As Harry and Ron moved into the back garden of the Burrow, the sun's violent beams blinded them slightly, for it was a day of the most profound and brilliant glory. Each and every flower in the rather wild yard gleamed in the light, and even the garden gnomes had lined up into small, formal rows, clearly understanding the importance of the date. It was, in Harry's opinion, the ideal setting for a wedding, especially one where the bride and groom would not have had to work very hard to outshine normal surroundings.

Harry turned to Ron who was looking around with his mouth slightly open, clearly shocked that his garden would ever look so gorgeous. People were flooding out of the door behind them and surging on either of their sides, but Harry and Ron stood immobile in their spot, relishing the scene.

Different people came up to Harry in surprise and with delight on their face; most of them seemed to have been worried about whether or not he would make it. Fred and George looked dashing in vibrant orange blazers and neon-green slacks. Charlie was wearing a set off rather warm-looking black dress robes, as was a tall, floppy haired young man who was introduced as Melo, and was Bill's best man.

"Got some brilliant stories 'bout him, I have." Melo whispered to Harry with a wink.

The Minister of Magic, who, it seemed, felt obliged to attend now that Mr. Weasley was a senior member of the Ministry, nodded rather coldly to Harry, but looked quite regal nonetheless.

A very poignant moment could be observed as Harry met and was embraced warmly by Mrs. Diggory, the mother of the murdered Cedric, and was treated to some very kind words by Mr. Diggory.

It was both a thrill for Harry to see these people, as well as a rather difficult reminder. However, the two young women he really wanted to find were seemingly hidden in the vast wave of people. Ron kept saying that they would show up, although Harry was beginning to have his doubts, and when he caught a glimpse of Hermione striding towards them from afar, alone, the gloominess he felt increased.

"Harry!" she said loudly as she finally drew even with them, "Harry, we've been desperately worried. Where on earth have you been?" He began to make up an excuse on the spot, but Hermione would not let him finish. "Never mind that for now," she said, throwing her arms around him in a swift hug, "We'll have plenty of time to talk later. Assuming, of course, that we'll be able to find a quiet corner. It's really awfully crowded, isn't it?"

Harry was on the verge of saying that it didn't look to crowded in Ron's bedroom three nights ago, but wisely restrained himself. Instead, he nodded in agreement, and turned to lead the three of them to seats near the back of the rows, but not without noticing Ron whispering something to Hermione in a supposedly accusatory tone. She shook her head firmly, and turned to Harry, who had already stopped looking at them.

The garden, which had, perhaps, been magically enhanced, had the appearance of a rather large church, but without walls, a roof, or floors. There were row upon row of white chairs set up, which were headed by a small, elevated platform upon which was placed a simple white table, which would serve as the alter. A large gap ran between the two main columns of seats. 'Beautiful in its simplicity', thought Harry.

It took a great deal of time, and great many numbers by the three person band before each of the hundreds of guests had found a seat. The Minister of Magic was sitting in the second row of the right hand column, surrounded by a full entourage of Ministry officials, while a select group of Weasleys, including Fred, George, Charlie, Molly, and Arthur occupied the front row. The left hand column was chalk full of rather beautiful looking French men and woman, many with flowing blonde hair and elaborate dress robes. It was a stark contradiction to the unruly red mops and battered dress robes which could be found on the left hand side.

Finally, the music stopped playing for a moment, and a tiny, balding wizard climbed up to the table. He was clearly the magical pastor who would preside over the ceremony.

He immediately launched into a short and disgracefully dull speech about the joys of marriage, and Harry found his attention wandering quite quickly. He did not care for talk of love. As he stared around the crowd, his eyes eventually flitted to his left, wear Ron was sitting directly beside him. Hermione was of course on Ron's other side, and an empty chair sat beside her. Harry leaned across Ron to address Hermione.

"Psst... Oi, Hermione. Is, er...Is that chair for...y'know?"

She looked over at him. She was wearing the same dress robes as she had at the Yule Ball in their fourth year, and the same pity that Mrs. Weasley had worn three nights earlier.

"Harry," she said, "Harry you should really take of those sunglasses. I'm sure you look fine without them."

"And don't give a fuck about the sunglasses," he hissed back, causing Hermione to role her eyes in frustration, "All I want to know is whether that chair's for Ginny, and whether she's coming. Is she?"

"I don't know," responded Hermione stiffly, "But I rather doubt she'll be sitting here if she does come."

"Bullocks!" Harry muttered to himself as he slid back across a rather uncomfortable looking Ron. He had wanted to see her quite badly. He didn't feel the same way about their situation as he had at the end of the school year.

But Harry didn't have long to dwell on his thoughts, because the wedding procession was finally beginning. Melo strutted up the aisle, bringing with him a kind looking woman of French origin. Next followed Charlie, who was kindly escorting a very awe-struck Gabrielle, the younger sister of Fleur. After both pairings had split up at the alter, a tall man of about twenty came gliding up the aisle, his blonde hair flowing like so many of Fleur's relatives, and he was escorting none other than Ginny.

Although he didn't see her face, Harry could tell that she was not in her normal, perky and confident state. His eyes followed her hungrily beneath his blue-tinted glasses, although the visible portion of his face stay completely emotionless.

Bill was now walking down the aisle, smiling widely beneath the rather ugly wounds which had been inflicted upon him several weeks ago. He winked noticeably and Ron and Harry, who had turned around to watch him approach. Ron grinned broadly and pointed at him with either hand, while Harry smiled in a tight, lightly amused way.

