AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Hi everyone! This is my newest story, Harry Potter and the Riddle Glass. (No, I'm not explaining the title. You'll find out soon enough.) I have very little time to say anything, so I'm just going to advise you that this story is one possible version of the seventh book, so it does take place ENTIRELY AFTER HBP and will contain loads of spoilers.

Enjoy!

Haruka Lune!


A light, early-morning mist hung over the small town of Little Whinging, in Surrey. In a small bedroom in a small house on a small street called Privet Drive, a skinny, black-haired boy with a curious, lightning-shaped scar on his forehead lay in a tangle of bedsheets, half on the floor. At the foot of the old bed was a trunk with a rather curious assortment of items inside, laying cheek-in-jowl with clothes, sweets, and what appeared to be a perfectly normal mirror. These items were the belongings of one Harry Potter, The Chosen One, The-Boy-Who-Lived (better known to his friends as just plain old Harry), the boy sleeping on the bed - at the moment.

The silence was shattered as the bedroom door crashed open, and a man with a very large and bushy moustache - Harry's Uncle Vernon - strode into the room, his face an unbecoming shade of plum.

"BOY!"

Harry sat up with a start and hit his head soundly on the corner of the bedside table as he tried to scramble back into the bed in order to maintain some kind of dignity.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?"

Uncle Vernon's face turned, if that were possible, even purpler than before. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Harry did not. Everything looked blurry.

"It's almost five o'clock in the morning, boy! I want you out of here! Before the neighbors are awake to see you dragging your degenerate self out the front door, do you understand me? Now get dressed!" Uncle Vernon turned on his heel and exited the way he came, slamming the door so hard the single window rattled.

Harry fumbled for his glasses and put them on before looking at the calendar on the wall. July thirty-first, his birthday. Of course. Thirty-one days until school started again, provided Hogwarts hadn't been shut down by the school governors.

But . . . July thirty-first . . .

He was free!

Harry jumped out of bed with an enthusiasm to match that of a first-year student. He grabbed the first set of clothes out of his trunk and put them on without bothering to make sure they matched, then threw his pyjamas into the empty space. It was only then that he realised something important and rather distressing - the sun wasn't even up. Everything was still that strange shade of predawn grey, and he'd just been told to get out of the house . . . but he had nowhere to go. There were no other wizards in Little Whinging, or even in most of Surrey. He put his hands to his forehead and tried to think. No wizards. No witches. No way to contact anyone on short notice because he didn't have access to the Floo network. Plenty of Voldemort's agents running around, though, no doubt waiting to hex him as soon as he left the house.


Twenty minutes later found him puffing his way up Mrs. Figg's front walk, dragging his trunk behind him. Mrs. Figg opened the door for him cautiously and helped him pull his trunk inside, where it was seized by four identical hands and heaved out of the way.

"Hey, mate, what you doing up so early?"

"You were supposed to stay inside -"

"- so we could come pick you up -"

"- without you being put in harm's way -"

"- or at least that's what Mum says."

Harry finally got a word in edgewise.

"Er - what are you doing here?"

Fred and George both tried to sit down at the same time - in the same chair - and one of them promptly slid off onto the floor. He got back up indignantly and glared at the other, who ignored him.

"We were sent to pick you up."

Harry was flabbergasted. "At five o'clock in the morning?"

The one not in the chair laughed. "Listen to him, Fred. From the way he talks you'd think he never heard of subterfuge before."

"We've been here most of the night, Harry," Fred explained. "They - that's to say, the, you know -"

"Yeah, I know," Harry said. "The bird people."

"Right. Anyway, they think there's someone - you know - watching the Floo. So we came at night . . . figured they'd be less likely to be looking for your escort at three in the morning, and nobody's stupid enough to let you try flying all the way to the Burrow on your own, not just now."

"I could have taken the Knight Bus," Harry said indignantly, although that had been the last thing on his mind.

"No, you couldn't," George cut in. "It was shut down by Rufus Scrimgeour. We were supposed to pick you up at ten o'clock, but -"

"Wait a minute. Shut down?" Harry asked incredulously.

