The Nuptials
The stack of newspapers he'd been gathering almost daily was stacking up, much like the pile of bodies Voldemort and his followers left behind after each attack.
The Dark Lord liberating some of the most notorious prisoners across the wizarding world had indeed been an omen, and Tom had only become more ruthless at his most desperate.
What only made it worse was that the Aurors had only managed to capture a few of the escapees, and two of them had been killed in service.
What was happening had quickly become something of a nightmare, and sooner rather than later, Harry knew something had to give.
As such, he'd been preparing accordingly, ensuring he would be ready at a moment's notice, and yet, whenever he'd arrive at the location being attacked, it would be void of the Dark Lord and his followers.
It was trying, to say the least, however, Harry knew it was only a matter of time.
Something would have to give, and when it did, he would strike.
With Tom being as elusive and dangerous as ever, a sullen mood had once again blanketed the country, and those who had begun to have hope that the tide of the war had changed for the better no longer believed it to be so.
Even the majority of business owners of Diagon Alley had closed their doors, running a postal-only service, including the likes of Ollivander, who had remained open throughout the first war against Voldemort.
It spoke volumes of the fear that had been instilled, and with Tom using the very same tactics he'd adopted during his first rise, it was difficult to envision when it would end.
Soon.
Harry knew it had to be soon.
He could feel it creeping ever closer, the inevitable meeting between the two of them no longer so far away on the horizon but on the edge of his periphery.
"Come in," he called as a knock at the door to his office pulled him from his thoughts.
He smiled as Ron and Hermione entered.
"You wanted to see us, Professor?" Hermione asked with a smirk.
She seemed to never tire of teasing him. She knew it irked him when she'd refer to him by his title.
"I think a detention may teach you some manners, Miss Granger."
Ron snorted amusedly as Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.
"You wouldn't dare!"
"No, I wouldn't," Harry muttered.
Having a Dark Lord trying to kill him was one thing, but blemishing Hermione's spotless record would likely see him throttled in his sleep.
She offered him a grin and Ron shook his head.
"You're playing with fire there, mate," he snorted. "What did you ask us here for?"
"To invite you to my wedding."
Ron blinked, seemingly trying to decide if he'd heard Harry correctly whilst Hermione simply looked confused. It was a rather alien expression to see her sporting, and Harry found it amusing.
"Wedding?" they both asked at the same time.
Harry nodded.
"I'm getting married in three days, and I'd like you both to be there."
"Married to who?" Ron asked.
"Her name is Isabella."
"Wait, shouldn't you date someone before you marry them?" Hermione asked.
"Not if she's a pureblood," Ron murmured thoughtfully, his eyes widening. "She's a pureblood, isn't she?"
"She is."
Ron frowned thoughtfully.
"Isabella," he murmured. "I don't know of any purebloods named Isabella around our age, well, except for Nott's sister. I think her name was Isabella."
He'd inadvertently done the math, and Harry waited for the realisation.
"YOU"RE MARRYING NOTT'S SISTER?"
Once more, Hermione simply looked confused by the entire affair, and Ron could only gape humourlessly.
After a few moments, the redhead managed to catch himself, and he laughed.
"You're going to have to explain that one to me. How did you even meet?"
"That is a very long story," Harry sighed.
"And you're doing this by choice? There isn't any blackmail or anything going on?"
"Completely by choice," Harry assured him.
Ron nodded before thumping him on the shoulder.
"Well, if you're happy, then I'm happy for you. Look at little Harry, all grown up."
"I don't understand."
"What's there to understand, Hermione?" Ron asked. "Harry's getting married."
"Isn't he a bit young for that?"
Ron frowned.
"No, he's seventeen. Lots of purebloods get married when they're seventeen."
"Really?" Hermione asked, fascinated though equally disturbed. "But Harry's not a pureblood."
"No, but the woman he's marrying is, and he comes from a traditionally pureblood family. His dad married his mum, but before that, there weren't many marriages that were to muggleborns. Wait, I know something she doesn't," Ron added gleefully.
