Disclaimer: As ever, all hail Queen Jo
A/N: this one is for the wonderful Lady Phoenix Fire Rose who requested some Harry/Ginny way back in February over at the Gift Giving Extravaganza Forum. I am so, so sorry that this is so late, but I hope you enjoy it anyway!
"I've been looking all over for you two!" Both Harry and Ron turned at the sound of Hermione's voice, and Ron's jaw dropped. Hermione was dressed in robes of glittering gold, carrying a bouquet of the reddest roses which matched her red heels. Her hair had been piled on top of her head in an artful up do, and her carefully applied make up accentuated her natural beauty.
"Wow, Hermione," Harry grinned at her. "You look gorgeous."
"Oi, Potter, this one's taken!" Ron said, slinking his arm around her waist and pointing to the diamond on the third finger of Hermione's left hand. "You're not leaving my sister on her wedding day for my fiancée!"
"Damn it, there go all my plans," Harry said, shaking his head mock-ruefully, but Ron was no longer paying him any attention.
"You look...beautiful," he said, his voice cracking slightly on the last word. Hermione's glowing smile grew even larger, and she flushed slightly.
"You haven't scrubbed up too badly yourself," she said, and Harry tactfully looked the other way.
"Urgh, disgusting! Honestly, if there's any day a bloke shouldn't have to be witness to a display like that, it's his wedding day!" Ron and Hermione broke apart to glare at George, who had just arrived.
"You're not getting married today," said Ron accusingly.
"Don't I know it," George sighed. "You should hear Mum... 'George dearest, when are you going to make an honest woman out of that lovely Angelina? Isn't it about time you two settled down?' You'd think she'd ease up now that we gave her a grandkid, but no... So thanks, Potter, for reminding her about how much fun planning a wedding is!" He glared at Harry.
"Sorry," replied Harry, not sounding it at all. "I'll try not to marry your sister again."
"Glad to hear it!" George said chummily. "Oh—Neville said to ask you if you've spoken to Harry about the thing yet? He sounded quite frantic poor chap – but then, it's Neville. He often does. Anyway, are you guys planning something, and if you are, can I be in on it?!"
"Nothing as exciting as that, I'm afraid," Hermione said with a small sigh. "Harry, there's been a slight change of plans."
"...is not a phrase any bloke wants to hear on his wedding day!" cut in George. Hermione silenced him with a look.
"You know Dean was going to pick up Dudley from in the village?" she asked.
Harry nodded. He had sent, mostly at Mrs. Weasley's behest, invitations to his only living relatives, but as he had expected, he had not heard anything from them. Two weeks before the wedding, however, Dudley had been in touch, saying he hadn't heard about the wedding before now but wanted to come, if Harry would have him. Harry, who got on best with Dudley out of all his relatives, had agreed, and they had worked out a plan to get him to the wedding.
He was to stay in a hotel in the Muggle part of Ottery St. Catchpole, and Dean Thomas, who was experienced in the Muggle world but not busy with wedding preparations on the day of the ceremony, like Hermione would be, would help him get past the extensive wards that had been placed on The Burrow. Harry wondered now if the thought of their being so much magic around had changed Dudley's mind. His experiences with the wizarding world had never exactly been good, after all...
"It's just that he's brought someone else along, too," Hermione said, biting her lip.
"A girlfriend?" She shook her head. "Oh, a boyfriend? Whatever, that's fine too—we've got plenty of space, and—"
"He's brought your Aunt Petunia," Hermione said. Harry thought for a moment he'd misheard her, but the serious look on her face told him she was telling the truth. Aunt Petunia at The Burrow?! It seemed more reasonable to imagine her on Mars...
"She said that she'd like to come to the wedding," Hermione continued. "If that was okay with you. I mean, I know you did invite her, but—"
"Where is she?" asked Harry.
"She's outside the wards, with Dean still – he sent Neville to find us and explain the situation," Hermione said. "Your Uncle isn't with her."
"She's outside the wards?" Harry repeated. He felt like pinching himself, to make sure this wasn't some strange dream. This wasn't how his wedding day was supposed to go... "I...does Ginny know?"
"I'm not sure," replied Hermione. "I don't think so. I can go and tell her, if you'd like?"
