bespectacled with a brilliant light in his eyes, a boyish grin, and an ungovernable mane fit for the beast that he was. And he was—beastly, I mean— and yet… by far the most attractive man I've ever laid eyes on.'"
Ron snorted dubiously, fiddling with the zoom on the goggles. "I'd say the years were not kind to the 'Beast.'"
Hermione slapped him admonishingly with the diary, but Harry rolled his eyes and forced a grin, trying to quell the disappointed feeling. So what his dad wasn't the man his mom had been head-over-heels in love with? That didn't mean anything. His father was still here, and Harry was closer than ever to finally meeting him and finally knowing him— and finally knowing himself.
"Focus," Hermione ordered, tapping Ron's head lightly with the diary. "Okay, I guess we can tentatively rule out James Potter," she said with a sigh. "Pity. I was so hoping it would be him. He sounds like he was quite the dreamboat back in the day—"
Ron spluttered, his ears turning very red.
"Yes, yes, well," Hermione continued hurriedly, looking decidedly embarrassed as she brushed a tangle of her frizzy dark hair off her shoulder.
Harry wanted to roll his eyes again at his friends' horribly awkward, entirely mutual, and as-of-yet completely unacknowledged feelings for each other, but refrained.
"He's white," Ron said bluntly.
"Yes," Hermione sighed again. "He does look a bit too pale to be the source of Harry's 'perpetual tan,'" She quirked her eyebrows as she used the line they'd taken to quipping every time Harry was asked what ethnicity he was. "And Lily's family are all Irish so I don't think it comes from her side. I think it's most likely Sirius Black, but we can't rule out Lupin or Snape, either," she said. Then her eyes narrowed at something in the distance and she snapped the book shut decisively. "Well, Harry, you go distract your mother; Ron and I will see to it that our special guests are squirreled away somewhere until the wedding."
"But I want to—" Harry protested, but Hermione just nodded significantly to something behind him.
He turned, and his heart dropped. There, on the other side of the beach, Harry saw his mother— along with Mrs. Weasley and Harry's godmother Mary MacDonald— greeting two new arrivals, a young man and an older woman, both blonde and pale and delicately beautiful, like white roses in the heavy sun. His eyes were immediately glued to the figure of the young man, who flashed a quick smile at Harry's mother, reaching out to take her hand in greeting. Harry would recognize that smile, that elegant bearing, that head of white-blonde hair anywhere.
Then, as if sensing Harry's eyes on his back, the newcomer turned, his hand falling out of Lily's, and Harry was pierced by those sharp silver eyes that seemed to see right through him.
Harry tore his gaze back to Hermione, suddenly panicked.
"Who invited him?" He whispered, stricken.
Ron turned, caught sight of the newcomers, and scrambled to his feet, swearing roundly. "What is that ferret-faced bastard doing here—?!"
"Enough, Ron," Hermione ordered. "It was probably your mother," she said, turning to Harry. "She knew you were friends, right? I'm assuming you mentioned him a few times in your letters home. I don't think she knows about— well, everything, does she?"
Harry shook his head guiltily.
"There," Hermione said gently. "She probably thought it would be a nice surprise for you to see some of your other friends." She pressed a hand, dry and brown and comforting, into his arm. "Breathe," she said softly, the skin around her dark eyes crinkling. "Are you okay to handle that on your own?"
"Now wait a minute—" Ron protested hotly.
"Yes," Harry interrupted, Hermione's touch grounding him, even though he felt like the bottom of his stomach had just fallen away, leaving the inside of him a hollowed-out, empty void.
"Okay," Hermione said, squeezing his hand. "Ron and I will take care of your dads."