Merit and Inheritance
Chapter Thirty-five
I Thee Wed
Astoria and Draco were married at Greengrass Manor in the runup to Yule. Cyrus seemed on the verge of bursting with pride throughout the candle-lit ceremony. Every inch the gracious magical host, his wife and daughters deferred to Cyrus throughout the festivities, past attempts to monetize the disbursement of marriageable Greengrass progeny forgiven, if not forgotten. He was kitted out in a striking magical/formal mishmash of black velvet dancing slippers, formal trousers, a black silk vest, and a seasonal green-and-red papillon all topped off by a black wizard's robe. Cordelia looked better than she had in years. She was clear-eyed, had shed the pickled look and Fluff was delighted to spend two or three hours a day with Cordelia, potions and lotions. Daphne watched Cordelia throughout the reception. As far as she could tell her mother carried a champagne flute of ginger ale, taking a sip from time to time and abstaining from the serious beverages.
Harry was glad to have Astoria married off as it meant he and Daphne could start making their own plans. He suggested to Daphne that they let things settle down and get married on May 1, Beltane. Daphne was ecstatic. She had gotten, or self-generated, the idea that she and her husband would take their vows outdoors, at sunrise, on one of the seasonal holidays according to the old calendar.
"I was sure you would hold out for Imbolc," she said, "February. In the snow."
"Wouldn't want that," Harry assured her.
Harry had no idea why Daphne was so attached to her vision for a dawn wedding. The first time it came up he asked for the origin story. He had never heard of an old custom embedded in any of the traditions and still-extant cultures in the stew that was Magical Britain that spoke of dawn weddings on a traditional holiday.
"I honestly don't know," Daphne said. "I don't remember it from a book or nursery story. I also don't remember ever wanting anything different. Maybe it came to me in a vision."
Harry didn't object. He thought Daphne would be a beautiful bride indoors or out, any day of the year, at any time of day. If she envisioned exchanging vows at sunup, Harry would endeavor to give her what she wanted.
That disjointed conversation marked the official beginning of the planning for the wedding of Harry James Potter and Daphne Alexandra Greengrass. They tried mightily to keep the wedding small and simple. Daphne loved the old holidays and didn't care where she'd gotten the idea, she just wanted to exchange vows with Harry as the sun came up on Beltane.
It was the sunrise aspect more than anything that kept the number of attendees low. Putting the time of the wedding on the invitations gave all of the invitees fair warning. When the conversation got around to it some days after the wedding, Harry and Daphne were in complete agreement that the people they really wanted to see came, and the people they considered their real friends were the bulk of the people in attendance.
Harry had been studying Daphne for months. She finished the crimson gown and started right in on another in emerald green. Harry knew they had some his-and-her's significance. He had no idea what that was. His working hypothesis was the gowns were part of some Greengrass family magical tradition. Harry didn't know why that was because he hadn't heard it from Daphne nor had he read of it in any of the Greengrass grimoires they had worked through together.
"Ever heard of this?" Harry asked one evening as he handed an open volume across to Daphne.
"Whose is it?" Daphne asked as she turned the book around to look at the spine. "Greengrass."
Harry gave her a minute to scan the page.
"One of yours has the same thing," Daphne said. She got up from her chair and stood facing her bookshelf. "Here."
Daphne chose a book and sat back down. It took a while but she found what she was looking for. Taking both books, she moved to the floor between the chair and Harry's spot on her couch.
"Want to compare?" Daphne asked.
The two grimoires described a ritual any couple could perform although it was clearly meant for newlyweds. Both parties drew a little blood that was mixed in a bowl with some common herbs and used in painting runes on their bodies with wishes for the other—fertility, health, good fortune, bountiful crops. One rune was different in that individuals painted it on themselves, over their own heart. It was the rune for fidelity.
"Hold on now," Harry said. "Not that I'm planning anything unseemly, but if the ritual works, and the person has an unplanned, what is the word?"
"You mean if they stray?" said Daphne with just a little tilt of the head.
"Inadvertently, let's say," suggested Harry. "Without really thinking…"
"And your concern would be?" asked Daphne, pressing on.
"Is that it? Do they just keel over? Go belly-up? According to this it's to be painted right over their heart."
"Uh-huh, that is what it looks like," said Daphne, her voice starting to sound a bit concerned. "I don't suppose a wizard who swore to be faithful would want to go on living if he did such a thing, do you?"
"My reasoning had not really gotten that far, to tell you the truth," Harry said.
