― CHAPTER FOUR ―

A Wizard Wedding

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The next few days went by like a blur. But contrary to the customary summertime leisure pursuits of practicing Quidditch and horsing around with a houseful of young Weasleys, this August saw a subdued Burrow life, with Ron as the only child (Bill and Fleur were in France visiting the bride's family, Fred and George too busy with business to drop by, Percy and Ginny abstaining from domestic company, and Charlie … no one knew exactly where he was or why), and his parents quite often away, one at the Ministry, the other on wedding-planning errands.

Harry was glad of the quiet because it allowed him to concentrate on his self-imposed training agenda. Ron had given him, as a birthday gift, an official Auror handbook from the Ministry of Magic archives (dated pre-Fudge, when the Aurors fought at the height of anti-Dark tactics), which Harry read cover-to-cover. Hermione's present had been a bottle of perfectly-brewed Draught of Living Death potion, which she said she hoped he would never have occasion to use (but just as a precautionary measure, the dose would last up to four hours). His friends also helped him by brainstorming about the mystery of Voldemort's four remaining Horcruxes.

"I think Hogwarts was a choice hiding spot. Ancient, full of secrets, founded by his ancestor, the castle that was home to him and symbolic of magical knowledge … "

"It's kind of like a treasure hunt, innit? The map is You-Know-Who's brain … wish you still had access to his thoughts …"

"But how can Nagini be one? I would've seen a soul-encasing spell come out of his wand that night before Frank Bryce's spirit did …"

"A record of Ravenclaw's progeny at Hogwarts' library … maybe a descendant has a memory of some valuable artifact."

"Wonder if the R.A.B. bloke found any besides the locket?"

"And what exactly destroys them, assuming I get past the protective enchantments …"

And on and on.

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The wedding of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour was being held at Hymenae Gardens, amidst the natural splendor of lush wild countryside. Golden end-of-summer sunlight shone on a white gazebo altar wreathed in ivy and lilies, and a cool breeze stirred the soft morning air. It was a small, intimate gathering of fifty guests, presently seated in rows of damask-draped chairs facing the altar and chatting while they waited for the ceremony to begin.

Harry and Ron were loitering around the large tent that had been set up for the reception some hundred yards away, watching the behind-the-scenes mayhem: a frantic Mrs. Weasley dashed to and fro, waving her wand like a mad orchestra conductor, now screeching at Fred and George to change into dress robes ("Dragonhide at your brother's wedding! I'll skin your hides if you do!"), now barking orders at her husband ("Arthur, stop fiddling with that muggle contraption! … No, I don't need you to enchant it to play Mendelssohn's March! Go get the nightingales!"), and occasionally peeking into a curtained-off area where her soon-to-be daughter-in-law was getting ready ("The tiara looks lovely, dear … do you have your 'something blue'?"). Thankfully, she was too worked-up to notice that her youngest son and his friend were doing nothing particularly helpful.

"Did you see Fleur's sister?" Ron asked Harry dreamily. "She's grown up … so curvy …"

The shapely figure of Gabrielle Delacour had not escaped Harry's notice, but he was more interested in getting a glimpse of another young, red-headed bridesmaid.

"How cool would it be to have two hot veela sisters marry two, ahem, handsome Weasley brothers!"

Harry grinned slyly. "And maybe one best friend, a Weasley sister?"

The glaze-eyed expression on Ron's face instantly evaporated. Glancing at Harry's laughing eyes he scowled, "I s'pose so."

Just then the curtain flew back and Hermione stepped out, looking flustered. "I just finished doing Ginny's hair," she said, running a hand through her own long elegant curls. She used Silkifying potion-balm everyday now, but the improvement struck Harry afresh whenever he saw the un-bushyhaired Hermione.

"The ceremony is about to start," she added, zapping Ron's tie so it straightened into a crisp knot. "Let's go."

Outside, Harry and Hermione took seats in the second row on the groom's side while Ron joined his brothers standing as groomsmen beside a lightly-scarred but rugged-looking Bill Weasley. Harry recognized none of the foreign faces of the Delacour clan, but spotted Lupin, Tonks, Moody, and a few other Phoenix members among the guests and muttered to Hermione, "The only no-shows are Percy and Scrimgeour –no surprise."