"No, I...leave it a moment," answered Harry. He knew exactly what Ginny would say to him about the situation – she'd leave it up to him to decide what to do.
"She's your Aunt, and it's up to you whether you invite her, never mind what Mum says," she'd said, when they were debating whether or not to send the invitation out, as her mother had requested. "I'll stand by you if you decide you want her there, but also if you decide you don't." Harry knew this was the truth, but he also knew Ginny's temper. She'd always said that she'd have a few choice words for Harry's Muggle relatives, were she ever to meet them...
"We can make her leave if you want," Ron said, slightly menacingly.
Harry hesitated. Ron, Hermione and George, who had kept quiet throughout the whole discussion, watched him carefully. Ron looked angry, Hermione concerned and George...George's face was inscrutable. "I—" he began eventually, but his response was cut off by a crash from the hallway, and Molly and Arthur's voices.
"—would turn up here, today of all days, when she isn't—"
Arthur, more soothingly: "But she was invited Molly; you said yourself that it was important to—"
"Yes, because it's polite—I'm not going to be taken for ill-mannered by that—oh, hello Harry dear," Molly gave what was perhaps meant to be a reassuring smile, though this was rather negated by the hair that was slipping wildly out of its updo and the red flush on her cheeks.
"Harry, Molly and I just thought you ought to know that—" began Arthur, but Harry cut across him.
"I've heard—my Aunt's here," he said. "Just outside, apparently?"
"We've brought her across the wards—Audrey's with her now, and I think Neville and...Hannah, is it? Yes, those two are there too," Arthur explained, and Harry found himself momentarily fixating on the hilarity of the Dursleys being passed from one magical guest to another. Audrey, at least, was Muggleborn, which should help put Dudley at ease—and besides he had shown the most interest in Harry's life since he had moved out of Privet Drive. Sticking poor Neville and Hannah with Aunt Petunia seemed like a recipe for disaster though – both of them were some of the nicest people Harry had ever met, but they had also both been raised in purely magical families and had no concept of how the Muggle world worked at all. Aunt Petunia would be horrified.
But then, what was she doing at Harry's wedding in the first place? They didn't even exchange Christmas cards (unlike he did with Dudley), and he'd only sent the invitation to her to please Molly. He asked this question of Arthur, who gave a shrug.
"Neville said that she'd told him she'd like to come, but she wanted to make sure you'd be okay with her being there," Hermione piped up. Harry felt even more perplexed—this was so out of character for Petunia that for a moment, he couldn't believe it was actually her. Hermione had picked up on this fact too, it seemed. "I've been thinking though – the press have been so desperate to get someone into this wedding, haven't they?"
There were general noises of agreement from around the room. One week before the wedding, it had been discovered that one of the employees of the company supplying the marquee had in fact been a gossip columnist from Witch Weekly who was attempting to infiltrate Harry and Ginny's very private ceremony. The issue had been dealt with, but it had made all of the Weasleys quite uneasy about the lengths to which the press would go to in order to get inside the wedding of the Boy Who Lived. "What if it's only someone posing as your Aunt? A journalist or something?" Hermione asked.
The idea didn't seem all that far-fetched, now he came to think of it. "We'll do what we do at work—get her to answer a question that only your real Aunt would know the correct answer to," Ron suggested. They all looked expectantly at Harry.
"Just after I got that letter from the Ministry about being expelled, after the Dementor attack...Dumbledore sent her a Howler saying 'remember my last'. If she can tell you the contents of that letter...it's her," he said.
"I'll go and ask her," Ron said, narrowing his eyes.
"I'll come with you," his father added hurriedly, following him out of the room.
"Don't you worry, Harry dear," Molly said comfortingly. "We'll sort this out soon enough, you'll see."
"I'm not worried," Harry said, somewhat automatically—but it was the truth. Petunia Dursley turning up at the Burrow on his wedding day was many, many things, but it didn't make him worried, as such. Though, come to think of it, he did have some concerns as to what Ginny might say to her...
