The bespectacled young wizard was fidgeting with his bow tie in front of the huge enchanted mirror occupying the whole wall of one of the guest rooms of Château Delacour. It was not even half an hour before the most important event of his life – marrying Hermione Jane Granger – would take place, but Harry was, quite understandably, nervous as hell and silently wished he could steal his fiancѐe and run away with her from the crowd. After all, everybody knew they loved each other and wanted to live their lives together and those few simple words they were just about to pronounce were equally good whether spoken in Westminster Abbey or in Gretna Green.
For a brief moment, he thought of using the Summoning Charm to grab his fiancée and Apparate away with her, away from the crowd. A few seconds later he sadly realized that he had no idea in which of the countless rooms his beautiful soon-to-be wife was undergoing the same hell in the circle of at least half a dozen bridesmaids including Fleur and Gabrielle and, as such, the "Accio" charm would not work. Making a somewhat agitated, shooing gesture with his hand, he returned to his mirror self, in his mind silently making up one sophisticated way after another to annihilate this unlucky piece of black silk he was trying to tie around his neck.
Having sent his best man – and his best friend of the past one and a half decade, Ron Weasley – on a completely unnecessary errand fifteen minutes ago, only to have a few moments on his own, Harry had some time to mull things over while he was fighting with his wardrobe. Finally, his tie was done, and he stepped back one step, clearly satisfied with himself, as he cast a not-so-expert look on his reflection.
Suddenly, a soft but impatient knock broke the silence of the room. Not even turning towards the door, Harry spoke uninterestedly "Come in!" as he tried to smoothen a non-existing wrinkle on his tuxedo. A few silent steps, barely touching ground, and before Harry could count to three, the highly unlikely figure of Luna Scamander was grinning back at him from the mirror.
Harry had to admit that his friend looked breathtakingly beautiful. Her tiny frame clad in a deep emerald green spaghetti-top dress almost sweeping ground, the golden tiara with the three emeralds – one of Harry's wedding gifts to her – in her dirty blonde locks, she resembled more of a Medieval princess than one of the biggest experts of the century in the field of rare and mystical creatures.
Standing on tiptoes – Harry's brain, somewhere deep inside, registering that she was barefooted – Luna softly pecked him on both cheeks, than stepped back one step and examined the young wizard from top to toe.
"Are you scared, Harry?" she blurted out seemingly out of nowhere, her eyes curiously scanning the tired face of her friend.
Emitting a nervous laugh, Harry loudly blew out the air from his lungs. "I am, Luna, I am scared to Hell. It's worse than facing Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest if you ask me."
Slightly nodding, while her mind filed this bit of information, Luna Scamander reached for the hands of the young wizard and reassuringly squeezed them. "That's good, Harry Potter. You should be scared and that's natural. You remember Rolf, he'd fainted twice."
Feeling the warm presence of the two small hands in his, Harry already felt considerably better. Luna always had this aura around her that would melt even the iciest atmosphere wherever she would appear, that would lift even the most depressed spirit with a few simple words. She was a natural donor of positive energies and she was asking and - Harry suddenly realized, deeply ashamed – getting so little in return.
"Believe me, Luna, before you came in, I was already close to fainting once," he grinned into the mirror. "But then, an angelic vision in an emerald dress visited me and took most of my fears away as if they had never existed."
Slightly flushing at the compliment, Luna gleamed at her best friend. "Why thank you, Prince Charming, but I think you should waste your compliments on your much more beautiful soon-to-be wife instead of ugly me. Look at me! I look like a freckled cow clad into a silken panty two sizes two small!"
She gently laid her hands on her not-so-subtle baby bump, her face for a moment contorting into a painful grimace. "Hey, you two there," she called out, "would you mind stopping playing Quidditch for a while and giving your Mum a little piece of mind so that I could talk some sense into this one here?"
Harry's eyes turned the size of a saucer. "Two? W… wait a minute, you are expecting twins?"
Instead of answering immediately, Luna boldly drew his hand onto her abdomen and Harry felt something very much alive and kicking under the thin silk of her dress. "Boys, meet my best friend, Harry Potter. Harry Potter, meet my sons, Lorcan and Lysander Scamander." Expectantly looking into the young wizard's eyes, Luna was rewarded with another, huge grin that threatened to tear up his face.
