A/N: Anything you recognize belongs to J.K.R. and affiliates.

A/N 2: This will in all likelihood be a very long story, and will start off slowly. Be patient, please :)

For Better, or Worse

"Hmm.."

A woman with bright auburn hair turned slowly towards the full-length mirror standing before her, her left hand grasping her neck and the other playing lightly with the skirt of her cream and rose gown in contemplation. She bit her lip and tilted her head to the side. The dress itself was slim, showing her small frame well with its translucent shimmer, but still free-flowing. If the woman were to stand against the direction of the sun, any onlookers would be charmed by the sight of her underskirt and corset, an intentional and flirtatious request of the playful young bride. Around her narrow waist was a pale pink sash that matched her flower arrangements and bridesmaid dresses. The sleeves of the gown were slightly capped, with ruffles that blew gently whenever a slight breeze would pass. Her hair was pulled up, with only a few red curls to frame her face. The reason for this rather understated approach to what could have been a very show-stopping effect, what with the gift of color the woman had been blessed with for tresses, was because of the even more translucent cape that she wore over her ensemble. The hood of the cape gently rested against her head, the edges billowing and overlapping on her shoulders. From there the fabric ran down at a "V". It all had a very graceful, feminine, and fairy-like effect.

"Hmm.." muttered the woman again, her teeth worrying her lip a little more, "You don't think it's…too…"

"I love it, Gin. Harry'll love it as well, I suspect. And not just how glamorous you look in it, but the thought you put in it."

"You mean the thought you put in it, Hermione! I never would have thought to combine the designs on my own! Muggle and Wizard…bloody brilliant. "

"Yes well…you actually designed the gown. And it's beautiful, as is the woman wearing it. And not to mention my dress, Gin, this is actually something I might wear again." The bride's confidant rose from her seat on the settee and stood next to her in the mirror. Immediately the bride's critical eye focused in on her companion's outfit.

"Yes, I do rather like it. It has a sort of Jane Austen essence to it, eh?"

"Nice Muggle reference, Gin. Somebody was paying attention in Muggle Studies."

Truth be told, the bride was right. The dress she had designed for her maid of honor looked as if it was taken right from the pages of a Victorian romance. The soft pink affair had sleeves that were bubble capped, and a neckline that was a modest U-shape. A soft white satin sash cinched the waist, and an all lace skirt flowed straight to the ground. Her companion's hair was pulled up, as was hers, with three of her natural honey curls serving as soft bangs. A white headband with a small pink daisy in the center topped off the outfit.

"Yes, well, I didn't start planning this wedding yesterday, 'Mione. Or the marriage. I wanted to learn all I could about Muggle culture, you know, to impress Harry. Well, what I hadn't learned from Dad of course."

Her companion snorted with laughter and said, "Yes, because your Dad's the best source for accurate information. Didn't he once ask Harry the function of a rubber duck?"

The bride laughed, throwing her head back so far her hood fell off. Her companion quickly replaced it and made the necessary adjustments.

The women heard the door to the bedroom being tapped hesitantly.

"Come in, we're decent." said the bride.

A spectacularly beautiful woman entered the room, her hair done in the same fashion as the brown haired maid of honor, but executed to absolute perfection. The dress framed her perfect body perfectly, too. She was, in essence, perfection.

The original occupants of the room sighed hopelessly.

"More zhan deescent, I should zay! You two look absolutely zetunning!" exclaimed the woman in a heavy French accent, though she had made an effort to correct some of her less-than-precise pronounciations.

The bride consented, "Thank you; you look divine as always, Fleur. Not a hair out of place." Another sigh.

They watched as she raised a dainty hand to her blonde locks to not-so-subtly agree.

"Ahem.."

All three women turned to the door to see a fidgety man standing there in green dress robes and a smart looking wizard's hat atop his head.

"You seem to have forgotten me, Fleur, dear."

The blonde ran to the man and exclaimed, "Oooh Monsieur Weasley, I am zo zorry! Ginee, I 'ave brought your vather with me, he es ready to valk you down!"

All occupants of the room turned to face the bride. She looked once more into the mirror and seemed to gather her courage. They all watched as she mustered up her Gryffindor bravery and walked over to her father. He took his arm in hers and whispered something softly to her. They saw her beam radiantly from ear to ear and make her way, with her proud father shuffling next to her, down the hallway of her childhood home to what surely would be a very anxious and excited young hero to receive her.