Hermione tutted and rolled her eyes.
"Is this really what you want?"
"It is," Harry assured Hermione sincerely. "And I really like you both to be there."
She nodded, and Ron thumped him on the arm once more.
"Of course, we'll be there," he promised. "She's not like her brother, is she?"
"Theo's not too bad when you get him away from the rest of them," Harry sighed. "No, Isabella isn't like him much. She wants to be a Healer and went to Durmstrang, so she's not a slimy snake, as you would say."
Ron grimaced.
"I don't think you'd marry her if she were."
"I don't know what to say," Hermione murmured.
"A congratulations would be nice."
She smiled and pulled Harry into a tight embrace.
"Congratulations," she offered. "So, how did you meet her?"
Harry knew he was likely going to get a lecture for his foolishness, but he had no reason to keep anything from either of them. He'd all but isolated himself from his peers for much of his schooling, but Ron and Hermione had never pried and had never turned their back on him, despite it being the safest thing either could have done.
"Well, I suppose it started when I was at an illegal duelling pit in Knockturn Alley…"
His revelation got the exact response he'd expected, and whilst Hermione did indeed lecture him on being so irresponsible, he and Ron shared a look of bemusement.
She may not be the same eleven-year-old girl who'd almost been bludgeoned by a troll, but Hermione hadn't changed all that much.
(Break)
Having a brother who owned a less-than-reputable establishment certainly served Albus well in times when discretion was a must. He sipped his Butterbeer as he waited for Severus to arrive, pondering the unpleasant events of the past weeks, and there were many.
Tom had not wasted any time implementing his new followers, and they quickly proved to be as vicious, cruel, and sadistic as the very worst to have ever followed him.
With unprecedented efficiency, they'd struck night after night, leaving a trail of death and devastation in their wake, fleeing just as the Order and Aurors arrived.
It appeared Tom had indeed learned from his mistakes and had reverted to his previous guerrilla tactics that had all but won him the war the first time around.
It was frustrating, to say the least, and Albus was sincerely hoping Severus would bring him welcome tidings.
The man entered only a few moments later, barely recognisable with the beard he was sporting.
Severus looked exhausted, undoubtedly from the monumental task he'd been set. Albus would not have given it to him if it wasn't so important, and there was no other he would trust with it.
The magic at play was Severus's expertise, after all, and Albus could think of none more equipped or motivated to see it through.
"I took it upon myself to bring you some food from the castle," the headmaster said in greeting.
Severus nodded gratefully as he took a seat and released a deep breath.
He tucked into the food ravenously.
"I've been avoiding being seen anywhere," he explained between mouthfuls. "With these attacks, he could be anywhere at any given moment."
Albus nodded his understanding.
"Your efforts are appreciated, Severus."
The man scowled at him irritably before shaking his head.
"I fear they are for nought," he sighed. "I have yet to see the snake. He must be keeping her hidden."
"I thought as much," Albus murmured unhappily.
"I think I will have to break cover to get to her," Severus declared worriedly. "I must get within the boundaries, but when I do, he will know of my presence."
"Then you must not unless absolutely necessary."
Albus held up a hand to prevent any further arguments.
"I trust your judgement, Severus, but I would ask that you wait until I alert you."
Severus frowned for a moment before reluctantly nodding his agreement.
As much as he did not wish to admit it, the man was right. If he was ever going to get to Nagini, it must be done with him entering Riddle Manor. Without doing so, the war could not be won, not truly.
(Break)
It was odd to think that in only a few short days, she would be a married woman, beginning her life with her husband. Leading up to the wedding, the days seemed to bleed into one another seamlessly, though her own perception of how many had gone by was skewed by the constant travelling between time zones.
Almost every night, well, early morning for Isabella, she would join Harry at his home, returning in the morning, which was the early afternoon on the island. It had all but ruined her sleep cycle, but Isabella didn't mind.
Every strange hour of rest had been worth it.
"It looks wonderful," her mother gushed from the doorway.
Isabella smiled appreciatively as she took in her reflection in the mirror.