The twins nodded. Mrs. Figg offered tea, which all of them absentmindedly accepted.

"But - why?"

"Same old reasons," Fred yawned. "Ernie's a Death Eater, Stan's a Death Eater, the whole wide world is made up of Death Eaters except old Rufus himself, so to serve the better interest of the Wizarding community . . . "

". . . that form of transport commonly known as the Knight Bus will not be operational until such time as it is deemed safe by the Department of Magical Transport," George mimicked, sounding uncannily like the Minister. Fred stood up.

"But anyway, we'd better be off, seeing as you're here, mate - thanks again, Figgy -"

"Er - why are you calling her Figgy? Where are we going? And - wait a minute - aren't I supposed to ask you lot questions, or something? In case you're -" Harry inquired as they left through the back door. Fred shrugged and cut Harry off.

"Everybody else does -"

" - and home, of course, Mum wants to see you -"

" - and sure you're supposed to ask, Harry -"

" - but what could we tell you that nobody else would already know?"

Harry stopped short. That was a good question. "Er . . . wait! How do you - er - the Map, how do you, you know, make it show up?"

"Map?"

"Yeah, you know, the Map you gave me - so I could get into Hogsmeade -"

The twins rolled their eyes as one. One of them hit the other one on the back of the head.

"And to think he's four years younger than both of us put together," the first twin said. "He's an absolute genius. No wonder Ron likes having him around. Why didn't you think of the Marauders' Map, Fred?"

Fred rubbed the back of his head indignantly and hooked his finger at Harry, who understood this to be a signal to move closer.

"Tap it with your wand, mate, and say, 'I solemnly swear I am up to no good,'" he whispered.

Harry nodded. Fred rubbed his hands together. "Right, then, grab a hand, Harry."

"What -?" Harry stuttered.

"You can't Apparate - legally - yet, can you?" Fred raised an eyebrow.

"Er - well -"

"He can't, Fred, Mum said so. And you know what she'd do if she found out we were encouraging him to break the law - "

"She'd kill us."

"Precisely." George grabbed Harry's wrist with one hand, and the trunk handle with the other. "Get his other hand, Fred."

Harry frowned, and George hastened to explain. "It's safer for all of us if we just go together. You don't have a license to Apparate, even, and since Rufus Scrimgeour is just itching for an excuse to put you out of the way -"

"Out of the way? As in, throw me into Azkaban?"

"More or less," Fred agreed. "Since you're not willing to be a Ministry slave. Ready? One - two - three -"

Harry felt the familiar, unpleasant sensation of being squeezed through a rubber tube, and several seconds later found himself tottering in the Weasleys' yard, scaring away the chickens who had been standing near where three young men and a school trunk had just appeared out of nowhere. Mrs. Weasley came hurrying toward them, Ginny following in a lavender-colored dress held up almost to her knees. The dress was very lacy, and when she saw Harry she grinned, then gestured toward the dress and made a face. Harry grinned back.

"Come inside, dears, we're having an early breakfast - Bill wants a word with you as soon as you've got time, Harry - and Fred, George, Charlie has something for you - it had better be something legal, you two, I know what kind of things you've been dragging through this house, and he has no idea what you wanted it for - Ginny, what are you doing outside? You're going to get absolutely filthy!"

Ginny rolled her eyes, but didn't dare make a face at her mother. "I just wanted to say hello to Harry, Mum."

"Well, you've said hello. Now get back inside, Fleur can finish pinning your dress, I have to get breakfast on the table - make sure she doesn't put that flounce in the back, it makes you look too short - we weren't expecting you so soon, Harry, what happened?"

Harry finished sorting through this myriad of statements and questions before answering. "Uncle Vernon wanted to give me an escort to the door," he finally said, at a loss. Mrs. Weasley pursed her lips but didn't say anything, choosing instead to shepherd Harry to a stool just inside the door, where she pressed a piece of toast into his hands. Bill dashed into the kitchen, grabbed a piece of toast off a plate, crunched into it, and ran back out. Harry was amused to see that Bill was only half-dressed - he was wearing an undershirt, trousers, and one boot, and as he thundered through the living room at top speed, Harry heard him bellow at Ron for taking the hairbrush. Harry was busy snickering when Ron came into the kitchen, acting very disgruntled. Bill dashed back through, both boots on his feet this time, buttoning up his dress shirt.

