Chapter 28-Unwelcome Visitor
The reception is at the Burrow, which would have been very crowded, had Dad not put an Enlargement Charm on the place this morning. Some of the Muggles came in and exclaimed, "It's so much bigger on the inside!" This made all of us magical folk share knowing smiles.
It's a warm day for November, in the low Fahrenheit sixties and nice enough to go outside without jackets, so most of the time everyone stays outside and Gillman, who I had not known to be musically talented until now, plays the fiddle. Everyone dances barefoot out in the field in front of the Burrow, and someone starts a bonfire. It is the way we spent our summers when we were younger, before Ron had wen to Hogwarts and Lee would sometimes stay over summer. We would have bonfires and roast marshmallows over them.
The wedding music definitely isn't formal, since it's fast-beat fiddle music. Percy sits out on the porch in a chair and watches us, stretches his legs, and occasionally taps his feet, looking content as he drinks Muggle champagne, which Dad had bought for the day. Bill props open the door of the Burrow and begins playing on the piano, and he and Gillman do something of a duet. January and I dance. I spin her around the lawn. Thank God her dress isn't too long, or she'd be tripping on it.
"Hello, Mrs. Weasley," I say, handing her a flute of champagne.
"Hello, Mr. Weasley," she replies with a large smile. She accepts the flute and takes a generous sip. "Come meet Bruce."
"Oh," I say. "Oh, yeah." It seems ridiculous that I am married to a girl I've known only for a few months and I haven't met her own brother yet. Even so, I'm nervous. January leads me across the lawn, past the couples dancing, to where the military man had the flower girl perched on his shoulders.
"Bruce!" January exclaims, throwing her arms around him, and causing the flower girl to get an affronted look on her face. "It's been forever since I've seen you!"
"Yeah," he says. His voice is a bit gravelly, but he smiles at me as he swings the little girl down to stand next to him. "I don't believe we've met. George, isn't it?"
"Yeah," I say, extending my arm to shake his hand.
"I'm Bruce," he says.
"January talks a lot about you."
"She talks a lot about you," he responds, amused. "Whenever she calls she talks about you."
"Now, who's this?" I ask, looking at the little girl. "January never mentioned her."
"Sister," he scolds her teasingly. "I'm ashamed of you. How can you forget about your niece?"
She shrugs in mock indignation. "George, this is Bruce's daughter, Lucy."
"Hello, Lucy," I say softly.
She bites her lip and grabs her father's hand, who laughs. "She's a bit shy. So, is there where you live, George?"
"Where I grew up," I correct. "I live in London. A few of my brothers still stay here, and I have, too, for a while."
"I'd say your siblings are all the ones with red hair?" he asks quizzically, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, that might be them."
"I hear you fought in the war," Bruce continues, sounding more friendly. "What branch were you?"
Jesus, what branch was I? Thankfully, I'm saved by January, who says sharply, "Bruce, you don't have to interrogate him. Besides, he doesn't like talking about the war."
"No?"
"My twin brother died serving," I say, finding my voice. I feel Charlie's eyes skim over me from where he and Themis were dancing, but he doesn't stop, even if he had heard.
"I'm very sorry to hear that," Bruce says gravely. There is a long silence, in which January glares at him and clings to my arm. At last Bruce says, "Congratulations, George. Keep in touch, you two. Don't have too much fun. Lucy is getting tired," he continues, picking her up. "Our train leaves soon, so we'd better go. Nice seeing you two." He gives me another handshake and embraces his sister before heading to where his rental car was parked in the field over.
"So," January says softly, "I think he likes you."
"Really? That, quite frankly, terrified me."
She turns to smile at me. "He liked you. And he gave us his blessing."
"Not really. He said 'don't have too much fun.'"
"He liked you," she says, laughing. "Now, Oliver, I'm not so certain about, but he liked you well enough."
"What happened to Lucy's mum?" I ask thoughtfully.
"Divorced a year ago."
"Oh."
"So yes, he's wary about anyone I marry," she says, rolling her eyes. "But he liked you."
I sigh. "Yeah. Are you ready for tomorrow?"
"Where are we going tomorrow?"
"Honeymoon."
"I didn't think we were having one because it costs too much."
"Well, I made arrangements."
Her face lights up. "I love you, Mr. Weasley."
We begin to dance. "Well," I joke, "I'm pretty great, aren't I?" We waltz barefoot around the field, among so many other couples, but we are not them. Today we are married. "Everyone says I am, I mean, so it must be true."
Suddenly I hear the sound of a car coming up the drive. "Who is that?" I ask, squinting. "Is that Bruce again?"
"No," January says uncertainly.
I see Percy stand on the porch, supported by his cane, as he tries to see. By now most everyone has stopped to see the car. Through the darkly tinted windows I see movement, and the door opens. And Draco Malfoy steps out.
Charlie clenches his fists. All the wizarding members of the wedding reception look just as angry, the Muggles just bewildered. I have to fight my temptation to grab my wand. Ron and Hemione push through people to stand near me. Harry whispers something to Ginny and she shakes her head. Mum is deathly white and Dad is struggling not to cry. Oliver is red.
"What's going on, George?" January whispers.
I shake my head and turn from her to face Malfoy. "What do you want?" My voice is hostile.
He leans on his cane, looking around with an indifferent expression. "Congratulations, George."
"Get out of here."
"I'm happy for you, George. Sincerely. But I'd like to talk to you privately."
"I'd be happy if you got the hell off my land."
"Hagrid sent his blessing, George, I was just at Hogwarts today. Professor McGonagall actually sent me, seeing as she's busy at the moment with headmistress duties. She gives you her best and asks if you could come see her up there."
"Who'd have thought?" I sneer, "Draco Malfoy, a messenger boy."
"Son," Dad says forcefully, "that's enough. Malfoy, get out of here."
He nods before scanning the crowd. "Oliver," he says, nodding to him. "I need to talk to you."
"No, you don't," he snarls, looking to be on the verge of killing him.
"Yes, I do," he says. "I'll stop in and see you sometime, it's extremely important. It's about Verity." Oliver shoots me a terrified look that must mirror my own expression. Draco takes both of us in and gives a grim nod. "Best wishes, George."
With that, he opens the door, starts the car, and drives away, stirring up dust in his wake, leaving those of us who had known him with jaws agape and the Muggles bewildered.
