Hello! This is my new story! It is the day of Harry and Ginny's wedding! Draco will come in later in the story, but for now, I hope you these next couple of chapters and the little world I have set up for the purpose of continued love and adoration for the characters!

This is a Muggledom story, so Hogwarts is a prestigious boarding school in Scotland, where Hermione gained a scholarship to study there.

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Chapter One

Hermione

On the day of the funeral, many of his past students attended, including Albus Dumbledore's godson, Tom Riddle. Riddle, the drastically handsome bachelor brought up in London, had only a few words to say of the situation, accompanied by his long-term girlfriend, Alyssa Robertson. He stated that, "Albus Dumbledore was both a brilliant and a good man, inside and outside of the school. He will be greatly missed in my case, and I am sure in many others." Riddle also answered a question about the state of the school and that the previous Headmaster would be replaced by Minerva McGonnagoll, his long-time Deputy.

Very few other attendees wished to comment on the tragedy which that day called into account. According to inside knowledge, many people in attendance were given time to say a few words and the length of the funeral was changed to accommodate. Additionally, Harry Potter is said to have delivered a short eulogy - as per Riddle's request - but he was unavailable for comment after the funeral. He was accompanied by fellow class-mates, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, and his fiancée, Givevra Weasley.

Albus' brother, Aberforth, commented that the event was "what Albus deserved," and that the "whole thing was rather brilliant, in a sad way." This pertains to the small party following the funeral, as more of a celebration of life than a declaration of death.

I stop reading at this point and absorb the moment. I then fold the paper in half at the centre crease, and half again so it will fit into my shoulder bag. The chair rattles beneath me as I change position to cross my legs. It clanks heftily in protest but I ignore. Instead, I think about last Thursday: the day in which I donned all black for the mourning, despite the surprisingly hot May afternoon. Not too dissimilar from today.

Harry and Ginny really did pick a good day to get married.

Halfway between the wetness of spring and the gloried and yet stifling heat of summer. Instead of glistening in raindrops, the sunlight swathes the paths and grounds all around, glinting off mental table tops in the café I sit in. Warm enough to be pleasant, but cool enough for me to have to carry the cobalt jacket laying across the arm of the chair.

Phone placed on the table, not having been sent a text since six-thirty this morning. From Ginny. It was a surprise, given my friend's dislike for such a device, and her interminable stress of the day ahead. I check the time on the phone, knowing the alternative or riffling through messages would get me nowhere, and know it is time to go.

I leave a five pound note on the table - enough to cover my bill - next to the now-cold cup of coffee.

Google maps tells me it will likely take around ten minutes to walk to the prestigious mansion on the other side of time, but maybe I can slow it to fifteen at a nice and leisurely place. Why not take advantage of the picturesque little village, shadowed by the glorious mansion on the edge. I've got the time, and then even more time after that before the festivities begin.

Harry Potter. Getting married. Who would have thought? And to Ginny Weasley? Shocker. He's always been obtuse about girls and their reasons for ridiculous behaviour, but now he's well and truly in love. With a ridiculous girl. The bold, red-headed Ginny Weasley, who was sister to our best friend, Ron. At twenty-four... Ready to settle down. Dreadfully sweet, in my opinion. Ron is not so sure.

However, I have been the one to endure the late nights talking with Ginny about Harry during school, and then sixth form and the years to follow. I remember her rushing over to my flat to tell me about how Harry proposed and how perfect it was and that she wanted me to be maid of honour, and I said that of course I would. She said it would be perfect because Ron would be best man and it would work well with us being together.

Not that my relationship with Ron lasted much longer, following that conversation with Ginny. Maybe a month after Harry proposed, Ron and I broke up.

Google suggest turning down a thin alley filled with crumpled beer cans and strewn rubbish. No thank you.

I skip this option and opt for a normal looking road, filled with streetlamps and absolutely a seemingly less chance of being molested. Unfortunately, the walking time increases to twelve minutes. Alas, it is no matter. I have my most comfortable shoes on and a purpose; a place to be. No beer cans, streetlamps, and no fear. Nothing can go wrong! A comforting thought. My friends would certainly agree with this course rather than Google's suggestion.

Don't trust everything you read on the internet, kids. Ha.

Fourteen short minutes later and I arrive back at the mansion-like hall I had reached earlier in the day. Before my excursion to the café to get some air and to relax before the sure-to-be-mental day ahead. Weddings are always like that. Weasley's are certainly like that as well. Bound to be a recipe for some kind of disaster. Especially with the Weasley twins - double-trouble applies, for sure.

