Chapter XVI: Bonded for Life
AN: Hey folks, it's here! The chapter I think a lot of people have been waiting for. I know it's been a long time coming, but I'm very happy with how it turned out. Thanks for sticking with me for so long, I'm really grateful for every kind word and even the not-so-kind ones. I read them all. Now, sit back and enjoy!
The early morning light glinted on the Golden Snitch's surface as it flew up into the air and landed in its new owner's palm. Not a second later and it was up in the air again, landing always in Harry's hand as he tossed it up and down. For a ball made of solid gold, the snitch was surprisingly light. It was a testament to its craftsmanship that the tiny metal ball was so satisfying to handle. And now it was his. A final gift from his late headmaster.
The reading of the Will of Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore had taken place only yesterday, in the living room of the Burrow. The Minister for Magic himself, Rufus Scrimgeour, appeared at the Burrow to personally deliver it. His presence should have been expected considering the importance of the personal effects of a man such as Albus Dumbeldore, however, Harry would have much preferred McGonagall or Flitwick - even Snape. They at least knew Dumbledore. They could pretend like they were joining in remembrance of the man himself, as opposed to this thinly veiled political ploy disguised as ceremony.
As for the will, Dumbledore has left Ron his Deluminator, apparently to remind him never to lose faith in the light, even in darkness. Hermione was left Dumbledore's personal copy of The Tales of the Needle and the Bard, the one that Hermione had already been pouring over for months; that she had made mountains of notes over, with input from Dumbledore himself, luckily in a separate notebook rather than directly onto the pages. Harry dreaded to imagine what the prying eyes at the Ministry might have gauged with that insight.
Finally, Harry was given the Golden Snitch he'd caught in his very first quidditch match - well, caught in a loose sense of the term, swallowed would be more accurate - as a reminder of the merits of perseverance and belief in one's abilities. Harry failed to see how it could be useful, but he appreciated the sentiment nonetheless.
All of their bequeathed items had been stripped down and tested for any secrets or enchantments, but Dumbledore knew very well that would happen. None of their gifts was meant to provide them with any strategic edge. All of the important items they would need for their quest were stored in the Shrieking shack already under lock and key. The Ministry's efforts were destined to be fruitless, but that did not stop the Minister from inserting himself into their ceremony as one last attempt to pry for answers.
Thankful, after realising he would get no cooperation from the trio, Scrimgeour had the decency to depart, leaving them with their gifts and a foreboding sense of anxiety. Dumbledore was truly gone now. The will had been read, his effects delivered, the casket in the ground. The old headmaster wouldn't be able to help them anymore. It was up to them to finish what he started.
Harry watched the morning sun slowly rise from behind the rolling hills with solemn awe. It was all so quiet, so serenely still, like the world was holding its breath. Harry was used to early mornings like these, ever since the nightmares had disallowed him to sleep. Views like this, however, made them almost seem worth it.
"Can't sleep?"
If her voice didn't immediately tell him who it was then the rhythm of her soft footsteps certainly did. That and the warm glow in his chest that made him feel safe and content, the one that only came from her.
"Pretty much," he replied as Hermione took her seat beside him next to the window sill. He felt her fingers rest against his arm, stroking the bare skin in a comforting gesture.
"Is it your scar?" she asked and Harry frowned. He had almost forgotten about Riddle since sitting down to watch the sunrise. There was little he wouldn't give for the luxury of forgetting all about that maniac.
"He's angry," Harry murmured. "I think he's looking for something."
Her fingers paused against his skin for a moment.
"It's not the Horcruxes, is it?"
"No," he reassured her. "Definitely not. It's something else. But he really wants to find them." Harry shrugged. "We'll just have to see."
Hermione nodded, seemingly resigned to the feeling of yet another problem that needed solving in time. It wouldn't do to think about it now, though. They could at least try not to think too hard about the future before breakfast.
"You shouldn't be letting him in."
Having no response, Harry carefully weaved his fingers through hers in the lightest of touches.
"I know," he said. It was not an apology nor an excuse, but it was all he had.
It wasn't nice to have Riddle's thoughts in his head, Harry hated letting him in, but it was an advantage they couldn't afford to forgo. Knowledge of the enemy is crucial in war, after all. To know the enemy is to know every battle. If Riddle wanted something so desperately, chances are it would only be a matter of time before it was used against them.
Maybe he should be more concerned over the fact that he was risking his own mind in return for this information. Then again going mad was better than being dead. Hell, he was practically mad already.
Or at least he soon would be if Hermione's fingers continued to dance across his skin like that. It was like she was using his arm as a canvas, brushing the tips of her nails in small circles up and down his pale arm, leaving goosebumps wherever she went. Harry wondered if she even realised what she was doing to him.
"Why are you up so early?" Harry whispered once he found his voice.
"It's going to sound silly," she whispered back. "I just… had a feeling. I followed it. And here you are."
The amber morning light hid his blush well.
It was then that he noticed she had been carrying something in her other arm. It was a book with a worn spine and gold lettering across its face. Even in the low light, Harry recognised it immediately, having seen it only yesterday.
"Is it a good book?" he said, gesturing to the copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard sitting beside her. "I mean, is it a good read? On a scale from Dickens to Hogwarts: A History?"
Hermione looked up at him from beneath the fringe of her dark brown hair and smiled. Harry's heart would have leapt from his chest had it not been imprisoned in flesh and bone.
"I'll have you know that Hogwarts: A History is a fascinating read," she replied with an affronted little grin.
"This coming from the only one who actually stayed awake in Binns' history lessons?" Harry retorted. Hermione chose to ignore that remark.
"It is, actually," she pondered as she carefully handed the weathered book over for him to inspect. "Although, it feels weird reading fairy tales when I know now they could very well be real."
That was a feeling Harry could absolutely relate to. He used to love fairy tales when he was a young boy, whenever he had the chance to read them. Stories about orphans whose good hearts and kind actions earned them the happiness they always wanted, with casts of colourful characters and moments of whimsy that allowed him to forget his own world for a little while.
However, it was one thing reading about Cinderella and her Fairy Godmother who could turn her rags into a ballgown and a pumpkin into a carriage and feel the wonder of such magic explode inside his young mind. It was an entirely different experience to know that not only were such miracles not fiction but to be able to surmise exactly which spells he could use to recreate them. It was strangely melancholic to feel a layer of mystery to the world become so very mundane in its own ways, filled with its own problems that needed miracles to solve.
"Any favourites?" he asked, genuinely curious as to what kinds of stories the children of witches and wizards would be enchanted by.
"The Three Brothers," Hermione answered immediately. "I think that's my favourite. Would you like me to read it to you?"
"Like a bedtime story?" he chuckled and Hermione smiled back, only slightly bashful. "I think I'm a bit too grown up for that."
As if pleading to the contrary, Hermione stuck out her bottom lip and Harry laughed. A few moments later, Hermione's face returned to its studious curiosity.
"Actually, there is something I've been trying to figure out." She opened the book to the first page and held it out for him, joining at the corner of the page. "Here."