"Oh, well, I was thinking it was symbolic, an old and beautiful ritual a new couple would perform together to express their love and give them a precious memory to carry to the end of their days, but if you are concerned…"
"Daphne, you know I want you to have your fill of precious memories," protested Harry. "If you think this is safe for us to do then of course we'll do it. I'll paint the rune myself. My runic calligraphy is really coming along."
"But only if I certify it as safe?" Daphne asked, her lips a little pouty. "Destroy the mystery…"
Harry looked up from the Greengrass grimoire. Something gave Daphne away, perhaps the smile that was trying desperately to pull up the corners of her mouth despite her best effort to hold it in.
"Yeah," said Harry, "Only if it isn't going to give me a heart attack if I'm taken by surprise by a sudden appearance of…of…an extraordinary attraction."
That did it and Daphne howled with laughter.
"Harry Potter, you finagler," she said. "That doesn't even make sense. Well, I think this is simply a private exchange of blessings between two people, except for the promise of fidelity. That is something of a 'Cross my heart' gesture, I'd say. Kind of sweet."
"Then we'll do it," Harry said.
Harry and Daphne exchanged vows in the garden at Greengrass Manor on May 1, at dawn, just as Daphne's vision had decreed. Daphne walked up to the altar barefoot through the wet grass, her gown soaking up water all the way. Harry tried not to but she was so beautiful in the rosy dawn light he was crying when she reached him and they joined hands.
Cyrus and Cordelia served a buffet breakfast after the ceremony, the informality giving everyone the opportunity to chat up the newlyweds. Harry watched Daphne with something like awe apparent on his face. She remembered names, she knew something about everyone, asked about babies, elderly parents and grandparents, promised visits just as soon as they could be arranged and generally held the entire gathering in the palm of her hand.
Her hands told their own story. They were graced, of course, by two simple rings. She wore Iolanthe's sapphire on the little finger of her right hand. Harry had put her thick silver wedding band with its runes on her left ring finger. The first time Harry got a good look at Daphne's two hands together he saw the genius in her selection.
"Look closely," said her hands, "THESE are how a witch's hands look."
As the last of their guests departed Daphne signaled Harry it was time to take their leave of Cyrus and Cordelia. They were going by apparition straight to Potter Manor so they didn't bother changing.
"In here," Daphne said, as soon as the great front door closed, and she led the way into the salon. The portraits were uncovered and began waking up as the lamps and sconces lit themselves.
"Oh, Daphne, welcome home," exclaimed Dorea. The others joined in, a cacophony of greetings and blessings. It was Daphne's turn to cry a little. Everyone wanted to know what the latest Mistress of Potter Manor planned to do first.
"First we're going to visit with James and Lily," said Daphne, "this was strictly to say hello."
No one could argue with her on that point, and some began encouraging her to go on to the breakfast room because she would have plenty of time later to come back and chat up the old fogeys in the salon.
"Mum? Dad? Hullo, hullo," said Harry when they got there. "Would you care to greet Mrs. Potter?"
"Daphne!" exclaimed Lily, "Your dress!"
Daphne started to laugh.
"It's dry now," she said, although the press had gone out of it and she had kicked up bits of grass that clung to the fabric from her knees down to her ankles. Daphne still hadn't bothered to put on shoes. "Here, Lily, I'd like to leave this for you to enjoy for as long as it lasts."
Daphne put her bouquet on the breakfast table and stepped back.
"That is lovely," said James.
"Oh, Daphne, how thoughtful of you! Harry, a vase of water, please," added Lily. "I know a charm to help flowers stay fresh. It doesn't react with any others, as far as I know, so feel free."
Harry summoned Kreacher and soon had a vase for the bouquet and fresh coffee for his bride. Daphne listened carefully and cast the fresh-flower charm just as Lily instructed. They sat down at the table and talked and talked about the wedding, cutting off the conversation only when the portraits started nodding off and having trouble finishing their sentences. Daphne put her first finger to her lips and motioned with her eyes.
"Change," said Harry as they started down the great central hallway. The hours were starting to take their toll and he was rationing his speech.
"Not much left in my tank, I don't know about you," Harry said. They had split in the upstairs hall, Harry taking the master suite bath and Daphne using hers. Freshened and slightly energized by a quick lukewarm shower, Harry was pulling on an ancient, much-loved pair of cavalry twill trousers. They'd once been as stiff as canvas but the years and washings added up and burnished the surface while pestering the hard right out of them. Harry took a white shirt from a hangar and pulled it on, buttoning the front, rolling up the sleeves and leaving the tail free.