"Love you Mum - hello Harry - Ron, make sure Tomeu has food this morning when you take care of Pig, okay? Thanks - I'll be back - 'bye!" Bill vanished out the back door, his third piece of toast in his hand, his second piece stuck in his mouth. Harry stared after him curiously.

"Where's he off to in such a hurry?"

Fred and George - who had sneaked back into the kitchen while Harry was occupied with watching Bill, the human windstorm - snickered, while Ron looked revolted. Charlie chuckled as he sidled into the room behind them and started putting plates and bowls on the table. "He took three weeks off work after the wedding, so he's been trying to get ahead of schedule while he's got the chance. He's even been bringing stuff home with him. Fleur's going mad."

Harry got down off his stool and went to the cutlery drawer. "Why is she going mad?"

Charlie plunked down the last plate, got a tray full of cups and glasses out of the cupboard, and started setting them down in front of the small place settings. "She's trying to get the last little loose ends tied up, and he's sitting around saying 'uh-huh' and writing up account summaries. Kind of funny, really, if she wasn't taking it out on everyone else - Mum, when's that Margaret girl supposed to be here?" Charlie shifted topics without missing a beat. "I thought she was supposed to come up yesterday for the whatever-you-call-it-"

"Margot ees een tranzit, Charles!" Fleur wailed as she raced into the kitchen. "The Ministry, they do not want her in the country because she ees from France, but the war! Ze whole war ees already een Britain, why are they trying to keep people out? Pins! We are wanting for pins, Ginny and I, the waist must be tucked if zere is no flounce or we will 'ave too much extra cloth -"

"In the basket under the rocking chair, dear," Mrs. Weasley supplied calmly.

"Fleur, slow down before you give yourself a brain aneurysm," Charlie advised. "I've been to loads of weddings in Romania and they always turn out all right. What good is it going to do you if everything looks great, and you're in St. Mungo's recovering from a breakdown?"

Ginny opened the kitchen door, her skirt swaying around her feet. "Mum, I'm hot -"

Mrs. Weasley rounded. "Out! Out, Ginny, you can't get bacon grease out of lace - change before you come in here, please - and take that thing off, it's almost time for breakfast and you're not eating in that dress -" She pushed a cup of tea in front of Fleur, who groaned before pulling it toward herself and taking a long sip.

"Everything is going to be absolutely 'orrible . . ."

Harry was very glad when breakfast was served.


Bill got back to the Burrow around one in the afternoon, but Harry didn't get to talk to him until dinner, and only then because he got sandwiched between Ron and Ginny, across from Bill. Bill was sitting between Charlie and Fleur, who was unusually quiet. It was under the cover of the twins' noise that Bill asked Harry for a word at the end of the meal, and Harry nodded. The two got up from the table and strolled around into the front garden.

"So, Harry, what's new?" Bill asked, absentmindedly kicking a gnome into one of the many Wellington boots scattered around the yard. Then he kicked the boot. The gnome squealed (as much as a gnome was capable of squealing, anyway) and retreated for the relative safety of the bushes.

"Er, not much - I mean - well - nothing you don't know about already. How about you?" Harry watched the gnome's rapid progress.

"Actually, Harry, that's what I wanted to talk to you about." Bill sat down in a rickety old chair near the front steps. Harry didn't see another chair and was about to sit down on the ground when Bill's eyes flicked to the wand stuck in his back pocket, amused.

"Oh, yeah . . . " Harry pulled out his wand and conjured himself a rather lopsided - but functional - chair. Bill looked impressed.

"Not too bad for a first go," he observed. "Anyway, Harry, I wanted to ask you something . . ."

"Yeah?"

Bill stretched his legs out. "Well, we're having a bit of a problem with the wedding, Harry," Bill observed. "Other than the fact that I'm getting extraordinarily tired of wearing Glamour Charms all the time so I don't scare the hell out of people, that is." He ran a couple of fingers across his face. "It's not all healed yet. Even scars would be better than this."