"There's the High Priestess," Hermione whispered back excitedly, indicating a tall, stately turbaned witch behind a podium at the altar. "I can't wait to see a Christiopagan rite for the first time!"

She fell silent as strange melodious notes filled the air. A choir of small, brightly-colored birds was flying overhead, singing the sweetest music Harry had ever heard –excepting Fawkes, of course, he thought.

And then, before he physically saw her, Harry felt his stomach plunge. Twisting his neck, he saw that Gabrielle and Ginny were indeed walking down the aisle: Harry had eyes only for the latter; her ginger-and-cream coloring set off by the bright gold of her bridesmaid's dress, her straight back and slender bare shoulders, her smile and her eyes that were directed ahead … For a split second, Ginny's gaze flickered toward Harry's, and in that space it seemed that the long weeks of separation since their last day together in June closed –he could feel her so vividly that warmth radiated through his whole body, as if she were in his arms right now. Judging by the tinge that crept onto her face, his 'girlfriend on hiatus' sensed similarly. A Muggle expression Harry had always considered somewhat silly now occurred to him with yearning sobriety: the heart remembers.

The nightingales hit a crescendo to announce the coming of the bride. Heads swiveled. Men stared, transfixed. Women aahed. Fleur Delacour was a vision, luminous in a gown of translucent swaths of organza and shimmering silvery hair upswept under a sheer veil and diamond-encrusted tiara. She glided, rather than marched, to the altar, gracefully passing her bouquet to her sister before turning to face her betrothed.

The birdsong faded as the High Priestess raised her wand and drew the symbol of the cross to linger in a golden blaze over the couples' heads.

"Invocation of the god and goddess of love," explained Hermione in advance in Harry's ear. The Priestess began:

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'We call upon you in the guise of Eros,

Always desirous one,

We call upon you in the guise of Aphrodite,

Sensual lover,

To join us here and witness the union of William and Fleur …'

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Smiling adoringly at each other, Bill and Fleur joined their left hands.

"Do you, Fleur, acknowledge before the Lord and Lady, and in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit, your sworn bond this day forthwith to William Lance Weasley in the states of everlasting handfasting and holy matrimony?"

"Oui, with all my 'eart," said the françiase throatily.

The priestess repeated the inquiry of Bill for 'Fleur Lys Delacour'.

"I do," grinned Bill, causing Molly Weasley to burst into tears.

The fiery cross split into two spheres of molten gold, each spinning until it had solidified into a gleaming ring. The couple unclasped their hands to slide the rings onto each other's fourth left finger, and the Priestess intoned,

"Born of divine flame, this ring binds thee to the vows you have made. By the power invested in me by the Olympian Church of England and the Ministry of Magic, I hereby pronounce you man and wife. You may –"

But Bill had already locked Fleur in a passionate kiss.

"That was beautiful," sighed Hermione as applause and cheers erupted around them. Harry nodded absentmindedly, wondering if he would live to hear those words uttered about him and …

"Ginny!" exclaimed Hermione, as the younger girl approached, Ron in tow. "Ron! Congratulations on your new sister."

"Mrs. Phlegm Weasley," giggled Ginny.

"Soon to be followed by … Mrs. Gabbie Weasley," added Ron. "I just asked her out, and she said yes!"

Harry looked at Hermione, expecting to see her angry or crestfallen. To his surprise, she was smiling unperturbedly. He made a mental note to investigate later this lack of jealousy about Ron's lovelife, so at odds with Hermione's behavior last year concerning Lavender Brown.

"It's good to see you, Harry."

He became aware that a small kid-gloved hand was resting on his arm. Grasping it, he swallowed and told Ginny, "I've missed you."

Her eyes glinted mischievously. "Show me how much."

Harry let himself be led to a secluded grove of trees. "Ginny –" he began to protest as she flung herself at him, but lost all power of speech as their lips met and his mind shut down.