"Luna, that's wonderful," Harry spread his arms and gently, carefully hugged the radiant young woman to himself which Luna was all too eager to answer likewise. Ever since her fourth – Harry's fifth - year the two had been friends for life - their friendship tested by danger, fights and deaths but never fading - and even if the two never had romantic feelings for each other, they liked to be in each other's company.
Holding her away at arm's length, Harry looked seriously into her eyes. "You are a beautiful soon-to-be mum, Luna, and if you say anything like this again, I'll hex your tongue to your bottom."
He was rewarded by ringing laughter, but the young woman soon became serious again. "I know why you are really scared, Harry Potter, and that makes you even more likable. You are scared because you are asking a commitment from Hermione, not because you are afraid to make this commitment yourself. You are scared because by carrying and baring your three children, she will suffer and will be in pain and you won't be able to do anything to ease her pain. You are scared because you will be arguing and quarreling and your words will hurt her. And, you are scared that when you sleep in peacefully at the age of 102, her heart will be broken because she won't be able to bear the thought that you won't be around in her life anymore."
Slightly astonished by these revelations, Harry was unable to utter a coherent word. Having already learned that Luna's words – even if they may seem out-of-the-blue on most occasions – are never to be taken lightly, he silently digested what he'd just heard. Feeling the turmoil inside him, Luna laid her warm hands on his cheeks. "Harry, this is your life and you have to enjoy it as long as you can. Live it well and have no fear, for you are surrounded by friends and we are all here for you and Hermione. After all, that's what friends are for, isn't it?"
For a moment, her soft, moist lips brushed his, and before the dumbfounded young man could say anything, she already walked away, moving across the room with her dancing steps, never looking back. Only in the doorway – the door opened in front of her by itself – did she raise her right hand, waving a friendly goodbye to him.
Still immersed in his thoughts but feeling considerably better, Harry quickly checked his wristwatch and turned back to the mirror. He still had twenty minutes before taking the plunge, he saw, so he poured himself a small glass of Martell Hors d'âge from the heavy crystal decanter standing on the small table in the corner of the room and took a cautious, small sip from the exquisite drink.
"You have to warm the glass with your hands first to let the bouquet come free before drinking."
He never heard Fleur entering the room, but recognized her slightly accented voice immediately. Raising his head, he regarded the astonishingly beautiful young woman with a brisk smile. Dressed in a very light blue silk dress with a deep décolleté that was enhancing her curves to perfection and hiding only the necessary without being slutty or ordinary, the young Veela walked up to him, the impeccable white skin of her long, taught legs clad in blue high-heels flashing from under the thin, weightless fabric, and greeted him in her usual way, kissing both his cheeks.
Patiently adjusting the brandy snifter in his palm, she took a second one from the table and poured herself some of the brandy as well, only to colour the bottom of the glass. She made a few slow circles with her hand, letting the amber fluid wash over the walls of the snifter, then raised the glass to her nose, drawing in the complex, intricate aroma of the fifty-year old cognac and the young wizard followed her example. Clinking her glass to Harry's, Fleur took a small sip. "To your health, Harry!"
"I have to be careful with this; all Veela are extremely susceptible to alcohol," she explained, replacing her snifter on the table. "Not that I drink much at all, but I thought I could allow myself as much freedom on the wedding of one of my best friends."
Watching intently the young wizard's face, she pulled a chair and sat down, indicating Harry to do the same. "You know Ginny and I have finally become very close friends, don't you?"
Harry silently nodded, not really understanding where she was leading this conversation.
"She happened to be in England when she learned about your and Hermione's engagement. The same evening she Apparated to Shell Cottage, fuming about 'hexing the bitch that had stolen her Harry into oblivion.' I had to hex her so that I would get her attention."
Astonished, Harry couldn't suppress a loud sigh, but nodded the patiently waiting Fleur to continue.