Harry hadn't even noticed. He'd been too busy to think about much ever since he'd gotten to the Burrow that morning. First he'd taken a long nap, and when he got up Mrs. Weasley had practically begged him to help with making wedding food. "Er - right. Bill, I've never been to a wedding. Not even a Muggle one."

"That's fine, Harry. There's a rehearsal anyway. What I wanted to know was if you'd be a groomsman."

"A - what?"

Bill chuckled. "Well, you know what a bridesmaid is, right?"

"Sort of." A sudden thought dawned on him. "I wouldn't have to wear lace, would I?" Harry asked, horrified.

Bill laughed outright. "No way! A groomsman is - is - Charlie could explain it better than I could. He loves this kind of thing. It's sort of like a step down from the best man. The thing is, Ron was throwing a fit about walking with Gabrielle, and we couldn't put her with Percy because she's too short -"

"Percy is in the wedding?" Harry injected, aghast. Bill nodded.

"I'll get to that. Anyway, we managed to talk Fleur into letting Hermione walk too, but that means we're short one on my side, and we're sort of trying to keep the whole wedding party as family."

"But I'm not -" Harry protested. Bill cut him off.

"Oh, please, Harry, Mum adopted you and Hermione years ago. I've got a picture of you two with Ginny and Ron on my desk at work, you know. One brother more or less, I never really bothered to keep track of them all," he chuckled. "Anyway, I've got a few friends who could do it, but it would look awfully queer to have someone my age in with a bunch of teenagers - well, Percy's not a teenager, but close enough - unless that someone was also family, and there's nobody else - Charlie's best man. We thought about asking one of the twins, but you know Fred and George - we'd have to find a fourth bridesmaid for that, and then it would look queer because only two of them would look alike. I wanted to ask you before I started hunting around among my friends, but it's been so busy . . . " On closer inspection, Bill did look extraordinarily exhausted. Harry wondered just how much work he'd been doing.

"Er - well - what does a groomsman do?" Harry pressed. Bill grinned.

"As Charlie so aptly put it to Ron, 'all you have to do is escort a girl down the aisle, stand and look pretty for twenty or thirty minutes, escort the girl back up the aisle, and dance once at the reception. Bill and I are the guys who do all the work.' Although I'd think that compared to wrestling a dragon, handing a few things to the groom would be practically a stop in a rest home."

"Stand and look pretty?"

Bill shrugged. "Charlie has a really weird sense of humor sometimes. But it's not hard, Harry, it's really not . . ."

Harry smiled a little. "Okay. So do I have to call you something special, or is Bill still okay?"

Bill laughed loudly. "Well, the twins call me a prat sometimes when they think I can't hear them, so I guess you can call me whatever you want. But Harry, I want you to stay away from Percy as much as you can help, okay?" he added, becoming suddenly somber.

"I guess so . . . why?"

Bill looked uneasy. "He's not himself lately, Harry. He's too . . . chirpy. I mean, I know part of it is the snob factor - Fleur's grandmother was part of the French Royal court, or something like that, that's where her surname comes from, and Percy's undoubtedly thrilled that someone in his family is marrying into nobility - I only found out a couple of weeks ago when her mother brought it up, Harry, don't look at me that way - but still, it's rather unnerving."

"You think he's faking it."

BIll nodded it. "That's a good way of putting it. He's - wearing a mask. And I'm not convinced it's a good mask he's hiding behind, Harry . . . "

"You think he's a Death Eater?"

Bill looked more uncomfortable than ever. "I wouldn't go that far, Harry, not yet, but . . . the questions he's been asking . . . the way he keeps harping on about the war . . . how happy he is that I'm showing respect for tradition in regard to the wedding . . . it's strange, all of it. I wanted to try and fix the rift between him and everyone else - that's why I asked him to be in the wedding - but now I'm not so sure I should have. And if he is . . . well . . . you'd be the first one on his hit list, see? I don't want you to get hurt. You're a good kid, for one - well, I guess you're not really a kid, but you know what I mean - and Mum would kill me if she thought I put you in harm's way."