As though his thoughts had somehow summoned her, Ginny's voice came down the stairs, growing louder as he came towards her. "Where are you all? You've all disappeared off and Hermione said something about an emergency, and I—"
"Don't come in here, it's bad luck!" Hermione squealed, and raced out into the hallway. Molly followed, and Harry heard them turn a protesting Ginny around and frogmarch her back up the stairs to her bedroom, where Harry knew that the other Weasley women and Luna were helping her get ready. He glanced at the clock: it was half past ten. By now, she'd be in her wedding dress, pretty much ready for the ceremony, which was due to begin in half an hour. If this business with Aunt Petunia didn't end up stalling it...
"I hope you're not looking for some pearls of wisdom from me," George's voice cut through Harry's thoughts. He jumped, having forgotten that the other Weasley was still in the room with him. "I know she's your family but...well, there's family, and there's family, isn't there? I'd give anything for another thirty seconds with Fred; Great Aunt Muriel could drop dead tomorrow and I wouldn't bat an eyelid. Speaking of which, maybe we should put her with your Aunt? They'd make a right pair..."
Harry forced a laugh. "What I really want to do," he mused aloud, "is talk to Ginny about this whole mess."
"Hmm," George said, frowning slightly.
"I can't though," Harry continued, still more to himself than to George, "Hermione and your mother and the rest of them would never allow it—it's bad luck!" he squawked, falsetto.
"You don't believe that, surely?" asked George.
"'Course not," Harry replied. "And neither does Ginny—nor Hermione, really. It's just a silly old superstition. But your Mum...well, no offense, but there's absolutely no way someone like her could be persuaded to ignore that tradition!"
"But you don't actually have to see her, do you?" George asked. Harry looked puzzled. "What I mean is, the superstition is that it's bad luck to see your bride on the wedding day before you get married. But there's nothing about not talking to her before the ceremony!"
"Well...no," Harry conceded. George winked.
"Leave it with me," he said, and then he, too, left the room.
Alone with his thoughts, Harry found himself fixating on the last time he'd met Dudley Dursley. It had started a few months after the war had ended, when Dudley had written to him, asking him to pass on his thanks to Hestia Jones and Deadlus Diggle, who had both done so much to help the Dursleys (so he said) during the time when they were in hiding, and shortly afterwards. Harry had done so, but couldn't hide his shock at this complete change in Dudley's attitude, and had found himself writing back to him, asking, half-joking, if they had given him a complete personality transplant whilst he was in hiding. Dudley had replied, stating that they had explained about the wizarding world, the war, and Harry's vital role in it, and he had been amazed, and horrified, at what his cousin was being expected to do.
And, even more significantly, he had apologised for his previous behaviour. Harry had (after some thought) forgiven him: he had forgiven others who had done much worse—the Malfoys, Snape—and Dudley had, after all, been very young when he used to bully him. People grew and changed, and Dudley was, at least, making an effort. From there, they began to exchange letters periodically, and last Christmas, he and Dudley had met up in a pub in Little Whinging, where they had had a drink or two and a catch-up. And then, Dudley had invited him back to his house, to see his parents again...
"Come on, just for ten minutes!" Dudley said. "They're dying to see you again." Harry felt that this was wishful thinking on Dudley's part, but it was Christmas, and his cousin had been making an effort, of late... But he had Ginny to think of—he'd said he'd be back by ten, and it was already half-past nine...by the time they'd walked to number four—a place he had no desire to visit again—it would be nearly ten, and...
"Some other time, maybe," he said, but Dudley looked crestfallen—so crestfallen, in fact, that Harry couldn't help but ask him why he was so insistent that Harry drop in to see two people who had no about as little desire to see him again as they had to see him.
"It's just..." Dudley said, fidgeting awkwardly with his coat buttons, "you remember Courtney?" Harry nodded, having been introduced to Dudley's girlfriend when he'd called on him a few hours earlier. "Well, we're thinking of getting married at some point, and probably having kids too, and...well, I just wouldn't want my kids to treat yours like I treated you!"
Harry was taken aback by this, but attempted to take it in his stride. "Well...that's very nice, Dud, but I still don't see why it means I have to visit your parents..."
"We need to make amends as a family," Dudley said seriously, and, too late, Harry remembered that Courtney was a psychologist. She had clearly been giving Dudley pointers on family relations. Still, the issue was clearly important to him, and it was Christmas...
