Author's Note : Super, special thanks to Thalia, without whom, this entire work would not be possible. I owe her a lot, and I just want to make it known that though the pairing mentioned in this story might still have existed, it would be nothing interesting without her. All thanks go to her, and a special nod should be given to her characterizations of Cassius Warrington and Kirsten Bundy as well as her help and input in using the character of Seamus Finnigan.

Disclaimer : I am poor and own nothing. All characters, situations, places, etc. therein belong to J. K. Rowling unless otherwise noted. No copyright is being infringed and no money is being made. Etc. Etc. Etc.

If I told him once I told him a hundred times.

Emma. Will. Not. Leave. Him. At. The. Alter.

Seriously, the bloke's gone utterly nutters over this whole wedding bash. When I get married, I'm leaving it all to Lavender and then just showing up when I'm supposed to. Err...or whatever the girl's name is and if I decide to tie the knot.

But, if I was in Seamus's shoes I'd just suck it in, go out there, and marry the woman I love, not wibble about the place as if I was about to play at the Quidditch Cup (which I am, next year, by the way). It's ONLY a wedding.

But then again, Seamus sleeps with a biting plushie. There are no words. NONE!1!

Okay, perhaps I shouldn't say such things aloud. Not when Kirsten *shiver* is around. I do not like that look she's giving. And her heels are rather high... *wince*

And the music starts up, and Emma, on the arm of that massive fruitcake, the Slytherin git, and our former Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, comes towards where we are standing. All right Finnigan, mate... BREATHE! It's good for you! I swear!!

Y'know, that wonky tradition about the groom never seeing the bride in the wedding gown is a bad thing. He's always so bowled over and stuff that the best man (that would be me, Ron Weasley, chivalrous redheaded Gryffindor extraordinaire) has to hold him up so he doesn't fall into a melted little heap at the altar.

Okay, okay... fine. I admit it. Dobbs looks rather nice. For a Slytherin. And she's SMILING.

Smiling Slytherins are scary. Almost as much as smirking Mrs. Nerdslut Hermione. But that's a WHOLE different story!

Is it wrong that a small part of me wants to see her trip because perhaps if she did the Irishman standing beside me might actually take in a breath of air in shock?

Ooh, I hope there's chocolate cake at the reception. Oh, and that the scary girl across the aisle with Pansy Parkinson-like hair doesn't try to rape me...because the say she's looking at me is quite unnerving.

Okay, Mr. Hotshot Finnigan. Your vows. Before dark. Stop trying to see through her bodice already! Or... whatever it is you're doing, with the googly eyes. OW! What was THAT for, Kirsten?!

Hmph. Well. They look happy. Yay for them.