"Making my way to a chair, in some shade," Harry mumbled, reaching for the doorknob.
Daphne gave him a bemused look.
"Oh, okay, newlywed," she said. "I suppose I'll just find my way to you, somehow…"
"Oh, I didn't think," said Harry, stuck between the need to mount a demonstration of affection for his wife and an opposing compulsion to get off his feet before he toppled over.
"Get out of here," Daphne said. "Dining room, two minutes?"
"Sure," said Harry.
What Daphne had in mind clarified as soon as Harry got downstairs. He called for Kreacher and ordered two fresh cups of coffee for the dining room, then waited in the hall for Daphne. Harry took Daphne's hand as they went in.
"Madam Walburga?" Harry asked. "May I present Mrs. Potter?"
If portraits could jump up and down Walburga and her sons would have done so. As it was their movements were restricted to two dimensions. The greetings and congratulations were not affected.
Coffee finished and social obligations met, Harry and Daphne headed for a commodious hammock tied in the shade between two oak trees. Harry wrapped his left arm around Daphne and pulled her close. Their left hands found one another, perhaps helped by the matching rings on that side. Harry dozed off thinking he felt a kind of soothing buzz where his palm lay on the back of Daphne's hand.
Two hours had passed, and the sun had moved, robbing the hammock of its shade when Harry blinked and looked around. Daphne still lay across his left arm, although they'd let go of the other's hand at some point.
"Hmmm….," said Daphne. She rubbed one of her feet on Harry's shin, up as far as she could go before the cuff of his trouser pushed back.
"I suppose we should get up and do something," Daphne went on.
"We don't have to," said Harry. "Unless you've got something to do besides stay right here and be the most beautiful bride ever."
"Oh, that's so tempting," Daphne said. She punctuated her thought with a kiss to Harry's lips. He answered in kind, holding her so she couldn't pop away.
"A little break? Stand up, stretch, unkink before you get cramps?" Daphne asked.
Harry stood a bit quickly and nearly fell over, underlining the wisdom of Daphne's suggestion.
Inside, over glasses of water, Harry raised the question of dinner. There hadn't been a need for lunch due to Cyrus and Cordelia's post-wedding buffet.
"What would you like to do?"
"Al-Andalus?" suggested Daphne.
"Sounds good," said Harry. "Always up for couscous. Not that it tastes better than rice, I just like to say it. Couscous."
Daphne had nothing to convey in response so she limited herself to a stare that went on and on. A change of subject was the only cure.
"Go by apparition?" Daphne asked.
"Very efficient," Harry said in agreement.
They arrived not long after the doors opened. Al-Andalus got a bit stuffy later in the evening as witches and wizards in gowns and formal robes stopped in, coming or going to other events or the theater. Before seven, though, the restaurant encouraged a more informal feel, catering to the after-work trade and shoppers having dinner out before heading for home. Harry still wore his khakis and tieless white shirt but he had pulled on an old robe from the hall tree as they went out to the front of the house to apparate away to London.
Harry's robe had a very discreet Order of Merlin rosette embroidered, in tasteful, muted colors, in its upper left quadrant. Harry wore the robe whenever he needed one for everyday business and forgot about his decoration. The Al-Andalus hostess, however, went wide-eyed. She looked closely at Harry, then Daphne and started laying on the hospitality.
"Lord Potter…Lady Potter…milord…milady…"
The hostess seemed intent on using every honorific in the dictionary, while Harry and Daphne became more and more self-conscious.
"Maybe one of the rooms off to the side?" Harry suggested.
The Potters were soon led to a curtained doorway that opened into a small room with a low table surrounded by cushions. They left their shoes on a small mat just inside and sat down to study the menu.
"Couscous," said Harry. "What do you want to go with it?"
Daphne chose a vegetarian tajine, as she always did. Harry hadn't known there was such a thing until he had taken Daphne to Al-Andalus the first time.
"Anything wrong?" Daphne asked.
She had been keeping an eye on Harry as he drank tea and forked vegetables into his mouth.
"No, why do you ask?"
"Because," said Daphne, "You are right-handed and you are picking up your teacup with your left hand and holding your fork in your left hand, and you drew your wand and laid it in your lap when you thought I was looking elsewhere."