Precisely where she was pointed was Dumbledore's first name 'Albus' scribbled in an uncharacteristically messy scrawl that told of a much younger man. It was to be expected since the book was his own personal copy, however, the 'A' was not its normal shape. In fact, it appeared to be unlike any letter he'd ever seen. A triangle containing a circle bisected by a horizontal line.
"I've been trying to figure out what it's supposed to mean," Hermione said. "At first I thought it was some form of ancient greek, but it isn't. It's not a rune or a mathematical symbol, either. The closest match I could find was the alchemical symbol for the Philosopher's stone…"
"Dumbledore did know Flamel personally," Harry nodded. "They were research partners, remember?"
"But it's not an exact match," Hermione mumbled in frustration. "Besides, the Philosopher's stone was destroyed, wasn't it?"
"That's what he said."
"So, if he wanted us to find it, why not just tell us?"
"Wouldn't exactly be beyond him to lie about it."
The notion seemed to greatly dampen Hermione's spirit.
"But he promised," she replied weakly. Harry could only pat her hand in some consoling manner.
"I know," he said, not an apology nor an excuse.
The memory of Dumbledore's machinations didn't suppress Hermione's mood for long, however, and soon she had shuffled up beside him and showed him the symbol again.
"What about you?" she asked. "Have you ever seen anything like it?"
Harry tilted his head as he stared at the symbol yet again.
"You think I'd recognise it?"
"It's good to have a second opinion."
The teenager thought for a moment, trying to think of a dignified answer that would convince Hermione he had any clue at all.
"Maybe he just made it up?" he offered. Hermione's beleaguered sigh told him that it hadn't worked.
"Maybe he made it up," she scoffed in a manner that was not a little bit patronising. Harry could only smirk at her.
"You wanted a second opinion."
Hermione scoffed again and Harry pinched her. Eventually, the two had shifted so closely together that Hermione's head was resting on his shoulder, looking out over the morning landscape beside him. There was a moment of quiet where Harry thought they might just sit and watch the sunrise forever, but with Hermione's mind now awake and very eager, the quiet didn't last.
"Have you figured out how to get into the snitch yet?" she diverted to the golden ball in his hand, to which Harry shook his head.
"Not yet. You don't think there's a password, do you?" He held the ball up in front of his mouth like a microphone. "'Sherbet Lemons'." The Snitch remained lifeless between his fingers. Harry tutted, only slightly disappointed. "I thought not."
"Maybe the Ministry removed the flesh memory when they were testing it?"
"Wouldn't put it past them." He casually threw the ball a few inches and caught it, jostling it in his hand. He then offered it to Hermione who happily took it between her fingers and admired it. "Oh well, now it's just like any old snitch. At least they cleaned it up for me."
"Well, not just any snitch," Hermione smiled. "I still remember your first match."
"Hmm." He leaned over her and smirked. "Wasn't that the one where you set Snape on fire?"
"And saved your life?" she replied with her chin raised. "Yes. Yes, I did."
"You are allowed to say you enjoyed setting him on fire."
"A professor?" she said, scandalised. "Never."
Despite laughing, Harry decided that remark had earned her a pinch in her side. It wasn't long before Hermione was stifling her laughs, trying not to wake the rest of the house.
"You know," Hermione eventually managed to squeak out, pushing away Harry's hands, "after the match, I looked up the Quidditch statistics for how many seekers caught the snitch on their first time out."
"And how many were there?"
"Not many. It was something ridiculous like 4%. Yet you caught it on your very try. And you were only eleven years old. I was so impressed."
"Technically, I didn't exactly catch the Snitch," a reddening Harry scoffed, "I swallowed it if you remember. Besides, you saved my skin more times than I can count… Hermione?"
Hermione didn't respond. The girl's face was frozen in a picture of wild inspiration, or shock, Harry couldn't tell the difference. Her brown eyes were wide, her eyebrows creasing the ridge of her brown, her mouth slightly open, whispering to herself.
"Swallowed… oh my God." She frantically turned to him, grasping the Snitch and pushing it towards his face. "Harry, put it on your lips."
He wanted to ask what on Earth she meant, but after six years of knowing Hermione, the boy had learned by now not to question her. Obediently, he plucked the snitch and placed it on the skin of his lips. Suddenly the golden ball vibrated in his grip. His heart jolted. He pulled it away just in time to see the soft glow of words embossing themselves on its golden surface. A message appeared before his very eyes.
"'I open at the close'," he read. He tilted the ball so that Hermione could see. She peered over his shoulder to get a better look.
"What does that mean?" she asked quietly, but Harry already knew. His heart grew heavy inside his chest.
"It means it's not time yet," he replied simply. He felt Hermione's eyes searching his face. Her fingers tightened on his arm.
"Harry…"
"Whatever this is, I don't think it's something Dumbledore wants me to have just yet," he explained. "I think it's for the end. After all this. For when I'm about to-"
The sound of a sniffle broke his train of thought. He swivelled to see Hermione covertly wiping her shimmering eyes with the sleeve of her jumper. Suddenly, whatever he had to say didn't seem so important anymore. The snitch was quickly forgotten as he wrapped his best friend in a warm hug. Hermione wrapped herself around him until his whole body felt warm, and he embraced her as well, pulling her against him to ward away the morning chill.
They sat and watched the world outside the bedroom window until they could delay breakfast no longer, savouring the few moments of peace they had left until the rest of the house was awake.
On the morning of Bill and Fleur's wedding, Harry stood watching the garden from the kitchen window, silently thanking that he hadn't been roped in as an usher. A crowd of guests were being ushered inside the entrance to the marquee by an already-bored-looking Ginny, a never-ending sea of suits, dresses, red hair and platinum. It seemed like both the Weasleys and the Delacours had large extended families, or at least a lot of family friends.
It was a wonder that the marquee could contain them all. Harry chuckled to himself as he imagined the marquee inflating like a balloon, expanding from the sheer amount of guests and the concentration of perfume.
'Oh, Harry, don't be ridiculous,' Hermione's voice scolded him inside his head, 'it probably has an expansion charm in the inside, the same as the tent the Weasleys stayed in when we went to the Quidditch World Cup, remember?'
And of course, the voice was correct. The inner dimensions were mostly likely expanded to at least twice the perimeter would allow, he helped Bill construct it all up after all. He even asked about the charms involved and Bill was happy to give him the run-down. A simple expansion and construction rune on each pole, which made putting it all away at the end as simple as turning off the circuit. Maybe the real Hermione would appreciate the second-hand lecture. It might prove a nice distraction from the day they were about to have.
Several long, laborious hours of introductions, small talk, congratulations and all sorts of meaningless rubbish people performed to keep up appearances. At least he wasn't a member of the family so he would have to pretend he knew any of them, nor would be on the other end of people remarking at how big he'd grown, like how Ron would inevitably be. Then again, all of that wasn't really the point. Harry was there because he wanted to support Bill and Fleur however he could, for everything they had done for him, especially for introducing him to his therapist, Amelie.
Speaking of which, their sessions had been progressing nicely, from what Harry could tell. He had yet to make any major breakthrough but being able to plainly speak his mind helped lay his thoughts out in his head. Mainly how he felt about the upcoming wedding and his anxieties around that.