Despite the walk being two minutes longer than Google informed, I am nowhere near late. My luggage is already sorted in my room and my dress is out. Gosh. Bridesmaid dress. I have only ever been one once before - for my Auntie Sandra when I was nine years old. That was a horrible experience. I can only hope that this day will not hold the same promises as that one had done.

Nine years old is the age when you've grown and you look so big and grown up and you look so beautiful and old family members are allowed to comment on every aspect of your being.

Oh well.

Hopefully Ron remembered to pick up the extra few things from my apartment when they left earlier.

I walk up the long drive to the mansion, gravel crunching beneath my toes. It's not an unexpected size, you could say. Ginny having big dreams, and Harry being from a rich family - his father is rich, so, naturally, Harry is as well (not that he acts that way). The entire place is gorgeous. Harry has clearly actually splashed some cash for the special day - he dotes on Ginny accordingly, which is incredibly sweet. The Portland stone making up the mansion, and the huge proportions. Windows that glint in the soft morning sunlight, dotted innumerably over the building, in panes of nine and twelve.

Pillars stand aside the mahogany door, guards the no-doubt glamorous world inside.

I brave them and step inside for the second time today. Vanishing from in between the luscious lawns and my attention suddenly grabbed by the even more luxurious insides of the mansion. Deep red drapes over the enormous windows, glittering chandeliers adorning the ceiling, and the vast staircase to the left of the entrance.

It was much like Hogwarts. But... Wedding-ed. The grand staircase's banister is covered with a white silk stream. Vases of flowers litter the tables and window seats, ready to be put out for the momentous occasion. And this is only the entrance.

I close the door behind me. A sense of finality.

A group of several people shuffle through the room to the right into the one straight ahead, carrying carefully packed boxes. They don't spare a glance for me. Probably carrying delicate decorations so fair enough that they should be concentrating. My shoes tap on the wooden flooring as I step off from the rich purple welcome mat, which makes me feel a little self-conscious.

Everything really does look beautiful. I suppose they must have some sort of wedding planner. Harry Potter is not known for his fashion sense, and Ginny does not care for that sort of thing either. Maybe, for this occasion, they tried a little harder...? I don't know. On any other occasion, I suppose that I would expect colour clashes.

Perhaps that's just Ron. I still remember the birthday party he threw me and how he seemed to put every wrong colour in every wrong place. Sweet. Hilarious. Mocked, a lot.

At least the flowers are in variety so expel the colour I expected. I wander over to them and breathe in the strong scent. Roses, bluebells, daffodils, sunflowers. Some of those definitely are not in season in Britain. I can only imagine the cost of importing flowers. Such delicate things.

"Hermione!"

The next thing I hear is the crashing footsteps of the bride-to-be, Ginny Weasley, before I am crushed in one of those special Weasley hugs. All enveloping and completely suffocating. And utterly wonderful.

"You're here!" Ginny exclaims and takes a step back from me to look me up and down with a glorious grin spreading across her pale face. Her hair is half-up in rollers and looks a little damp, still. She has no qualms with it, though and merely beams at the current wedding-world around her.

"Maid of honour, reporting for duty," I say with a smile and Ginny laughs light-heartedly. "This place looks amazing!" Ginny laughs again and nods.

"Everyone has been so good. It really does feel like a special day." She glances briefly at the blue skies outside. "Even the weather is being good to us. It's unusually warm - we've had the windows open!" I laugh and Ginny subconsciously bounces on her toes.

"Excited?" I ask. She is dressed in a pair of jeans and button-up shirt. Presumably so she can easily get her dress on after her hair and make-up is done. She nods, reminding me of Harry and also of a puppy.

"Absolutely," she half-shouts. Then stretches out her arms and rolls her shoulders. Clearly having some sort of wave of happiness. "I am so excited, Hermione. Unfortunately," she begins in a low voice and coming closer. "I have to check on the cake before anyone can continue doing my hair!" She laughs. "Thank God the bride is always right otherwise I would not be getting my way."

"Your mum is being a bit...?" I begin, a question in my voice.

"Of a nightmare, yes?" Ginny says with a very small frown. But then she smiles again and I know it's not bothering her all that much. "The hair bit will be terribly boring, and I need to do this anyway!"

"The cake is important!" I say in mock outrage. She laughs again and reaches to hug me again.