She had collected the dress from Harry, who had promised he'd not looked at it. The moment she'd returned home, she'd tried it on, pleased that the measurements she'd provided had been accurate.
"Thank you. Do you think he'll like it?"
"If he doesn't then he must be blind," her mother replied, straightening out the hem of the dress. "He will love it."
"I hope so," Isabella returned, wondering what Harry's reaction will be to seeing her in it.
"Will you be going back to his later?"
Isabella offered her mother a questioning look and the woman shook her head.
"It's not hard to notice you missing for hours on end," she pointed out.
"Does Theo know?"
"Theo probably doesn't realise the time difference," her mother huffed amusedly. "What you and Harry do is your business. You'll be married soon enough."
"It's not like that," Isabella defended.
"Isabella, I was a young woman myself once. How do you think you and your brother got here."
Isabella grimaced at the intrusive, unwelcome thought of what her mother and father got up to for her to be born.
"Fine, it's not just that," she corrected. "We talk."
"You talk?"
Isabella nodded.
"We've been getting to know each other better. It's strange, and you wouldn't think it, but when he's comfortable, Harry can talk for hours."
"About what?"
That was a question Isabella knew she couldn't answer, not in a way that would explain just how close she and Harry had become, especially more recently.
Had he told her half of what he'd opened up about if she didn't know him so well, she'd find it difficult to believe a single word.
Flashback
"What's on your mind?"
"What makes you think there's something on my mind? Maybe I'm just enjoying the peace."
Isabella rolled her eyes at him, lifting her head from his chest and meeting his gaze.
"I can tell when something is on your mind, Harry. You get this lost look, as though you're trying to solve an impossible puzzle."
"No," he chuckled. "The puzzle isn't impossible but solving it will be far from easy. Anyway, it's not him I'm thinking about."
"So, what is it? You know it's too late to cancel the wedding."
He offered her a smile as he shook his head.
"I'm certainly not trying to do that," he assured her. "There's just things playing on my mind, feelings I can't shake. That's not really important though, they've always been there, but they're getting stronger."
Isabella remained silent whilst he processed his thoughts, trying to find a way to put what he wanted to say into words.
"Were you ever told the story of 'The Three Brothers'?"
She was taken aback by the seemingly inane question, not having expected such an odd topic.
"The Three Brothers," Isabella murmured, pondering the familiarity of the title. "Wait, I think my Aunt Rosalina read it to me when I was young. It's about the brothers who trick Death into giving them some artefacts, isn't it?"
"That's the one," Harry confirmed. "The story of the Deathly Hallows."
"Deathly Hallows," Isabella echoed. "The Elder wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the cloak of invisibility. I remember it now. Why?" she added with a frown.
"Did you ever consider the possibility they might be real?"
Isabella shook her head.
"It's a story found in a children's book, Harry," she reminded him.
"True," he conceded, his lips curling upwards in a knowing smirk.
Isabella frowned at him.
"Why are you asking me about a children's story?"
His expression shifted once more, and Isabella could see he was again choosing his words carefully.
"What if they were real?" he asked.
"The Deathly Hallows?"
Harry nodded and watched her carefully.
"I would say that whoever possessed them would be in danger," she murmured, "especially if anyone knew about it."
"You would be right," Harry sighed as he slid his wand into his hand. "The Elder Wand."
"The Elder Wand," Harry confirmed.
Isabella could not be certain if he was jesting, but the wistful, almost sad expression that marred his features told her otherwise.
She watched as he reached over to the bedside table and picked up the necklace he wore. Isabella had not noticed it, not until they'd become intimate. He always kept it within his clothing, away from prying eyes.
"The Resurrection Stone," he explained, nodding towards the unassuming black pebble in his hand. "If you look closely enough."
Isabella squinted and could indeed see a mark, and she recoiled slightly.
"Harry, that's Grindelwald's mark," she gasped.
She'd seen it carved into some of the walls at Durmstrang and even in a few of the older library books.