Bill and Fleur had invited him personally, they wanted him there and he accepted simply because he wanted to be a part of it, not just to appease the happy couple but for the sake of being part of a crowd and enjoying a day as a normal person. Of course, however, he was Harry Potter, and Harry Potter wasn't allowed to be a face in a crowd. Despite that caveat, Amelie encouraged it of him, if only to unwind for a day, but her approval didn't solve that main issue.
It was simply a matter of logistics, mainly how on Earth the Chosen One was supposed to just casually attend a wedding without becoming swarmed with nosy guests or worse turning the wedding into a target. As much as Harry wanted to be part of the celebrations, he didn't want to do so at the expense of Bill and Fleur.
There was too little time to brew a batch of polyjuice and they couldn't very well allow Harry to attend the wedding as himself for obvious reasons. Of course, there were more traditional disguises but the thought of spending the entire day wearing a tacky red wig made Harry's scalp itch.
If only it could be as simple as taking off his glasses, Harry pondered aloud as they discussed ideas, Superman did it all the time and no one recognised him. The confused faces around him prompted him to explain what on Earth he was on about, with Hermione backing him up. It was a ridiculous idea. And for some reason, it stuck.
Remus left for Diagon Alley that same day and returned with what he described as a late birthday present: a box of contact lenses for Harry to try on immediately. Placing them onto his eyeballs for the first time was supremely unsettling - his eyes watered buckets from trying to do it himself - but after the first few attempts of taking them out and putting them back in every hour or so, Harry soon got used to the procedure. His eyes felt irritated for a good few days, however, that was apparently normal.
(From what Remus told him, there were magical contacts he could buy that not only circumvented the side effects but also had a bunch of cool advantages like night vision and far-sight enhancement, but the last thing Harry wanted was anything magical in his eyes. He much preferred knowing that the worst thing that could happen was an irritated eye, rather than a missing or damaged one.)
The lack of glasses was a good start, but then came the real test: Harry's first proper haircut. It took Molly a good half an hour to get his hair under control and after a long afternoon, Harry's signature wild mane had been brought under control.
The sides and back had been trimmed down to almost a buzz cut. Instead of the mop that used to sit on top of his head, his hair now reminded Harry of a neatly styled brush, with only a few errant strands curling at the ends to suggest the untamed wilderness it once was. Molly attempted to style it further using a scoop of hair gel style earlier that morning, but for some reason, his raven locks refused to comply. Apparently, there was only so much his hair would allow.
After all was said and done, Harry was left with a style that he would've felt indifferent to had it been on anyone else's head. As for his own, it would take a while to get used to. Still, it was leagues better than Aunt Petunia's haircuts, as if that was a high bar.
Then came a series of minor glamours. The first was directed at his eyes - which Harry vehemently protested at first before Remus had the chance to explain - shifting them from emerald green to a lighter sky blue. Next, his skin, which quickly sprouted a healthy covering of dark stubble thanks to a prototype remedy from Fred and George. It was not quite a full beard yet but enough to break up his pale skin. Finally, another glamour and the scars that peppered his face disappeared, leaving his skin bare and unblemished.
It was by no means a permanent disguise - the glamours would wear off and would have to be reapplied at around midday - but it was just enough to make people not look twice. Well, except for Harry himself of course.
Seeing himself in the mirror for the first time, after all the finishing touches had been applied, left him bewildered. It was unsettling to look into a mirror and, for a moment, not recognise the face staring back at him. He looked like a stranger, he thought. Like a Harry from another world where it all hadn't gone completely wrong. He looked… he looked like someone else and Harry didn't really know how he felt about that.
The reactions from the others ranged from shock to astonishment to rigorous teasing.
"Bloody Hell, Harry! You look like you actually hit puberty."
"Oh, dear, you look so handsome! Not that you weren't before, of course- but oh! The short hair really suits you. And those contact lenses make your face so much brighter."
"Hmm, I don't know. You don't look like a Harry to me. In fact, I think he looks more like a 'Dave' than a 'Harry'. What do you think, Fred?"
"Oh, definitely not. More like a Jacob to me. Besides, the Harry we know couldn't grow a beard to save his life."
"And he definitely didn't look like the type who pulls girls like this fine stallion right here-"
"Oh, stop it, you two! Leave him alone.
"It's a compliment, mum!"
Mrs Weasley tutted at her twin sons and busied herself with brushing some invisible lint off of Harry's shirt.
"You're going to make a lucky woman very happy one day, dear."
"Thanks, Molly," Harry smiled, trying to maintain his cheery attitude despite remembering how he wouldn't have a 'one day.'
"Speaking of which," he heard Fred whisper to him, nudging him in the side, "here she comes."
Harry didn't need to ask who Fred was talking about. He could recognise those delicate creaks down the stairs any day.
Despite his initial reluctance, the thought of Hermione's reaction to his new appearance maybe him giddy with anticipation. Even Harry could admit he looked more handsome now, with all of his small changes, than he did when he woke up this morning - not that any improvement was hard. A part of him, a very possessive part of him, wanted to covet Hermione's shock at seeing him for the first time, at finally impressing her in that way.
Of course, that all went out the window when he saw Hermione for himself.
The first thing he noticed was her smile, so bright that he almost squinted. Her face had been decorated with just a hint of makeup, enough to highlight her gentle features. Her hair had been combed into a loose ponytail that framed her radiant face like an ornate picture frame. She was wearing a floaty lilac dress that gently hugged her body and briefly reminded Harry of the dress she wore at the Yule Ball, as well as all the ways she had grown up since. The combined effect had his thoughts stuttering in his head. The confidence he had slowly built over the course of the day quickly softened to jelly.
He barely summoned the presence of mind to smile back at her, after a harsh nudge from Ron.
"Y-you look brilliant," the words tumbled from his mouth. Hermione laughed softly, lifting an eyebrow as she looked him up and down.
"You don't look too bad yourself." She smirked, drawing Harry's attention to her glossy, pink lips. "I like the stubble."
Harry's brain had to quickly reboot before formulating a reply.
"I like your dress."
"Thanks," she twirled on the spot for him. "You don't think it's too much?"
"N-no. Not at all. I think you're very good." He blinked. And then his brain caught up. "I mean- the dress. Looks very good. On you."
Hermione nodded, ever-so-slightly confused.
"Good." She smiled. "See you inside?"
"Y-yeah, of course. See you inside."
Neither made an attempt to move. The pair stood in place for longer than they should have, staring at each other unabashedly. That is until Ron made a very conspicuous cough and the spell was broken. The pair blushed. Hermione quickly made an excuse to leave. Harry watched as she left, enjoying the swaying of her dress against her legs.
"That was tragic," Ron's smug voice spoke behind him. "I mean, even for you, that was tragic."
"Yeah, I heard you the first time," Harry begrudgingly acknowledged.
"I'm afraid we have to agree there, Harry," Fred chimed in. George nodded solemnly.
"Not exactly your finest moment, mate."
"Oh H-H-Hermione," Fred simpered in a high-pitched voice, "you look simply a-amazing in that dress."
"Shut up," Harry protested, which only cued George to continue.
"W-wanna get m-m-married and b-buy a house and h-have lots of kids with b-beautiful brown eyes?"