"So you don't think he's a Death Eater, but you don't think he's on our side, either?"

Bill considered his words carefully. "That's probably about as close as it gets. Percy . . . he's really ambitious. I've no doubt he could run against Scrimgeour and win, if he wanted to and he played his cards right - especially the way Scrimgeour's been going. Fred said he and George told you about the Knight Bus."

Harry nodded.

"What they didn't tell you was that Ollivander and Fortescue were also arrested on Scrimgeour's orders - we found out about a week into June. Madame Malkin isn't doing our robes for the wedding because she's in hiding, not because she doesn't do this kind of thing - he's after her for some reason. Fred and George moved out of Diagon Alley halfway through June when they found out he had an eye on them, too - apparently he thinks they're making too much to be legitimate. He hasn't seen half of what they're selling enough to know it's really good and perfectly possible for them to be making so much, either that or he doesn't care, as long as he's arresting people . . . and he's got it out for me, too. Apparently I'd make an 'interesting study case.' I don't know how they found out about Greyback and me, since I never went in to St. Mungo's."

"WHAT?" Harry was outraged. "Why haven't they arrested the people who run Borgin and Burke's? Or put more effort into finding the people they know really are Death Eaters? What about Dolores Umbridge? She tries to squash everyone down - everyone who cares - everyone who matters - the people who try to do the right thing - she'd as soon fight for Voldemort as for us - and -"

"I know, Harry, and it's about as fair for him to be arresting people this way as it is for him to be Minister, but we can't do much except keep our heads down and try to uproot Voldemort. My worry is that Voldemort got to Perce somehow - got it into his head that if he joined the Death Eaters, his ambitions would be fulfilled - and Percy's just thick enough to do it. Not that I think he's stupid, mind you," Bill added. "He's not stupid at all. In fact, he's an excellent strategist. But look at it this way, Harry, he doesn't trust Mum and Dad right now, and he thinks they've always told him wrong for some reason - so if they told him Voldemort is evil, that doesn't mean he really is, right? And if Voldemort said the right things . . . made the right hollow promises . . . that's my worry. So keep away from him if you can, okay, Harry? I know you want to get to the bottom of everything, but trust me, this is a bigger screw up than you or I could ever hope to fix, if it's true. You'd only get hurt, no matter how remarkable you might be."

Harry wanted to protest, but the look in BIll's eyes was too serious. "Okay."


"Where've you been, mate?" Ron queried as Harry cautiously opened the door to his best mate's room. It was as flamboyantly orange as ever, though the slanting, uneven ceiling had been somewhat evened out. Ron had announced proudly that this was the first thing he'd done once he'd gotten home, now that he was of age.

Harry shrugged. "Bill wanted to talk to me."

Ron looked revolted. "Oh. About the wedding, right?"

"Yeah."

Ron made a face. "I'll be glad when the whole thing is over. It's stupid, really . . . just because she's some kind of court woman, or something, everyone's got to go making fools of themselves . . . guess that's why Fleur came up with that . . . " He pointed to a set of brown-and-cream-colored robes on Harry's bed. Harry examined them warily.

"What's this?" He held up something that looked suspiciously like an very long, wide ribbon.

Ron looked up from cleaning Pigwidgeon's cage. "Sash for your waist. The narrow one goes over your shoulders. Bill's going to have to find you a pair of boots, we're all supposed to wear the same shoes . . . waste of time . . . " Ron continued muttering while Harry hung the robes on the hook next to the bed. He suspected it would be a long, long night.


The week passed quickly. Mrs. Weasley fitted Harry's robes the next day, and on Thursday they all worked busily on flowers. Harry had no idea why they needed so many of the things. Fleur's mother showed up around noon, at which point Mrs. Weasley stopped to make lunch. It had been completely forgotten in the rush. Harry wondered if all weddings were so much bother. On Friday night Bill told him and Ron to change into their robes and come downstairs. Harry ran into Gabrielle on the staircase, already in her lacy pink dress. She beamed at him and insisted on holding his hand the whole way down the stairs.

Harry stopped short at the bottom when he saw a very familiar, bespectacled face smiling - rather too largely - at him. Percy raised a hand.