"Well, I don't see the harm in stopping by for ten minutes," Harry said, and Dudley looked delighted. He was even more delighted by apparition—Harry had taken them to the bottom of Privet Drive by magic, to save the time walking—and Harry found himself struggling to reconcile this Dudley with the Dudley of his youth. But people can change he reminded himself. Look at Ron and Hermione—when they were both eleven, they'd sooner have died than kissed each other, and now they can't keep their hands off each other! If they can change, so can Dudley...
Dudley rang the doorbell of his parents' house, and he and Harry stood awkwardly on the doorstep. Aunt Petunia quickly opened the door, clearly delighted at this surprise visit from her 'Little Didikins'. Blushing, Dudley stepped backwards to reveal Harry, and Aunt Petunia turned pale with shock.
"Er—hello," Harry said. Aunt Petunia said nothing, still surveying Harry with...well, with what he couldn't tell. She wasn't pleased to see him, that much was clear, but she looked...there was definitely something there that Harry couldn't put his finger on. "Harry and I were just having drinks at the Slug and Lettuce in town," Dudley said. "We thought we'd drop in on our way home to say hello!"
"You'd better come inside then," Aunt Petunia said stiffly, and Harry raised his eyebrows in surprise that she'd extended the invitation so easily. Glancing behind him, however, Harry saw that the neighbours across the road had just pulled up and were eyeing Harry with interest. Aunt Petunia was quick to close the door behind him.
Number four still looked exactly the same as it had done all those years ago—though the kitchen had been redone, complete with fancy new appliances. It looked very Dursley. Dudley was making awkward small talk when Uncle Vernon stepped out of the living room. "You!" he said, his eyes bulging as they fell on Harry. "How dare you set foot in this house, after everything you put us through! Get out! Out!"
"Dad!" Dudley exclaimed angrily, but Harry just sighed without too much resignation. If Dudley had changed beyond all recognition, his father certainly hadn't.
"Don't you defend that...that...freak to me!" Vernon roared. Harry made his way over to the front door, glancing at Aunt Petunia as he went. She was looking at Harry strangely—and for a moment, he was back at the house aged seventeen and about to leave for the Horcrux hunt. She'd had the same expression on her face then, like there was something she wanted to tell him, but again she remained silent, just watching him as he reopened the front door and stepped out onto the driveway. "And stay out!" roared Vernon, slamming the door behind him. There was some indistinguishable shouting, then a moment later, Dudley joined him, apologising profusely.
"I don't know what I expected to happen," he said gloomily.
"Cheer up, Dud," Harry said, patting him rather awkwardly on the shoulder. "It'll..." He drifted off. 'It'll be okay' was what he had been going to say, but he knew that his relationship with his mother's sister and her husband would never be 'okay'. He didn't particularly care about this—he had lost interest in the two eldest Dursleys years ago—but he could see that Dudley was upset by his father's actions. "How about I apparate you back to your place?"
"Well, it really is your Aunt," Ron's voice brought Harry back to the present with a jolt. "I asked her the question, and she answered correctly—it's not a reporter in disguise or anything."
Harry nodded, but thought privately that this made even less sense than someone from the media trying to sneak into the wedding: that incident at Christmas had been the last time he'd seen his Aunt. He'd seen Dudley shortly after the new year, but neither of them had mentioned the incident at all—indeed, it hadn't been mentioned until a couple of weeks ago, when Dudley had said that he would come to the wedding.
I think Mum and Dad are still mad about what happened at Christmas—they didn't tell me that they'd received invitations until I found it hidden behind the fruit bowl when I was round this weekend he'd written.
"She said that she really needs to talk to you, before the wedding starts," Ron said. Harry glanced at Fabian Prewett's battered old watch. He was supposed to be down there in twenty-five minutes...
Before he could respond to Ron, Hermione poked her head around the door. "Harry? Ginny's here—George said that you needed to talk to her? He's distracting Mrs Weasley, and we thought that if the two of you, you know, talked through the closed door, it would be fine..."
Harry nodded, and Hermione beckoned at Ron, who followed her out of the living room, closing the door behind him. A moment passed, then Ginny's voice came, still as beautiful a sound to him as ever. "Harry? Hermione's explained everything about your Aunt being here—she said that she wanted to come to the wedding?"
"Apparently, she desperately needs to talk to me before the ceremony starts," Harry said. "But I don't know..."
"You don't want her there?" asked Ginny.