"Right, must go!" She says, pulling away. She looks a little harried, again looking a little like her mother. With the bright eyes flitting from one spot to the next, clearly making a list inside her love-induced-happy mind.

"I'll go and put my dress on and see you in your room in a bit," I tell her, knowing I should leave her to it.

"Okay," she laughs, coming back to her senses for a moment. "I hope the boys are okay," she muses. "Would you check on them? They're probably not even ready." I nod in agreement and say my assent,

"I'll check on them and report back to you."

"Thanks a million!"

She hugs me her thanks and disappears, racing, through the doors through which the team of decorators went through earlier. I sigh in happiness and make my way over to the reception desk through several doors. The woman, Lindsey, occupying tells me the boys room number. She doesn't give me a key. That is definitely a good thing; I don't want to walk in on them getting changed or anything.

That is not a problem though.

When I reach the boys room and knock on their door, there is a vaguely manly shout before a tall red-haired man opens the door. Ronald Weasley. Wearing jeans and a stained t-shirt that I remember him being adamant that he would never wash because it was lucky. Or some other rubbish like that. Boys are disgusting.

"Hermione!" He shouts at me, throwing his arms wide, and not moving to hug me. I notice that he holds a beer bottle in one hand. And walk into the room, dreading the very worst. A drunk groom. I am pretty sure Ginny would kill Harry with a look if that happened. Especially as Harry was not one to drink, unlike Ron.

"Ronald," I say cheerily, the door closing behind me, and laughing a little. I call, "Harry?"

"Out here!" shouts back the voice of Harry Potter, out on the balcony that came with this room in particular. Not the Bridal Suite, but it has got to be a close second. A huge balcony, like that. And stashed with an enormous bed, comfortable chairs, and a stretching wardrobe along one side of the room. I notice that Ron has spread his clothes out already, as if he had been rummaging and been too lazy to put things back.

Unless this is his room.

His and Natalie's. Ronald's new girlfriend.

"Thank God," I murmur, laughing as I step into the sunlight that splays across the balcony. Harry reclined in a white plastic chair, holding a bottle of beer in his hand. "You're not drunk are you?" But it's Ron who answers, following me out and taking the other white plastic chair.

"Just a bit of Dutch courage, Hermione," he says, grinning. "Jeez." Then turns to Harry, the grin plastered on his features. I raise my eyebrows at Harry and he places his hands in a surrender, a drip or two or beer splashing from inside the bottle.

"Nerves," he explains quickly. "I know Gin would never forgive me if I arrived drunk." The three of us laugh shortly, thinking about the extremely fiery red-head residing downstairs currently, probably watching the cake in fascination and thinking about how she is definitely glad she never did a juice-fast. She likes food far too much - and told me this implicitly.

"Yeah, mate," Ron murmurs. "Hey, that's my sister!"

Harry and I catch eyes and both shake our heads at the wonder that is Ron Weasley. His internal dilemma that goes between being a good and protective brother, and then also being Harry's best friend and wanting to be a lad with him on occasion. It's a good thing he practically considers Harry to be a brother, anyway. So, he gets these little internal arguments about whether he wants to be the friend or the brother. And ends up just not mentioning any of it, at all.

"Bit late to protest now, Ron," I tell him. He swigs the beer. And then grins.

"Hi! Hermione!" Another voice calls to me through the quiet that is only present for a second or two. Neville Longbottom steps out into the heightening sunshine, hand covering his eyes from the light. Wearing a white t-shirt and a slightly worn pair of denim jeans. It's almost impossible to not laugh at the three of them, so clearly overly relaxed. With their beer and casual attire, absorbing the sunlight.

"Hi, Neville," I greet him amiably. Then pause and ask Harry in a curious tone, "Why are none of you getting changed yet?"

Harry is momentarily perplexed by the question. The other two don't look bothered in the slightest, Neville watching the sun rise higher in the sky and Ron sipping the drink quietly. Looking completely at ease. Harry asks,

"Should we be?" And then glances over my attire. "You're not," he accuses.

I hardly contain the eye-roll that presents itself as a great opportunity.

"Good observation," I say sarcastically, a smirk splayed across my expression. To let him know that I am definitely joking. He laughs in slight relief, knowing that he will not be told off by me right now. "To be fair, I only have to put on a dress, sort my make-up and hair, and calm down your fiancée."