"Oi," Ron said, "only I'm allowed to make fun of him. Piss off, both of you."
The twins baulked at him in unison.
"Why's that then?"
"Cause I'm his best friend. Now, go on, go make your own friends."
"Oh, fine," Fred said with a beleaguered moan. "We'll let you play with your best friend."
"I'm sure you'll have plenty of fun on the kids' table." George peered out of the window and rubbed his hands. "Now, if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, I think some Veela have arrived."
Fred watched his twin swagger out of the kitchen with an amused grin.
"I give it two minutes 'til fireballs." He clapped the two boys on the shoulder. "Good luck, Dave."
Before long, the kitchen was empty, and Harry was finally allowed a moment to breathe.
"It's a rollercoaster with you lot."
"You know for someone who can duel Dumbledore to a standstill," Ron poked, "you're really terrible with girls."
"Who's your date then?" Harry retorted. "Not that mysterious girlfriend of yours?"
The smug expression on Ron's face faltered.
"Well, no… I don't think she's showing up."
"Because she's not real?" Harry smirked, only to very quickly frown when he realised Ron wasn't laughing with him. "Sorry."
"Nah, it's alright," Ron waived him off. "She hasn't been replying to my letters. I think something might be wrong."
"Who is she?"
"Someone from the year below. Her name's Angela. She's…" His freckled face mimicked the fiery shade of his hair. "Well, she's brilliant, mate. Proper beautiful, too, but like, that's not why I- well, I mean that's part of it but… She just makes me feel happy to be me, you know?"
Harry glanced out of the kitchen window, spying a head of wavy brown hair, and smiled.
"Yeah, I think I do."
"She lives in Diagon Alley with her sister, who runs a tattoo parlour" Ron explained. "We both wanted her to come but it was too dangerous."
"You know her sister already?"
"Well, not really. We've never met, Angela's only really mentioned her in letters. I don't even write to her with my real name, but she knows it's me."
"What do you call yourself?"
Ron casually adjusted his shirt with an aloof expression on his face.
"Joey Jenkins."
Harry blinked. It was a ridiculous name on its own but for some reason, it tickled his recollection. Where had he heard that name before? It took a few seconds for Harry to remember and when he did, he began to laugh.
"Isn't he the beater for the Chudley Cannons?"
"Yeah, so?" Ron replied rather disgruntledly. "First name that came to my head."
"You couldn't have just made one up?"
"I did!"
"No, you didn't," Harry exclaimed through his giggles, "that one's already taken!"
"Well, it's too late to change it, it's Joey Jenkins now. Besides, she loves the Cannons."
"Are you sure she didn't just say that to make you happy?"
The redhead frowned through an unconvincing glare.
"She wouldn't do that," he weakly replied and Harry had to stop himself from laughing at even more his friend's expense.
Eventually, the pair couldn't find any more reasons to hide in the kitchen, so they rejoined the rest of the family in the marquee. The area inside, adorned with gold balloons, golden chairs and purple carpets, was already teeming with guests and the chairs were only half-occupied. At this rate, Harry wondered if they would have enough food to feed them all.
The guests were decorated in a spectrum of colours and fumigating smells, each one gaudier than the last. Bright, exotic flowers and enchanted birds were sitting on the witches' hate, and the wizards' cravats were decorated in intricate patterns and twinkling gemstones. The hum of chatter choked the marquee, nearly drowning the band underneath it.
"When I get married, I'm not gonna bother with any of this," Ron mumbled or rather bellowed over the noise. "I'm just gonna do it in my living room when I've got my own house and I'll-"
Then he stopped. He looked at Harry as if he'd accidentally said something wrong, his face suddenly solemn. Harry merely nodded.
"I agree with you. Hell, I'd happily do it in bed if I could, wouldn't even have to get up. I just hope for your sake Angela likes your living room."
A shove on his shoulder and Ron was back to normal.
"Shut up," he smiled. "Honestly, I don't remember half of these people. I swear if they've invited Aunt Muriel…"
They were interrupted by a voice intruding from behind them.
"Ah, Mr Weasley." They rotated to see a tall, thin, middle-aged man with pale blonde hair wearing mustard yellow dress robes that looked like they had been assembled by a tumble drier. The man smiled at Ron before turning to Harry. His bright blue eyes looked awfully familiar. "And you are?"
Harry opened his mouth to reply with a fake name, only to realise he'd forgotten every name that had ever existed. In a fit of panic, he blurted out the first one that came to his head.
"Joey Jenkins." Ron fixed him with a perplexed stare and Harry had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing. "Joey Jenkins Smith. People call me Joe. Or Joey Smith. Jenkins is a middle name. Like the Quidditch guy. Crazy coincidence."
Luckily, the man simply nodded as if it were common knowledge.
"Xenophilous Lovegood," he said, presenting his hand for Harry to shake. "We live just over the hill. Friends of the family."
"Lovegood?" Harry asked as he took said hand and shook it politely.
"Yes. You might know my daughter, Luna. She's about your age, relatively."
"Yes, I do. She's a friend of mine."
"Funny," Mr Lovegood noted. "My little Luna's never mentioned you."
"Yes, I have," a small voice sounded from behind him before a girl with identical blonde hair appeared in a bright yellow dress. "You must have forgotten, Daddy. I do have quite a few friends now."
"Why, yes, of course, Turnip," her father smiled. "I must have lost count. I've been experimenting with the hide of a Vermicious Knid recently. It must be playing tricks on my memory. Frightful creatures, really. Speaking of your friends, do you think Mr Potter will be here?"
"I'm not sure," Luna smiled in Harry's direction. "Joe, have you seen Harry around?"
"Er, no," Harry sputtered, shaking his head. "No idea where he is. I've heard he's in Cornwall but I haven't seen him in a while. At all, in fact-"
"Yeah, that's right," Ron interjected to Harry's relief. "He's just vanished. I haven't even had a letter from him in ages."
Mr Lovegood gazed at them with a peculiar expression.
"That's certainly a shame. I had hoped to meet him. Oh well, I'm sure somebody else here will be interested in my research. I'll go find our seats, Luna. You catch up with your friends."
The man left as quickly as he appeared, shuffling away into the crowd until his garish mustard robes were swallowed by the guests. Harry sent a pointed look to Ron who replied with a similar strained expression.
"That's a good disguise, Harry," Luna said brightly, to which Harry sighed. "I almost didn't recognise you."
"Almost?" Harry asked.
"You have the same nose," Luna pointed out, running a finger down her own. "Don't worry, it's a nice nose."
Harry laughed at the peculiar compliment.
"Thanks, Luna. You look nice today."
"Thank you." Her eyes became strangely mischievous. "Hermione looks nice, too."
Images of Hermione in her lilac dress exploded in Harry's head and he couldn't help but agree.
"Have you seen her?" he asked, twisting and turning to try and spy her brown hair.
"No," Luna shrugged with a small grin on her pale face, "but you're blushing so I assume she does."
Harry gawked at her for a good few seconds before bowing his head and sighing once more.
"Nice," he conceded and Luna curtsied. "I'm gonna go find her. Enjoy yourself, yeah?"
"Ignore the Nargles, Harry," she called as he walked away. "You listen to them too much, both of you."