Finally he summoned the will to break the kiss. "Head rush," he responded to Ginny's inquisitive look. Then his voice grew serious. "You know we can't do this."

"That's why I stayed away," she said softly. "But just –today, it can't hurt, there's no one here …"

A small voice in the back of Harry's mind told him to be firm, but he ignored it. After all, he had no idea when –if –he might see Ginny again, and he wanted this last day of peace at her side to imprint itself on his memory without the regret of having missed out on a single moment or possibility.

He pulled her close again and whispered into her hair, "After today, promise me not to even think of me until it's over …" And they melted into each other's embrace, forgetting the world around them, feeling themselves alone, together, complete.

Unaware that two shining eyes were watching them intently.

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The celebration was in full swing when Harry and Ginny returned to the tent. Couples, including the newlyweds, were dancing and swirling to live band music. Harry spotted Ron doing the rumba in a sort of jubilant frenzy while his silver-haired partner hopped with light toe-saving nimbleness. Hermione was dancing with the twins, but seemed to think she'd had enough when Fred, holding her by the waist in the crook of his arm, spun her like a top across the floor to be caught by George. Fingertips on her temples, she made her way unsteadily toward Harry by the buffet.

"Why aren't you dancing with Ginny?" she asked, fanning herself as she took a glass of ice-cold pumpkin champagne from the table.
"And where did you two disappear off to?"

Harry gave her a sheepish half-smile.

"Oh, Harry," said Hermione. "After all your precautions …"

"Nothing unsafe," said Harry defensively. "These are private grounds. Besides, how is it you're not hexing Ron for Twinkletoes there?"

She gave him a dignified snort. "I'll have you know I would never begrudge a friend enjoying himself."

"But last year –"

"Last year I was a bit high-strung," admitted Hermione. "But since this summer at the Burrow, I've realized that Ron and I are truly friends at heart, nothing more. I –I think I would know if I fell in love … it hasn't happened yet."

"That can be a positive in these times," said Harry darkly. "Especially since you're … you know …"

"Secret Keeper," nodded Hermione. "Which reminds me: Professor Lupin was looking for you."

"Order business?"

Hermione was nodding again when George jumped out in front of her, grabbing her free hand and, like an icon of Gryffindor House, roared, "Fair maiden, why dost thou forsake us?"

With a traumatized look Hermione let herself be swept back onto the floor. Harry chuckled as he scanned the room for the Order of the Phoenix's new Leader. He caught sight of the young, lined face of his former teacher standing with Molly and Arthur Weasley, who both were teetering happily and feeding each other champagne. Lupin motioned Harry to follow him outdoors.

"Well, Harry," said Lupin once they were out of eyesight and earshot. "Hermione tells me you've been making wonderful progress in your Defense training."

"Yes, Professor."

"I'd prefer if you call me Remus," laughed Lupin. "My academic career ended rather long ago."

"Sure –er, Remus," said Harry; bearing in mind that this man was his dad's close friend made switching to a first-name basis feel more natural.

"I'm afraid I have a difficult request to make of you," continued Lupin. "I know how you feel about entering your godfather's house, but we need to re-establish a stable base for meetings now that D– now that Phoenix leadership has changed," he finished quietly.

Harry expelled a loud breath. He had anticipated such a decision, and was determined not to let ghosts of grief haunt him. "Alright," he shrugged.

"Good spirit, Harry," said Lupin. "Our first meeting will be tomorrow morning then, if you're ready …"

"I'll tell Kreacher to put the kettle on," said Harry not a little unkindly. "That vile piece of –"

"If they would like, your friends are welcome to join us," said Lupin, glancing around with suddenly narrowed eyes. He sniffed cautiously once or twice, then, added, "Let's go back in."

"Is something wrong?" asked Harry, squinting in the dusky evening light.

"No, no –I thought I scented something, but it's probably just my increasing paranoia of late," sighed Lupin. "Come on, Harry, I don't believe you've had dinner yet, and a wedding feast of Molly's is not to be missed."

It was almost like back when Lupin would offer Harry chocolate to soothe his fears, when Harry was younger and hadn't yet tasted the bitterness of pain that could not be so easily appeased.