Amusing because, while Ginny can get excitable, she does not do panicking. She is one of those calm people who will be strangely responsive in any situation. She wouldn't fret about marrying Harry like she wouldn't worry about pouring a drink of squash for her mother.

I continue, "You guys have to figure out the bow-ties, as well as do the lads mucking around, and then be ready to take photos once you're ready in... Forty five minutes?" Harry's eyes widen slightly and even Neville turns to glance at me, a trace of worry in his expression. Even Ron sits up straighter, clearly thinking about the bow-tie. Poor Ronald. Life has never been harder.

"Christ," Ron mutters.

And puts the beer bottle down on the ground. A grand gesture.

"Exactly," I sigh and shake my head in amusement.

"I forgot how bossy you are," Ron says, laughing, his eyebrows raised at me. I make a rude hand gesture at him and giggle at his outraged expression. Even Neville looks strangely shocked. As if they didn't know I knew such a thing. I have best friends who are guys.

"Hermione is probably right," Neville quietly says, scratching the back of his head and not looking at either Ron or me. Feeling the tension that resides, just a little bit. I am one-hundred-percent over Ron. But it doesn't stop the occasional moments in which we can't look at each. Not in quite the same way - as just best friends.

Ron decides to challenge Neville, and by relation, me. "But we'll get sweaty." I roll my eyes at him, not looking at him just yet.

"You'll get sweaty anyway," I tell him. "Plus," I laugh. It breaks the slight tension. "I have orders from the bride."

Simultaneously, all three men groan. And seem to sink into themselves. I know exactly why and it definitely makes me laugh all the louder. Everybody knows that what Ginny says goes, being the ferocious Weasley that she is. And that she is the bride. The bride is always right. In this case, making Ginny Weasley some sort of super bride who will scare all guests and staff into getting her way.

If her hilarious and winning personality doesn't do it first.

"All right then," Harry says to the group with finality. This is punctuated by his draining the last of his beer and him standing and walking back inside the room they occupy. The three of us follow him, the other two also drinking the remaining beer. Harry looks around wonderingly. It's hard not to smirk at their confusion and then to not feel sorry for them. "Neville, where are the suits?"

"Urm..." Neville utters, eyes widening in fear.

"You're kidding, right?" Harry asks, his eyes panicking, but the rest of his face left in laughter.

"Calm down mate, they're in here!" Ron calls, laughing heartily in relief. I don't even want to comment or ask why they are keeping their suits in the bathroom. I won't tell them that it doesn't make sense.

"Blimey, I swear I just had a little heart attack." Harry sinks down onto an arm chair, hand against his chest, presumably to calm his racing heart. I can just about sympathise. I am not entirely sure that Ginny would appreciate Harry marrying her in the dirty blue t-shirt he resides in. The one he started wearing so very, very long ago.

"I'm sorry Harry," Neville apologises.

"No worries, Neville," Harry says, half a grin on his face.

Noticing my time to go, I tell them, "See you boys later," and turn to leave.

"We are men!" Ron shouts, laughing. We all laugh as I reach the door.

"Yes, Ronald," I say sardonically. He grins.

I close the door behind me and sigh, feeling a little drained from the whole thing, and very much hope that they are actually ready on time. Strangely, I wouldn't put it past Harry to simply forget that it's his wedding and that Ginny will not be waiting for him. It's the other way around.

Thankfully, it doesn't take long for my to jog the extra two flights of stairs to my room and sort myself briefly before zipping open the huge white bag hanging from the wardrobe door. To see the dress inside.

Calf length, a royal blue, and strapless. Simple. I don't think I would have preferred anything else.

It takes even less time to undress and redress into the dress and get a small bag ready for heading to Ginny's room. The plain make-up, a hairbrush that will b the only one to get through my frizz, and my camera. I don't need to have done my hair or make-up, because Ginnny's sister-in-law has told us that absolutely she and her sister will be the only ones doing it. Fleur was adamant that we could not touch our faces with even a bit of foundation.

As I reached Ginny's room, I swear I thought I saw a flash of something striking.

A certain someone with white blonde hair disappearing around the corner.

But then I entered the room, thinking that there was no chance it could have been him.

Must have been Luna's father.

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So this is what I have been working on! My new Dramione fanfiction and this one is certainly a little more lighthearted than the others I considered. I have written quite a bit for this in terms of ideas and actual chapters and scenes. I will probably start posting once I have caught up with the last chapter I have written. Which, at the moment, is chapter seven!

Enjoy! And please, Review! Let me know what you thought