It was times like this when Harry wondered whether Luna knew far more than she let on.
He jostled his way through the crowd, venturing towards one of the staff wearing golden jackets, who kindly handed him a program. Hermione would probably have her own already, and maybe even one for him too, but it was best to be prepared. The crowd shoved him towards the seating area, where he eventually managed to make out Hermione already sitting in her chair. It wouldn't be long now before the ceremony began.
As he was jostled down the aisle, Harry recognised Mr Lovegood, holding a program of his own, his head peeping out over the crowd to spy Luna. And as he was reaching up on his tiptoes, Harry noticed something glinting on his chest. It was a necklace, with a silver pendant in the shape of a triangle. A triangle containing a circle bisected by a-
Harry stopped, and a couple of guests bumped into his back. He stared at the shape on Mr Lovegood's chest. It was the symbol in Dumbledore's book. The exact same symbol.
Without a moment's notice, he barged past the guests and sidled through the rows of chairs towards him.
"Mr Lovegood," he called, pulling on the man's sleeve and pointing to the necklace, "what's that?"
The man looked down at his chest and back to Harry, clearly perplexed.
"This?" he asked, showing off the necklace. "Well, this is the sign of the Deathly Hallows, Mr Smith."
The Deathly Hallows. That name rang a bell. Why? Why did it seem so familiar?
And then his mind was cast back to the funeral, to the shore of the Black Lake, meeting Mr Dalton for the first time.
"He was an astute man," he had said, "and I admired him greatly, but the Hallows were always Albus' one failing. Don't believe everything he told you, they have been his obsession ever since he was a young man, and believe me that's been a very long time indeed."
It had to be them. How else would it explain it being written in one of Dumbledore's childhood books? But what were they exactly? Why was Dumbledore so fascinated with them? Was Riddle looking for them now?
And then Harry remembered something else that Mr Dalton had said, very briefly.
"The history of the Hallows is one steeped in blood. For every bit of good they've caused, they dwell in a dozen tragedies. Greater men than Albus have lost themselves to the search, Mr Potter."
Whatever they were, they were clearly bad news. Perhaps it was best to simply leave Riddle to find them himself and learn that fact the hard. Then again, could he take the risk?
A sharp cough interrupted his thoughts. Harry shifted only to come face to face with a middle-aged couple who were both staring imperiously at him to move aside. Harry realised he'd spent so long inside his own head that Mr Lovegood had long since left and most of the guests were now sitting in their places. With an apologetic smile, Harry awkwardly shuffled away, spying the empty seat beside Hermione, and carefully manoeuvred towards her.
"Where have you been?" she whispered as he took his seat. "It's almost started. I've been sitting here for ages."
"Sorry," Harry murmured, scanning the room to see if he couldn't pick out the Lovegoods in the audience, "I got sidetracked."
A hand rested on his knee, drawing him back to her.
"Are you okay?"
A part of him wanted to ignore her and keep looking for the Lovegoods, another compelled him to ditch the wedding altogether and go searching for the Hallows himself. However, that wasn't what today was for. This was about Bill and Fleur, about having a normal day. He may not get another chance.
Harry put those thoughts away for now. They could wait for tomorrow, he told himself.
"I'm fine." Harry smiled and patted her hand. "How about you?"
In return, Hermione smiled and nodded, just as the band began the wedding march. The Hallows were quickly forgotten as all eyes turned to the front.
Bill and Charlie were stood by the alter, decked in pristine tuxedos and wearing white flowers on their lapels. Bill looked nervous as hell but despite this, the smile couldn't be wiped from his face. His complexion held more colour than it had in months. Charlie was grinning beside him, looking out between his brother and the crowd, looking as proud as his parents. Harry heard Fred whistling from the crowd and plenty of people laughed. There was a thick sense of anticipation building like a drumroll with sparks of gasps and nervous chuckles.
Mr and Mrs Weasley strolled up the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives; Mrs Weasley was wearing a brand-new set of royal purple robes with a matching hat. They both looked jubilant as their sons. They smiled at Harry and Hermione on the way and they both smiled and waved back. For a moment, Harry truly felt like a part of the family and he was so very happy to be there for them. There wasn't a shadow of a doubt in his mind; he had made the right decision.
A moment later, the crowd hushed. The music swelled from the band. Hermione swivelled around in her seat to look at the entrance and Harry did the same, as did the crowd. Gasps and sighs erupted from around the room as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur, twinkling in her wedding dress, came walking up the aisle - Fleur gliding, Monsieur Delacour bouncing and beaming.
Fleur was wearing a very simple white dress, Harry wasn't sure whether the very faint glowing from her allure or the bright sunlight that seemed to illuminate every corner of the tent. Though every eye in the room was hers, her gaze never left the man standing at the altar. The smiles on Bill and Fleur's faces when they finally reached each other made Harry flush with an overwhelming glee. It was an infectious feeling and it was exactly what the world needed at that moment.
Ginny and Gabrielle followed along behind her, both wearing golden dresses, and quickly took their places beside the altar. After a few moments, Ginny spotted him and Hermione sitting in the crowd and Harry gave her a quick thumbs-up. It was then that he spotted Gabrielle looking his way. Harry was puzzled for a moment before he remembered what Fleur said at Kreacher's graveside. His eyes quickly darted back to the front and with a slight shock, he saw the same small, tufty-hired wizard who had presided at Dumbledore's funeral, now standing in front of Bill and Fleur.
"Ladies and gentlemen," said a slightly singsong voice. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls..."
The ceremony unfolded as the couple read their vows to each other, affirming their love and their duty to care and protect, all the while Harry sat in the audience more aware than he ever had been of the girl sitting beside him, her arm pressed against his, her foot lightly resting against his shin. At one point, Bill began holding Fleur's hands in his and Harry felt his fingers tighten around Hermione's. He listened to words flowing from Bill's mouth and imagined repeating them to the girl next to him, hearing her own vows repeated back to him.
It was almost painful how right it felt. A flood of contentment was filling him up, threatening to escape in tears. Despite himself, knowing that it would never transpire, Harry wondered what his wedding would look like and found that there was only one person he could ever imagine standing beside him.
"Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle...?"
There was a chorus of sniffles from around the tent, along with a sound like a fog horn, signalling that Hagrid too had begun to burst. Ignoring them all, Harry turned to Hermione. Her sparkling brown eyes were full of tears, her face beaming bright and beautiful like the sun. Her dark hair glistened like a halo in the light and for a moment he imagined a white veil over her head. The image squeezed his heart and made him forget to breathe. The very real wedding passed him by as he sat transfixed by the woman he loved.
Harry almost felt sorry for Fleur, for even on her brightest and happiest day, at undeniably her most beautiful, not even she could compare to Hermione in his eyes.
"...then I declare you bonded for life."
Throughout her life, Hermione always had a soft spot for weddings. It started when she was a little girl, those special few times she was allowed to meet the rest of her extended family that she saw so rarely, and it was something she never really grew out of. The food, the drinks, the dresses, the atmosphere; it all spoke to her in a way she would never typically admit. Even here in this menagerie of weirdness that was a magical wedding, it all felt like a safe slice of normalcy that she had been missing.