"Hello, Harry!"

Gabrielle bounded off happily as Harry finished descending the steps, taking a close look at Percy as he did. He was reminded strongly of Percy's old boss, Bartemius Crouch; Percy had dark circles under his eyes, and the wary look in them belied the cheery greeting he'd given. Harry remembered what Bill had said about Percy and his ambition and knew that now, if ever, would be a bad time to disagree with anything the redhead said to him.

"Er - hullo, Percy," he returned, trying to figure out how to get both of them out into the living room with other people. "How are you - er - I mean -"

Percy laughed, but there was a note of unhappiness in it. "I know, I look a complete wreck. I suppose I'm as well as can be expected, given the circumstances . . . It's madness, Harry, complete madness . . . the whole Ministry's in an uproar . . . I've been doing extra hours for weeks now, trying to keep up with all the arrests . . . I suppose you've heard about them in the Prophet . . . "

"Yeah. Percy, you don't honestly think all those people could be guilty, do you?" Harry asked, feeling his way carefully. "I mean, isn't there some way to tell, or something?"

Percy stopped walking. Harry wished he hadn't said anything. Then Percy started speaking again. "I'm sure there has to be a way, Harry, we're all sure of it. The problem is finding out how we can tell - even the few we're absolutely positive are Death Eaters won't say anything. It's incredible - you wouldn't expect them to be so loyal, would you? But I suppose the Minister has his own reasons for making those arrests, or they wouldn't be made."

I'll bet he has his own reasons, Harry thought but didn't say. Then they turned and walked into the living room, where Fleur dragged Percy away for something or other and Bill fell on Harry like a vampire on the pretense of straightening the sashes on Harry's robes and making sure his boots were laced properly so they wouldn't fall off.

"Harry, what did I tell you about keeping away from him?" Bill hissed as he tugged on the shoulders of Harry's robe.

"I tried!" Harry protested. "But he was waiting for me right at the bottom of the staircase and I didn't know how to get away . . . "

"So you hold a whole conversation with him instead of telling him you ought to hurry up?" Bill pulled Harry's glasses off his face and tapped the place where the glasses had been with his wand. Harry blinked. The room was clear. Bill gave him a wry smile.

"Only temporary, Harry, it doesn't last . . . but at least you look seventeen instead of twelve. You should really get something that's not so round. Ay, Mum! Doesn't he look better without his glasses?" Bill spun Harry around to face Mrs. Weasley, who immediately began to hold forth on Harry's looks. Harry shifted uncomfortably. Fleur grabbed his hand and pulled him over next to Ron. Bill stood in front of all six of them - Harry, Ron, Percy, Hermione, Ginny, and Gabrielle - and started moving them in front of each other as though he were lining them up for a Muggle photograph.

"I think you're going to go with Gabrielle the best, Harry, you're both the two shortest - Percy, are you taller or shorter than Ron? - I guess you're about even - no, wait, Ron's shorter - Ron, stop slouching! - Ron's still shorter, that's a miracle - all right, Ron, you go with Ginny, and Percy can go with Hermione - stop scowling, Ron, it makes you look like a gargoyle. At least try to look happy. Charlie, where'd you go? And Margot - "

Charlie heaved himself up out of an armchair. Margot Celeste, a very thin girl with long blonde hair and a mole on one cheek, came out of the kitchen munching on a piece of celery. She eyed Charlie up and down judgementally before moving - very slowly indeed - to stand beside him. Bill motioned the two of them to switch sides with each other. Charlie did so with a cheerful shrug; Margot Celeste sighed and muttered in French under her breath. Bill stood back and eyed them all before turning to Fleur.

"All right?"

Fleur, who was busily scrubbing the high heeled dress shoes she was supposed to wear (they were supposed to be white, but time had changed them to an aged yellow), didn't so much as look up until Bill tapped her on the shoulder and repeated himself. She scanned the four couples carefully before wailing.