"I honestly don't care, I don't think," Harry said. "I mean, I don't care whether or not she's there. I am intrigued, though, about what she has to talk to me about, but..."
"But?" prompted Ginny.
"But she's shown no interest in anything I've done until now—why start today? And why would she even want to turn up? Is she trying to ruin this day—our day?!"
"I don't think so," Ginny said softly, and Harry wished he could see her face. "Look," she continued briskly. "She is your family, but that doesn't mean that she has to be here if you don't want her to be. She's no longer important in your life. What's that saying? 'It doesn't matter where you come from, it's where you're going.' That's cheesy, but it's true. Who cares about her? This day is about us!"
"So you think I should send her away?" Harry asked.
"I think you should do what you choose to do, not what anyone else thinks you should do," Ginny said. "No one here is going to judge you if you ask her to leave—we all know how she treated you as a child." Here, for the first time, a note of bitterness crept into Ginny's voice. "But, if you're feeling generous, by all means ask her to stay. Merlin only knows, there's enough of our other friends here today that you won't have to speak to her at the reception. Just don't spend the whole day obsessing over the right decision..." Harry was silent for a long moment – long enough for Ginny to ask him if he was still there.
"Yeah, I am," he replied. "I think...I think I'm going to go and talk to her, find out what she wants."
"I knew you would," Ginny said, with a tiny laugh. "She's in the kitchen. Hermione'll give you the all clear when I'm gone."
There was a rustle of material, then, a few moments later, Hermione opened the door. She looked uncertainly at Harry. "I'm going to talk to my Aunt," he said, setting off for the kitchen. She and Ron followed him, but tactfully didn't actually enter the room.
Harry was greeted with one of the strangest sights he'd ever seen: Aunt Petunia was sat at the Weasleys' kitchen table, making very awkward small talk with Arthur. "Ah, Harry!" said the latter, sounding as relieved as Harry had ever heard him. "I shall go and show your cousin to his seat—I must say, he's grown into a fine young man," he added to Aunt Petunia. "He knows so much about drills!"
Aunt Petunia looked like she didn't quite know what to say to this (in fairness, thought Harry, he didn't either), and so settled for taking a sip of the tea that someone had gone to the trouble of making for her. "Er...hello," Harry said, resisting the urge to glance at his watch. He wanted to know what it was that his Aunt had to say to him, but not at the expense of missing anything to do with his wedding.
"Hello," said Aunt Petunia. "I have something for you."
This, Harry was not expecting. He knew, of course, that it was traditional for a couple to be given wedding presents when they got married, but he was not expecting one from Aunt Petunia—and what could she possibly have bought? She fished around in her handbag, but paused and looked up at him before she drew anything out. "When Dudley found out that Vernon and I hadn't passed on your wedding invitation to him, he was very angry," she said. "But then, he always was a better person than I am...he has reconciled with you, whereas I never could with Lily."
"Right," said Harry shortly. He didn't have time to listen to revelations on Dudley's greatness from his Aunt—it felt too much like his childhood, when Dudley was far from a good person.
"The point is," sighed Aunt Petunia. "He made me think about what has happened...what I've done. Your mother left me something, in her will. I found them the other day, and...I wanted to give them to you, today, on your wedding day. I was going to give them to Dudley to take, but he made me come with him to give them to you. He said that I owed it to Lily... Vernon disagreed, of course, said we'd already done far too much for her memory, and sometimes I'm inclined to agree, but... Well, anyway. Here you go."
Unceremoniously, she handed Harry a small black box. Inside were two perfectly formed teardrop shaped emerald earrings. "Your father had them made for your mother on her wedding day," said Aunt Petunia. "She left them to me in her will, but I've never worn them. But Dudley showed me a picture of your...of Ginny, and I thought they would look lovely on her. If you wanted them, that is."
"Are you sure you want me to have them?" Harry asked. He owned very little that had belonged to his parents, and most of what he did have—the Marauders' Map, the Cloak—had belonged to his father. The earrings were exquisitely beautiful, his mother had worn them on her wedding day, and, much as he hated to admit it and agree with Aunt Petunia, they would look lovely on Ginny, the green showing up against her gorgeous red hair in much the same way he imagined it had on his mother. But still, they had been willed to Aunt Petunia...