The only thing that could have made it better was if her parents were here to enjoy it with that. For some reason, Hermione thought that pretending would make the loss easier but the wound was still fresh in her heart. Even diving headfirst into the celebrations hadn't buried it completely. A small part of her wished she could see them walking through the entrance, just to see them again. And every time she could swear she saw them in the corner of her eye, only for a glance to prove her wrong, something twisted inside her chest and she took another sip from her drink.
Still, there was no point in wasting time thinking about all of that, not when she could be enjoying herself. That was what her parents would have wanted. She was going to find them, once the war was over. She was going to have days like this again.
And there was plenty to distract herself with. Once the ceremony was over, she was one of the first to congratulate her, shower her with compliments about everything she could think of, for there was a lot. Fleur looked positively angelic in her wedding dress, which was no surprise to Hermione since she had seen it before any of the guests had arrived, but seeing her walk down the aisle in it was another matter entirely.
"You look amazing, Fleur!"
"Thank you, 'Ermione!" the Bride preened, before turning her attention to her lilac dress. "But so do you! You're so beautiful!"
"Oh, er, thank you." Hermione blushed, fixing her lilac dress. "I'm very happy for you."
"So am I! I almost want it to be over already, but alas I have so many guests to talk to."
"Would you like me to bring you a drink?"
"No, you go and have fun. No complaining, I insist. It's my wedding after all."
The evening came swiftly, aided by a large and extravagant lunch filled with delicacies that reminded Hermione of her holidays in the South of France. Despite stuffing themselves silly, the guests found no qualms with getting up on the dance floor once the tables were cleared away. Even Hermione was convinced to join in, particularly by one guest.
She'd been looking for Harry when suddenly her path was intercepted by a dark figure, one that she didn't recognise at first. That was until she took a closer look and recognised him immediately. It had been years since she'd seen Viktor Krum face-to-face. They had kept in touch via writing for a while before slowly the letters had become less frequent and she got caught up in everything else that was happening that year.
Nevertheless, here he was, looking healthier than he ever had, offering her a dance. And Hermione accepted.
Hermione had never had a crush on Viktor, per se, nothing like with Ron or… others, but she certainly felt something for him back in the day. How could she not? She was a fifteen-year-old girl and he was an older boy who paid attention to her. It also helped that Viktor was a good dancer. Of course, nothing grew from it, he mainly wanted her there so that he didn't have to go for a fangirl, however, it provided her with a unique opportunity to show everyone that she wasn't just a bucktooth bookworm. And it was all worth it for Harry's reaction. She had never seen him so speechless before that moment. It was a memory she treasured dearly.
That brought her mind back to Harry, who seemingly disappeared once the dancing began. One moment he was there standing at the sidelines, talking to someone who could only be Luna's father whilst occasionally staring at her when he thought she wasn't looking. The next, he was gone, nowhere to be seen.
It wasn't like he had been dragged off to talk to some distant Weasley relative. Hermione could spot him anywhere in a crowd, it was instinct at this point. He simply wasn't there. Her heart skipped a beat as she imagined him in the midst of a panic attack somewhere, or perhaps he'd run off again, just like that night in Privet Drive- until she forced herself to remain calm and her reason returned to her. No, Harry had to be somewhere. She was going to find him. He was alright. He wouldn't do that to her again…
It took a few minutes, but she eventually tracked down Ron, who hadn't seen him. Then she moved on to Ginny, Luna, Fleur, Mrs Weasley, Remus, Tonks Viktor, but they hadn't seen him either. So he hadn't gone missing, she realised. He didn't want to be found.
She kept searching, dodging relatives and friends of the family as she navigated to the entrance. A few of the guests were loitering outside, taking in a bit of fresh air before returning to the party. Hermione rounded the corner and sure enough, there he was, sitting on the lawn and looking up at the sky. He was still, his breathing even. Not a panic attack, thankfully. This was something else.
"Hey."
His ears picked up and he turned towards her, his face already smiling bashfully.
"Hey."
Hermione took a few steps closer and sat down next to him, taking a moment to study him. It felt strange to look at him, to recognise him, with all his differences mostly intact. The short hair threw her off the most. Harry's hair always treaded this elusive line between a whirling tempest and a bird's nest, but now it was practically tidy. It almost suited him, but Hermione would always prefer it long and wild.
"What are you doing out here?"
Harry shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck that he always did when he was trying to be casual. "Just taking a break. Watching the stars."
Hermione nodded with narrowed eyes.
"And why are you really out here all by yourself?"
She noticed his smile become tight like a bowstring. He gazed at her as if he was about to say something, before changing his mind.
"How's Krum?" he asked pleasantly, which only served to seed her suspicions.
"He's fine," she replied. "Just wanted to catch up."
"Well, that's good, then."
"Apparently he's met someone," she explained and immediately she noticed his shoulders unwind. "A girl from Bulgaria. Wondered if I had as well."
"Depends," Harry smirked, "have you been to Bulgaria recently?"
"Prat." She smacked his arm gently and Harry laughed.
His body still wasn't entirely relaxed, there was clearly something bothering him just beneath the surface, but he was smiling at least and that was enough to assuage Hermione's worries for the most part.
By now, most of his glamours had worn off, even with Remus reapplying them at lunch. The small nicks and scars had returned to his pale skin. The lack of glasses not only made his face fuller but brought more attention to his eyes, now back to their forest green, just the way she loved them. Vulnerable and gorgeous in their own way.
Harry was staring at her too, those eyes were pouring into hers and for a moment, Hermione thought he was going to spook.
"You look… beautiful," he whispered as if it took all his strength to say it. "Truly."
Hermione sighed, taking his hand in her's so effortlessly.
"Harry…"
"It's just… all of this," he gestured to the tent, "it's a lot. I had to get some air."
"I know," she soothed and Harry shook his head.
"You should go back inside and enjoy yourself for once."
"I enjoy being with you," she reassured him. He tried to smile again, but it didn't reach his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know…" He stared at the ground, his brow furrowed and his lips twirled in a frustrated scowl, not towards her but rather himself. "It's not just all the guests and the noise. Seeing you and Viktor together… it reminded me of the Yule Ball. How Ron and I screwed it all up for you."
"I remember that was mostly Ron," Hermione laughed softly.
"Yeah," Harry conceded, "but I didn't stop him either." He looked at her once again, heavy with guilt. "I'm sorry, Hermione. That should've been your night. And we just… mucked it all up."
"I wasn't all bad," she shrugged, nudging his shoulder. "I got to dance with a champion, after all. I wanted to dance with two, but I had to settle for one.
"I don't blame you," he smiled. "I bet half the girls in the school wanted to dance with Cedric."
At this point, it was all Hermione could do not to smack him.
"Modesty is noble and all, Harry," she retorted, "but it can also be rather annoying." She grabbed his hand and pulled him to his feet. Harry stared up at her, his cheeks bright red. "There are a lot of things that should've happened that night. That doesn't mean they can't happen now."
She made to lead him back to the tent until she suddenly felt resistance. Hermione turned to beckon him on but Harry's face was conflicted. His blush remained but there was a deep sadness in his eyes that almost looked like fear. She couldn't tell whether he looked ready to follow her to sprint in the other direction.