The brown haired witch sighed wistfully, flicked a buzzing fly off her skirt, blew her curls out of her face, and proceeded down the corridor procession.

Hermione read the names on the little engraved cards propped up on the head table as she walked by it to her seat. The arrangements were done in boy/girl fashion, a Muggle tradition Mrs. Weasley and Ginny thought considerately to uphold.

Mr. Neville Longbottom, Order of Merlin, First Class

Mrs. Fleur Delacour-Weasley

Mr. Ronald Weasley, Order of Merlin, First Class

Here Hermione smiled to herself. The modest couple opted not to add their significantly extensive decorations to their place cards. Bride and Groom, would do nicely, thank you.

Hermione then found her own name, to Harry's left. She sat in her seat, the first one at the head table. She didn't do small talk, and chose not to engage in any, like the other members of the wedding party. Soon the others found their seats and Hermione found herself sitting next to George, who was on her left.

"Hello Hermione, love. How have you been?" asked George with a grin.

Hermione could not help but smile back. His cheerfulness was so infectious, despite the loss of his twin. She figured all of the Weasleys needed a happy occasion such as this.

"Oh fine, George. Just fine."

He looked at her, one edge of his mouth curling up in suspicion, "Did Gin's hen party get you as bad as Harry's stag did me?"

Hermione laughed loudly, but shook her head, "No, I actually only stayed long enough to see them to the first of apparently many pubs. I guess I was the only grown up who had to work the next day."

"Oh, 'Mione, you take your job too seriously." Upon seeing a hot flash take her cheeks, George quickly amended, "I mean, I fully understand the grave importance the head of the Department of Magical Creatures, but you do need to give yourself some time off, Hermione. Really. My job is a joke, literally, and look how good I'm doing!"

Hermione stubbornly corrected her easy-going friend, "It's the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, George. And it's under some serious reformation, if I'll have anything to say about it. I just can't afford to take time off right now."

George put his hands in a motion of surrender, and muttered something that sounded like, "Yes, M'am." under his breath.

Hermione sighed and turned to the tomato basil soup that had just arrived in front of her. She knew her friends were concerned for her. And it broke her heart to see Ginny's crestfallen face when she said she had to leave the bachelorette party early, before "any of the fun's even gotten started!". She felt doubly bad knowing Ginny would have to spend the night with only Luna as a barrier between her and "Phlegm", who she had begun to tolerate since the conclusion of the war, but still was not exactly chummy with yet.

After the courses had been each delivered and devoured in turn, Harry and Ginny stood up to make a speech,

"Ginny and I would like to thank all of you for coming today. We love all of you, and the support you have given us throughout the years as a couple or as individuals has been extraordinary." Here he turned to his bride and continued, "We are looking forward to spending a very normal and long life together. Thank you." He finished, pointedly not mentioning the war but for the subtle "normal" comment. Hermione smiled. That was, after all, what Harry wanted more than anything.

There was a loud noise as the clanging of champagne classes with forks began, the crowd demanding a kiss. Harry and Ginny conceded without hesitation. Harry then pulled Ginny gently by the hand to the dance floor, which was magically elevated off the grass of the garden to hover in the air like a floating stage. There were stairs that the couple took that reached the ground.

Soft music began, enchanting the scene as the bride and groom began to sway, not caring about formal moves whatsoever. Harry's hands lay delicately on the small of Ginny's back, and Ginny's hands were overlapping around Harry's neck. The Dark Lord could have crashed the party and the couple would still be dancing, so enthralled were they with each other.

I wonder if I'll ever have this with anyone? Hermione thought, a faint edge of regret tinging the thought.

Just then Hermione felt light-headed, and a cloudy image swam swiftly, unanticipated, through her mind's eye. It was of a similar scene.

A man. A woman. Dancing softly to music. But..different. Not Harry and Ginny. The man was taller, darker. The woman was more curvy, less graceful in a way. And the couple was not in a makeshift ballroom in the back garden of a home. They were in a small room with a shabby woolen carpet, and the music was coming from an ancient record player, not a string quartet with smart black dress robes. And rather than the charming light of fireflies accenting the night air, a nearly melted down candle could be seen flickering desperately on a small wooden side table.

The last thing Hermione saw before the image went black and she felt a falling sensation was sight of a frizzy brown head leaning contentedly against her partner's chest.

R/R!

Links to dresses (disregard colors) in profile.