"I will never wear them," she said simply. "So they may as well get put to some use."
"Well—thank you," said Harry, surprised. She inclined her head. "Do you want to stay for the wedding?" Asking her had been surprisingly easy in the end: Harry realised he honestly didn't care whether she was there or not. The day was about him and Ginny, and would be whether it was just the two of them and an officiator in attendance, or the two of them and every single person they knew.
Aunt Petunia looked surprised by the offer—even though, Harry thought drily, he had sent her an official invitation weeks ago. "If you don't mind," she said hesitantly.
"It's no trouble—we can make room," Harry said. Aunt Petunia nodded, clearly not understanding that he meant literally: two more chairs would have to be conjured. "Dudley's just outside," he said, indicating the back garden where his cousin was standing. Further down, in the meadow, stood a large marquee, where the ceremony, and later the reception, were to be held. At the entrance, little Teddy Lupin (aided and abetted by and George) was taking his duties as a page boy very seriously, and was showing people to their seats. Harry grinned, thinking of Aunt Petunia's expression when she saw his bright turquoise hair—and what she might look like if she witnessed it change colour. He gave her a final nod, and exited the kitchen, where Ron was stood outside waiting.
"All sorted?" asked his best man.
"Yep," nodded Harry. "Just got to do one more thing!" He raced up the stairs, and a second later, Ron realised what he was doing and sprinted after him.
"You can't go up there! Ginny's there! Harry, wait—"
Hermione, who had clearly heard Ron's voice, came hurtling out of Ginny's bedroom. "Harry, what's—"
"I need to talk to Ginny!" he said.
"Again?" she asked.
"It's okay, I'm covering my eyes!" he said, clapping a hand to his face and squeezing his eyes shut.
"Sorry, no men allowed in here," came Angelina's voice, and there was a firm grip on his arm which tried to steer him away.
"I have something for Ginny!" he repeated.
"Now, Harry dear?" came Molly's slightly exasperated tone.
"Yes—it's important," he insisted. Molly began to protest, but he heard Ginny shush her.
"It's okay, I've got my back turned and my eyes closed," she called. "Luna can confirm it, can't you Luna?"
"She does have her eyes shut tightly," came Luna's unmistakeably dreamy tones. "But that doesn't mean she can't see you, of course..."
Harry dismissed this as a typical Luna-ism, and explained the reason for his sudden appearance. "My Aunt wanted to give me a pair of my Mum's old earrings—the ones she wore on her wedding day. She thought that you might like to wear them and I agree," he said, surprising even himself with his words. Blindly, he held out the box, and felt Angelina take them from him.
A moment later, he heard the sound of it being opened, then unmistakeable gasps from all the women in the room. "Zhey are beautiful!" exclaimed a French voice, and Harry assumed that "Pitty earrings!" was Fleur's daughter agreeing with her mother's statement.
"Oh, Ginny, you have to wear them!" said Audrey, and Harry felt Hermione brush past him, clearly wanting to see what all the fuss was about.
"Oh you do, you do!" she cried. "Quickly, take out the ones I loaned you—you'll still be wearing 'something borrowed', so it's okay!"
"Of course I'll be wearing them," said Ginny, her voice full of love. "Thank your Aunt for me, Harry."
"Oh, I will," said Harry. "I—" But someone was steering him firmly away from the door to Ginny's bedroom, and when he opened his eyes he was nearly at the top of the stairs, gazing down at his soon-to-be mother-in-law.
"This is all very well and good, but you were expected downstairs five minutes ago, Harry!" Molly said, pointing downstairs and managing to look very fierce indeed, despite the fact that she was in her best dress robes and had had her hair and make up done to perfection by one of her many daughters-in-law.
"Er—yes—of course," Harry stuttered, whilst Ron, stood behind his mother, hid his sniggering in the palm of his hand.
"Now, get going! Go on, off you go! I will not have you be late to my daughter's wedding!" Harry raced down the stairs at double speed, but paused at the bottom, when Molly called him back. "Oh, Harry?"
"Yes?" he said, turning.
"Thank you." She gave him the kindest smile he had ever seen, and he grinned back. "The sooner you leave, the sooner you get to see her," she reminded him, and Harry all but dragged Ron to the entrance of the marquee, walking away from Ginny Weasley for the last time ever.