They both knew what this was. They weren't stupid by any means. They had been tiptoeing around each other for so long now that they knew all the steps. All those longing stares, the casual touches and quiet moments when it felt like their hearts beat in unison.
"Hermione," he chose his words carefully like he was stepping out onto a tightrope. His hand was shaking. "I wish I… You know I'm not well enough for this. God, I want to, but… If this could ever happen-"
"Harry," her voice cut through. Slowly, she took his other hand in his, looking up into his eyes with an unwavering gaze. His fingers laced between hers and he held on like he was her last hope. "It can be whatever you want it to be, whether that's just a dance, something more… or something less. It's your choice. All I care about is that I'm here with you."
A wave of relief visibly swept through his body and as the seconds passed, his face morphed into a smile.
"I'll try not to step on your feet," he replied, squeezing her hands. Hermione smiled back.
"Let me lead," she said, releasing one of his hands, "and you should be fine."
She led him carefully back into the tent, towards the dance floor, and he followed along eagerly. They soon found themselves standing together amongst a crowd of guests, at which point Hermione grasped his hands and tried to ignore her heart beating out of her chest as she placed one of his hands on her hip. She gave Harry a curt nod, which he returned with a scarlet face, and they began.
The music guided their movement as they moved in a circle, each foot stepping between the other. Harry, bless him, had his eyes fixed on the floor until Hermione made a point to turn his chin up to look at her instead. From there, it mostly fell into place.
They eventually moved on from the box step to a move freeform style of moving between the guests, all the while keeping eye contact, even amongst the occasional laughter from trying to remain composed. After a few minutes of rigid rhythmic swaying, the pair settled into a more relaxed routine. The music began to blend into the background and the world shrank until it became only the ground beneath their feet. Lights and colours and sounds hardly seemed to matter anymore until finally, they were dancing.
Over time, the space between their bodies shrank until she felt the fabric of his robes pressed up against her and she could make out the individual specks of colours in his eyes, the pores in his skin, the jagged edges of his scars. The closer she looked, the more she felt herself falling into him, until they were barely one person.
All the while their feet deftly moved as one, stepping in time with the lazy beat that allowed them to remain so close. That was until the beat began to pick up again and a cheeky glint in Harry's eye.
"Don't," she warned, but it was too late. He had already raised his arm and spun her. She cried out in laughter and her skirt fanned out like a flower. And yet to their astonishment, neither of them ended up on the ground.
"You're not too bad at this," she gasped as he pulled her back into his chest.
"I don't know how," he laughed. Hermione raised an eyebrow and grinned.
"Because you're letting me lead."
"Probably," he shrugged. "It helps to have the right partner."
The quick burst of energy soon subsided and the pair were left slowly spinning in place. At some point, Hermione's head had found a space on Harry's chest, with Harry's resting on her crown. He pressed a light kiss into her hair, and stayed there, breathing her in. All the while, Hermione heard his heart beating away, a quick but steady thrum that lulled her into a sense of deep calm.
"This is nice," she murmured into his chest, so quietly that she was sure no one could hear her besides Harry. She felt Harry nod above her, his arms warm and solid around her.
The two teens came apart as the band finished their song, only enough to see each other clearly once again. For a moment, they stood in silence. The guests shifted around them like ghosts.
"I've had a lovely time," Harry eventually said with a soft smile and glistening eyes.
"I'm glad," Hermione nodded, suddenly quite nervous. "I have, too."
For only a second, Harry's attention was drawn to the edges of the dance floor and his face fell ever-so-slightly.
"I think some of the others might want a dance," he chuckled, to which Hermione scoffed.
"Well, I'm very happy here, thank you." Harry's laugh tripped in his throat, in a way that suddenly made her nervous.
"You never know. You might meet someone nice. Weddings are a good place for that." Hermione was about to ask him what he meant but she stopped. A tear was running down Harry's cheek, one he was too slow to hide. "You deserve that, Hermione. More than anything. To meet someone…"
All of a sudden, the mood dropped like a chill riding on the wind, and the reality of their situation returned to them. The inevitable future rang in their ears and they felt naked. How many nights would they ever have like this again? How many chances would they have to be normal people? What could they possibly be with what little time they had left? And what would happen once it was all over and they had to say goodbye?
Without any sort of answer, without a care for the people around them, Hermione jumped into his arms, wrapping herself around him so tight he might snap in half. And Harry hugged her back just as fiercely, whispering to her with a voice hoarse with emotion.
"Hermione, promise me after I'm gone-"
"Please, don't say that-" she begged to keep pretending just a bit longer. "Please, don't-"
"Promise me you'll find someone," he continued as if every word brought him physical agony, "someone who loves you for who you really are."
"I already have," she insisted, staring him in the eyes, silently pleading. Harry looked utterly defeated.
"Hermione, I'm dead." The words stabbed into Hermione's heart like knives. "Chances are I won't live to see 18. I can't give you what you deserve. I don't have the time. I'm not…"
Hermione didn't want to hear whatever he had to say. Not whole. Not real. Not the right choice. None one bit of it was true.
"You're alive," she spoke, pushing every ounce of her feeling into her voice. "You're here, with me, right now. This is the time, Harry. It's all the time we ever have."
Harry took her face in both of his hands, his eyes staring down at her so softly it made her feel precious for simply breathing. There was no one else in that marquee, no one else except for them. All she knew was Harry's face, his soul gazing at her through emerald windows, his hands holding her like he would his own heart. She could feel his pulse drumming against her fingertips as she held his wrists, reminding him every second that she here inviting him to hold her.
The space between them disappeared as if it were never there. Hermione closed her eyes just in time to feel Harry's lips brushing against hers.
Everything fell into place. Their world became now.
All pretence of the dance was forgotten. There is no rhythm of structure, only his raw passion dancing across her lips, tangled in her hair, pressed against her body. Her whole being was Harry but somehow she was left wanting more. So much more.
Her arms reached up around his shoulders and pulled him even closer, until she was all but hanging off of him, holding on for dear life. Every second, new emotion sparked inside of her and her heart sang a chorus that makes her chest inflate. And she knew he must have felt the same way by how desperately he was reaching out for her, gathering her up into himself with all of his strength.
It was a truly happy moment.
And the world could not let it stand.
The couple parted with numb lips and burning lungs, just as a glistening silver creature came scurrying through the roof of the marquee, landing amidst the crowd on the dance floor. The guest swivelled, frozen mid-dance, as the Patronus' mouth opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."
A moment later, the world exploded into chaos.
A panic fell over the tent as more and more people finally realised what had just transpired. Immediately, Harry reached for his wand. Hermione grabbed hers from a strap on her leg. The panic consumed the entire crowd and the pair were jostled around from the ensuing stampede. By the time the Patronus had vanished in a swirl of white mist, the wedding had been plunged into anarchy.
Harry grabbed Hermione's hand and pulled her to the entrance. Screams erupted from all around them. He scanned the room for Ron. The fleeing guests blocked his view but he caught a peek from the other side of the marquee. The crowd thinned as many disapparated, the rest fleeing outside. A shimmer ran across the night sky as the protective enchantments around the Burrow were broken.