"'Is robes! Bill, zey are coming apart - coming right apart! Oh, pourquoi est-ce que je nous ai pensés pourrais finir en seulement semaine? Pourquoi est-ce que rien n'ira bien? (1) Everything ees a mess . . . "

Everyone looked stunned as Fleur burst into tears. The only exceptions to the sudden shock were Percy, Hermione, Ginny, and Margot Celeste, who hurried to Fleur's side and began trying to comfort her. Bill made an attempt to hug her and was brushed off by Margot Celeste. Hermione began examining robes. The trouble turned out to have been Charlie, whose robes were indeed unravelling at the seams. As soon as he realized it he shrugged out of the over-robe, leaving him in a blouse and trousers (2). Hermione examined them and made a noise of disgust.

"Weren't these sewn after they were basted?" she asked Fleur, who seemed too senseless to answer. Mrs. Weasley picked up the robe and scrutinised it carefully.

"No, it wasn't - I thought maybe I'd simply miscounted because we had to finish Harry's later than the others - I was positive I'd finished them all, I don't understand how I missed one," she stammered, quickly becoming almost as agitated as Fleur. Charlie patted her shoulder. "It's all right, Mum. It's not like it can't be fixed, right?"

Mrs. Weasley nodded before sweeping away to her rocking chair, where she gathered the loosening raw edges and ran her wand carefully along them in a straight line. The thread restitched itself tightly. She pulled on the robe from both sides to satisfy herself that it was solid this time, nodded approvingly, and handed it back to Charlie, who shrugged back into it before grabbing Margot Celeste and dragging her back into the party line. Bill finally got his chance to make an attempt at calming Fleur. He was far more successful than Margot Celeste. Ron glanced comically at Harry and shrugged cluelessly before Bill yelled at both of them to just once for the love of Merlin stand up straight. Fleur looked them all over carefully before giving a somewhat pale smile. Harry saw Bill let out a sigh of relief.

After the fiasco with Charlie's dress robes, everyone was somewhat afraid to move on - but move on they did. Once their walking partners had been determined they still had to determine a walking order, and there was a good deal of debate over how the parents were supposed to escort the bride and groom. Finally they managed to pare it down to Mr. Delacour and Mrs. Weasley, walking with their respective children. They managed a rapid practice of the ceremony and had all just sat down when the clock chimed.

The reaction was instantaneous. Charlie and Mrs. Weasley both dived in front of Fleur, holding up their arms to block her from view. Ginny clamped her hands tightly over Bill's eyes and refused to let go. Everyone else looked somewhat clueless. Bill was the first to voice an opinion.

"What the hell -?" he sputtered, before Mrs. Weasley, Charlie, Ginny, and Gabrielle all chorused, "You're not supposed to see the bride between midnight and the wedding ceremony!"

"Eet eez bad luck," Gabrielle added, looking very proud of herself as she smoothed out the front of her dress. Bill looked comically confused, the humorous effect heightened by the fact that Ginny still had the top of his face completely covered by her hands. Margot Celeste took Charlie's place in front of Fleur, and Charlie took off his neck sash so he could tie it over Bill's eyes before Ginny let go. Bill stood up, swayed, took two steps, and tripped over a footstool. He landed back-end first on the other side of the offending piece of furniture and then tipped it over vengefully with his foot. Several people laughed. Bill made another attempt to find his way to the stairs and walked right into a wall. Charlie rolled his eyes, grabbed his brother's wrist, and led him out of the room, muttering under his breath about people with absolutely no sense of direction.


"So what are they doing now?" Harry asked Ron, as they trooped up the stairs to the bedroom fifteen minutes later. Ron shrugged.

"Probably sleeping. We've got to be up again at seven," he groaned. "The wedding doesn't even start until eleven. What do they want us up at seven for?"

Harry shrugged. "Make sure everything gets done, I guess," he offered. "Or maybe they just want to make sure that everyone has a chance to use the toilet."

Ron roared laughter. "In that case, Harry, let's get up at six."

Harry just smiled to himself as Ron set the alarm clock for seven-fifteen.


(1) Fleur is lamenting that nothing seems to be going right. It's a proven fact that when you are agitated, you will always speak in your mother tongue even if you're fluent in another language.

(2) In American, "dress shirt and pants."