Harry chewed up a Brussels sprout and swallowed, keeping half an eye on the curtain hung in the doorway. Even though they were in their own little room, Harry felt he should drop his voice and speak just for Daphne.
"On the way in, I saw something underneath the curtain of one of the other rooms. There is a brand of Italian hiking boots that is very recognizable. Dieter wore them, if you remember? Not that there is a law that says a witch or a wizard can't have a pair of Italian hiking boots in London, we just don't favor them. Not for walking city surfaces. Not for going out to Al-Andalus for dinner on Beltane."
"Ahhh…" said Daphne. She sat up a little straighter.
"No need to get primed for a duel, Lady Daphne, I'm just mentioning what I saw," Harry said.
"I'm glad you told me," said Daphne, "I might have missed the excitement. Not that there is necessarily going to be any."
Harry nodded.
"Exactly."
There wasn't any excitement, as it turned out, and when they left, the boots weren't visible in the room where Harry had seen them when they came in. Harry didn't know if there was any reason to be concerned about Bergs or their allied families. The only trail that led back to him was via the two lower-level companions of Marcella. Harry had obliviated those two, as gently as he could, relieving them of their memories of the hotel, Harry and Pansy, the dungeons and the other bits of Potter Manor they'd seen. His intent was to wipe the specific memories of people and places while leaving them enough of their faculties to find the way back to Our Place. It was just possible, with his careful approach, that he'd left more than intended.
When they got back to Potter Manor, Harry suggested they shower then embark on their private rune-painting ceremony. Daphne was all for it. She informed Harry she would have skipped their wedding day dinner and gone straight for the runes, given a choice. Harry wondered why she hadn't bothered to mention that. Daphne said a wizard wouldn't be able to focus with an empty stomach. She thought Harry would find rune painting much more enjoyable if he could focus.
"Makes sense," Harry agreed.
Harry returned from the shower to find Daphne already in their bedroom, sitting before a low dresser, completely naked. She had just opened a little drawstring bag of herbs and emptied it into a shallow terra cotta bowl. A cup of water sat near the bowl. Clouds of incense rose from a bronze censer.
"Ready?" Daphne asked.
Harry nodded.
"Me too," said Daphne, and without another word she picked up a small knife and sliced open the underside of her thumb. Daphne held her thumb over the bowl and let it bleed.
"Milord," she said, handing the knife to Harry.
When Daphne judged they had enough blood in the bowl she healed both of their thumbs with a touch of her wand, then picked up a bunch of rosemary sprigs and stirred water from the cup into the mixture.
Harry and Daphne had read the ritual multiple times and committed the runes and blessings to memory. When she judged the blood, herbs and water were ready, Daphne gave a nod and Harry picked up a small brush and dipped it into the bowl.
"Faith," Harry said, painting the rune on Daphne's forehead. "Good fortune. Family."
Harry painted another rune, one Daphne hadn't asked for, over her solar plexus.
"Love," he said.
Harry knelt down.
"Fertility," he whispered as he painted the rune just beneath her navel. Standing up, he handed Daphne the brush, which she dipped into the bowl before painting the rune for fidelity over her own heart. She went on painting, beginning with Harry's forehead.
"Faith."
Harry's right forearm got Strength.
Harry clenched his right fist and Daphne painted all the way around: "Victory."
On his left wrist, just above his hand: "Good fortune."
Harry took the brush and drew his own fidelity rune.
They really wanted to kiss but the ritual wasn't over. According to the grimoires, which were not identical but whose ideas tracked closely, they could not touch one another in an intimate fashion until the edge of the sun was seen in the east.
"Get my gown?" Daphne asked as she pointed to their bed.
The green and crimson gowns Daphne had sewn by hand, now covered with embroidered runes, were laid out, waiting. Harry picked up the green one as Daphne stretched her arms and inclined her head toward him. Harry put the open end over Daphne's arms which she then lifted up so the gown fell down and covered her. Daphne picked up Harry's crimson gown and returned the favor.
"Hedging our bets," she said. "I think the painting and the gowns may be two expressions of the same ritual. Whatever, the sewing and embroidering was something I wanted to do. For us. When we found the other I just kept going."
"I think it's lovely, but I suspect I'll appreciate it a great deal more in the morning, after a good night's sleep," Harry said.
"Both of us," said Daphne as she crossed to her side of the big canopied bed.
Harry and Daphne more or less collapsed on the bed and fell fast asleep in their runes amidst clouds and clouds of incense. Each observed the protocol and stayed on their own side.