"I told her in a few simple words that you ceased to be 'her Harry' the same instant she had put herself in front of you as a couple, while all those years you'd been together you wiped the pronoun 'I' from your dictionary, putting her interests in front of yours like you always had been. There's no marriage that would work if one of the two considers him- or herself better, more important, more significant," Fleur went on, every now and then stressing her words with wide gestures.
"You know, ten years and two children later, it's still only Bill that can make my heart jump out of my chest and my legs wobbly with a simple 'I love you'. I may sound like a little tin goddess now, but I have always been beautiful, and could have had ten boys wrapped around each of my fingers, should I have wanted so. I did have quite a few lovers before Bill, but it's only him that I have ever felt safe and content with; he's the other half complementing me. I've been watching you two, these past nine years, Harry, and I've been watching your recent self ever since you came to your senses, so to speak," Fleur lovingly brushed his hair that, no matter what magic applied, still stood, untamed, to all directions of the wind. "I need to say that I like your recent self much, much better. It seems you and Hermione have found in each other what ten years ago Bill and I had. Cherish this feeling, knight in a shining armour, because you are one extremely lucky guy."
Somewhere in the air a gong chimed softly, and Fleur, making a wry grimace, stood from the chair, reaching for Harry and pulling him up in one smooth motion. Suppressing an inward smirk, she quickly removed the tie from his neck. "Men!" Rolling her bluebell-coloured eyes, she shook her gorgeous head, sending her silver locks flying around in the air. "Let me take care of it. For a moment, I thought you'd escaped from the gallow's pole taking the rope with you."
With a few effective movements, she fixed the tie around Harry's neck and stepped, clearly satisfied with herself, one step back, to check the results. "Now you're ready to face the music and your beautiful bride, Monsieur. Since you sent your best man away – don't worry, he's already there, waiting for you - it's my honour to walk you to your Hermione. Shall we?"
Harry didn't move, only stared into nothingness, a lonely teardrop making its way down her cheek. She gently hugged him to herself, resting her forehead against his. "What's wrong, my dear?"
"I wish Mum and Dad could be here with me today," he whispered barely audibly, suddenly seeming very broken, while he tried to swallow the lump that had formed in his throat.
Fighting her own tears back, Fleur smiled at him nevertheless. "Oh, but they are here with you, Harry. Here," she pointed at his head, "and here," she placed her hand over his heart, "and here", she pressed his hand on her own heart. "They will be watching you like they always have and will be very happy for their son that finally got some well-deserved happiness. Your Mum will wet a few handkerchiefs during the ceremony and the Marauders will be extremely proud of you and making bets on how many children you two will have."
Even in his miserable state, Harry managed a half-smile, trying not to concentrate on Fleur's magnificent curves his hand was still pressed against. "Thank you, Fleur."
"There's nothing to thank for, my dear," the young Veela vehemently shook her head. "Relax; you'll be doing just fine." She hugged him once more to herself, firmly kissing his both cheeks and, finally, his lips. "For luck. Now we should really get going if you don't want to start your married life by being hexed to Jupiter and back for being late on your own wedding."
***
They walked down the corridor, hand in hand, every now and then sharing a warm glance, while Harry's hand was pounding heavily in his chest and he inhaled deeply a few times to calm down his erratic breathing.
Fleur led him through a secret passage that connected the château with the chapel, perfectly understanding that Harry wanted some time on his own before the biggest moment of his life and wasn't really up to chattering with any occasional wedding guest they could meet on their way.
They abruptly stopped in front of an ancient wooden door and Fleur gently freed her hand. Casting a last look at her friend, she machinally arranged his bow tie and wiped a non-existing speck of dust from the silken collar of his tuxedo. She briefly hugged him to herself, and then stepped away, flashing her trademark smile at the young wizard. "Off you go, your beautiful bride awaits." Turning him around, towards the door, she set him off with a playful slap on his bottom. When the startled young man turned around, the young Veela innocently batted her eyelashes as if she were saying "Sorry, I couldn't miss it..."
Harry, unwillingly, burst into roaring laughter, and the door, as if at the swish of a wand, opened in front of him, marking his first step into a new life. His new life with Hermione Potter-Granger.