The music began again, the music which signalled the arrival of the bride. Fleur walked up the aisle, a stunning smile in place on her spectacular face. The beauty of her robes and her hair seemed to earn some contemptuous glances from several female members of the Weasley entourage. Fleur's father, who was giving her away, was tall, had broad shoulders, and remarkably black, well groomed hair. He was smiling with confidence and grace, and continued to do so as he delivered his daughter to her future husband. As he passed Bill on his way back to his seat, he crouched in a boxing position and threw a few joking punches towards Bill, who dodged them light heartedly. Most of the crowd erupted into gracious laughter, and Mr. Delacouer squeezed his future son-in-law's arm gently before sitting down.

Harry glanced at Hermione. She was already crying slightly, he noticed. Ron was staring, it seemed, straight through his brother, a small, melancholy smile on his lips.

Harry refocused his stare towards the alter. He was mind numbingly bored, and for the most part he could only think about Severus Snape, how Severus Snape had killed Albus Dumbledore, and how he, Harry, would like to beat Severus Snape until his face looked like raw hamburger and then hang him from a bridge. This, however, was not very discrete, and would probably cause an uproar in both the wizarding and muggle world.

Perhaps he could capture Snape, with the help of Lee, and drag him to the apartment. They could always kill him there, although it would be necessary to torture him first. But no, he and Lee would never be able to simply capture Snape, he was to well protected, had to much back up.

A staged mugging! Lee could get some of his East End mates together, and they could always attack Snape somewhere in London. If they robbed of anything worth while after he was dead, then it wouldn't raise to much suspicion. But wouldn't Snape be able to fend off any number of Muggles?

If Harry went all-Muggle, he could then get to Snape. He could simply wait outside his former teacher's door until he came out, and then run up to him and unload twelve shots into the bastard's skull. Not even the most advanced magic could help him survive that. The only thing was, where the fuck did he live?

Different methods of executing the man who had killed Harry's mentor swirled through his skull, and it made the tedium of the wedding ceremony seem much less extreme.

Eventually, the pastor spoke in a sufficiently loud voice to shake Harry from his bloody day dreams.

"You may kiss the bride!" exclaimed the little man.

As Bill embraced Fleur, a massive roar escaped from the crowd, and they all stood up, cheering the union of two very special young people. It was such a loud cheer that Harry almost missed the sound of the door slamming behind him. Almost everybody did miss it, having been completely absorbed in the wedding, except for he, Harry, and Fred and George. The twins came striding purposefully back up the aisle, looks of concern and anger on their faces.

"The fuck is he doing here?" muttered one urgently.

"Dunno, but he can't be seen."

Harry turned to follow their gaze, and saw Lee Jordan, leaning lazily against the door frame.

In a split second, Harry was directly behind the Weasley twins, having pushed passed Ron and muttering about the washroom. His friend was far to enraptured with the ceremony to notice. He arrived at Lee a split second after the Weasley twins.

"-the fuck are you doing here? We told you to stay the fuck away." George was muttering viciously, although he could have easily been screaming and not been noticed, what with the cheering of the guests.

"You've got to fuckin' go, Lee. Sorry mate, but you can't be here, you know that" Fred said, slightly more calmly than George.

Lee took a small cigar out of a pocket of his ridiculously baggy black jeans. He lit it as the Weasleys continued to berate him, blowing a think cloud of smoke in their faces. When they began to cough, momentarily stopping their ranting, Lee turned to Harry.

"They're comin' mate. They're nearly 'ere." he stated simply, his face remaining blank.

"Who?" asked Harry, "Lee who's coming?"

Lee looked at him as if he was daft. "The fuckin Deaf Eaters, mate. 'Oo the fuck d'you fink?"

Harry stared at him, his teeth grinding together. At the Weasley's fucking wedding. Where woman and children could be openly slaughtered. The blood was pounding in Harry's ears.

"How long?" he demanded. Fred and George had stayed motionless, listening intently since the mention of Death Eaters.

"I fink," said Lee slowly, "That we've got 'bout, say, two, maybe free minutes-"

"Get in-fuckin'-side!" Harry cut him off, hissing at Fred, George and Lee.

They slipped inside, unnoticed by the crowd, which was slowly starting to calm down. Harry began speaking immediately.

"Lee, you got your gun?"

"Fuckin' right 'Arry. Got an extra, too."

"Give it to Fred. You to get outside and stand in front of the house. Look casual, but if you see anyone, open fire with spells and bullets, right. Tell Fred how to fire."

"Righty right!"

Lee spun on his heal and sauntered out of the house, still smoking his cigar. Fred hurried out after him, as white as Harry.

"George," Harry began, but was cut off.

"Harry, what the fuck is going on-"

"No time, mate," said Harry, "Fuckin' Death Eaters coming now. We've got to defend these people."

"I've got some mates in the crowd! I'll get 'em, they'll be a help!"

"Fuck 'em!" shouted Harry, "No fuckin' time. They'll get the picture soon enough." And he turned quickly, sprinting up the stairs to his room, George at his heels. He skidded into his room, tearing open his trunk and grabbing his wand in one motion and threw a fully loaded hand gun to George, closely followed by another clip.

"Just pull the fuckin' trigger mate." said Harry.

He then pulled his favourite chrome glocks from within the trunk and loaded himself up with ammunition. He turned to George.

"You ready mate?"

"Yeah, 'course I am Harry. This is how I always pictured myself going out; in blazing fuckin' glory!"