"Ron!" Harry shouted.
"Ron, get to the house!" Hermione bellowed beside him.
Remus and Tonks found them a second later. Their wands were drawn and pointed all around them. Harry looked over his shoulder to see figures in dark cloaks appear in the marquee. They had run out of time.
With a seeker's instinct, he pushed Hermione behind a table as a spell flew above their heads.
"Get out of here!" Remus roared. "Run!"
His eyes darted to Hermione and saw her readying her wand.
"Protego!" Tonks cried from above them. Harry chanced a quick glance above the table. The Death Eaters were crowded in the centre, a group of ten all spreading out into the crowd. He heard a shrill scream and saw one tackle a person with platinum hair.
"Gabrielle!"
Fleur's voice erupted from behind Remus, who was desperately trying to block the spellfire. The dark figure bearing down on Gabrielle licked his fangs. Fleur's shouting became screams of anguish.
A red mist fell over Harry's mind. Without hesitation, he vaulted the table and aimed this wand. A 'reducto' crashed into Fenrir Greyback's side, ripping him open. Harry was atop him a second late. He jammed his wand into the man's head and blasted a 'Bombarda'. He didn't see what happened next. He only cared about making sure Gabrielle was safe.
"You alright?" he bellowed above the cacophony. The girl didn't respond, plainly in shock. Harry pulled her behind his body as a spell flew above them. He peeked out to see Antonin Dolohov advancing at them with a vicious glint in his dark eyes. Thinking fast, Harry sent a blast of water at the ground, causing him to slip. Another spell sent a table at the man's head. The table shattered into pieces but a stunning spell from his other side sent Dolohov spiralling.
Not waiting for another opportunity, Harry picked up the younger girl and all but carried her to safety, somehow dodging the spells aimed at his head. The young girl was delivered in Fleur's arms and Harry was back out again before anyone could stop him, throwing spells and dodging curses as Dumbledore had taught him. He was not going to let anyone die today, not when he was there to stop it.
He ran to the guests who had been too slow to escape, putting himself between them and the attackers when he could, shepherding them to the edges as he did so. As he was moving to help another elderly relative, a shot of light appeared in his vision. Harry moved to block it but he was too slow. His robes burst open. A sharp pain erupted in his side. Harry heard screams from all around him. One of them might have been his. He dropped to the floor, clutching his side as the elderly guest finally reached the entrance.
Before long, the Death Eaters were ignoring the guests entirely and were solely targeting him. Whether they knew who he was or just wanted to be rid of his meddlesome defiance, Harry didn't know. All he knew was, if he wasn't gone soon, he'd be dead.
He quickly ducked behind another table just in time to avoid a killing curse. He spied the entrance and saw the Order flanked by the opening, firing off spells as fast as they could. The guests had been evacuated. It was only him in the firing line now. His wand ready, he began throwing the golden chairs at the unsuspecting Death Eaters. The furniture collided with their shields, bouncing off or shattering, leaving splinters on the ground.
Harry cast a wide levitation charm. The splinters rose into the air and flew towards the group. The sharp wood sliced through them at all angles. Harry smiled, just as a blasting charm nearly tore into his skull through the table.
He had to get out of there now. He sent a look to Hermione who was firing off disarming spells as fast as her arm could swing. One look and Hermione levitated a table to him. Harry caught it with another charm and began running as fast as he good. His side screamed as he ran but he pushed through the pain. Just before he was out of sight, he cast a wide sticking arm to the dance floor. The Death Eaters, those that were corralled into the centre, were stuck in place.
He made it out of the tent just before the table fell to ashes. Without a moment's notice, he rushed to Bill and bellowed at him.
"It's clear! Turn off the runes!"
Bill understood immediately, waving his wand against his lapel and the Marquee deflated and shrank into a pile. A lump in the middle and around the sides told him where the Death Eaters were, blinded by the canvas. Harry ordered everyone to cast a sticking charm to the tent and the Order did so. The canvas sheen as its surface became an adhesive that trapped the Death Eaters inside it, like flies in a trap.
It wasn't enough, his mind told him. These animals had tried to slaughter a wedding. They'd attacked innocent people. The anger within him swelled to breaking point. They deserved more than humiliation. They deserved to suffer.
Harry readied his wand as the tent and cast his spell.
"Incendio."
The edges of the tent caught alight, the flames quickly encroaching on the Death Eaters. Shouts were heard from beneath the sagging marquee as they realised their options. They either ran or burned.
The tent sagged once again as the attackers hastily retreated, disappearing into thin air before the hungry flames could catch them. The rest of the canvas fell into the inferno.
Harry stood watching the fire eat away at the marquee in silence. His mind was a thousand miles away, in another time, another place. The fire was all around him. Dark hooded figures were marching amongst burning tents. People were screaming and running for their lives. He had to run. He had to find…
A soft hand laced with his and the tension in his body melted. The mist swirled away and Harry was left with a moment of horror. What had he almost done? What had he allowed himself to do? But before those thoughts could plague him, he felt a hand on his cheek and saw brown eyes staring into his, uttering silent words.
'It was them or us,' she told him with only a look, 'you did the right thing.'
Harry's heart settled in his chest and slowly the world came back to him. The pain in his side blossomed into agony and Hermione and Fleur hastily cast some healing charms to mend the damage. Miraculous, no one else was injured besides a few scrapes. They had made it out alive. It was alright now. They were safe.
Except, he wasn't. The Death Eaters had vanished, but there was no time for victory. The first wave was gone, but the hornet's nest had been kicked. More were coming, angrier and more deadly. They had to move now.
Whilst Harry and Ron busy themselves helping the Weasleys pack up, Hermione sprinted up to their room, as fast as her dress would allow. When she returned, she was carrying Hedwig's cage and a moleskin pouch Hagrid had given her.
Inside was everything that they could think to carry in an emergency: clothes for all three of them, equipment, research, food, drink, shoes - everything short of stripping their rooms bare. It would have taken her ten minutes to collect it all, if not for the fact that she had done so that same morning. She called it a hunch. Harry wanted to kiss her again but now wasn't the time. Every second wasted felt far too long.
Ron was in the kitchen, trying to remove himself from his crying parents.
"Ron, please, come with us!"
"I can't, Mum! I'm going with them!"
"Ron, don't mess around. We're going to Aunt Muriel's and that's-"
"DAD!" Ron stood his ground. "They need me! Please."
Mr and Mrs Weasley stared at their son like they were seeing him for the first time. Harry stood back and watched. This was Ron's moment. He deserved at least this.
Eventually, the Weasleys realised there was nothing left to do and they gave their son one last hug before whisking Ginny and all the luggage they could carry away to Aunt Muriel's. Bill and Fleur bid them adieu before apparating to their new home by the coast. Fred and George hastily said goodbye and promised to contact them before the end of the week. Soon, the only people left were the trio.
"So," Ron said, looking at Harry and Hermione, anxiety written all over his face, "this is it, then?"
"Yes, it is," Harry nodded. A moment later, he called for Dobby. A few seconds later, they were gone. The Burrow stood empty and silent.
The night was over but the war had only just begun.