"No, it isn't," he sighed. "Grindelwald adopted the mark, but it is the sign of the Deathly Hallows. The wand, the stone, and the cloak," he explained, tracing the symbol into the air with his wand.
Isabella was surprised by the revelation, but she said nothing else as Harry summoned a lengthy piece of silky fabric and looked at it fondly.
"The Cloak of Invisibility," he declared. "It has been passed from father to son, sometimes daughter, for generations, all the way from Ignotus Peverell to me. It has been in the Potter family since Iolanthe Peverell married my many times over great-grandfather, Hardwin. This is the most valuable thing I own, both financially and sentimentally."
"Something like that must be priceless."
"In more ways than one," Harry said with a fond smile. "I'm telling you this because if I don't make it, you should understand what it is you have. Voldemort must not get any of these, especially the wand. The cloak and stone will not work for him in any way, I've seen to that, and although he can't use the wand as it was fully intended, it will shift its allegiance to him if he bests me. It will still be a powerful tool for him."
Isabella wiped away a tear.
"Do we have to talk about this?" she choked.
Harry nodded apologetically.
"I have no intention of dying, but if the worst happens, the wand must be destroyed and the stone taken somewhere it can never be found. This is magic that no other can comprehend, magic that has been both a curse and a blessing to me. The cloak will be yours to keep. It is my legacy."
Isabella merely nodded her understanding.
"How were they made?" she asked curiously.
"They weren't," Harry said with a grin. "They were gifts."
"Let me guess, from Death?"
"Exactly."
End Flashback
It had been an odd conversation to share, and it only grew stranger as Harry had explained what the cloak had shown him throughout the years. For most, it would be a terrifying ordeal, but for Harry, who'd never had a family of which to speak, the visions he'd seen had been part of the blessing he'd referred to.
For Isabella, it only endeared him to her more.
Harry was not always the most open person, choosing silence over burdening anyone else with his problems, and that became clear as he spoke of his childhood and how everything had changed the first Christmas, he'd experienced at Hogwarts.
Harry had changed inexplicably.
Isabella found it difficult to believe that the quietly confident young man she'd gotten to know had once been meek, his life made a misery by his muggle relatives who not only neglected him but abused him terribly.
Who makes a child sleep in a cupboard for the first ten years of their life?
Even squibs were not treated so poorly in the magical world.
For Dumbledore, of all people, to believe it was an apt upbringing for Harry angered Isabella, and given the opportunity, she would give the man a piece of her mind.
Still, there was nothing that could be done now, and the wizarding world should be grateful that Harry was resilient and that he did not hold a grudge.
It could have so very easily jaded him against Dumbledore, and he could have become a very different person.
Perhaps those visions in the cloak had saved him from that.
Isabella couldn't truly understand the impact they'd had on him, but Harry had insisted he would not be who he was without them.
"We talk about a lot," Isabella answered her mother with a smile.
She would not break Harry's confidence in anyone, not even her mother.
He didn't trust easily, and just that he had found it within himself to be able to open up to her spoke volumes of how much he had come to trust her.
It was considerable progress, and though to some it might seem as though they were rushing their nuptials, none had shared their journey together, had not seen Harry at his most vulnerable when Isabella was healing him, nor when he'd shared his innermost secrets.
Many would flee if they'd learned of what and who Harry Potter was, but not Isabella.
To her, all of it only made her care for him more, and accepting it all as she had, she knew it meant a lot to Harry.
"Come Death, come," she murmured.
"What was that, dear?" her mother asked confusedly.
"Nothing," Isabella said with a smile.
(Break)
For the past several hours, he'd watched as her breathing only became shallower, her lungs fighting for every morsel of oxygen to sustain. Whatever illness it was that Bellatrix had contracted was one that would cause great suffering for those conscious to have to endure it, but Sirius had granted her the mercy of keeping her asleep.
It was more than she deserved and the suffering much less.
After all she'd done, he couldn't bring himself to care that she was dying.
He could scarcely think of a time in her life where she had not been repugnant, that her knees hadn't gone weak at the thought of obtaining power. The Black madness had undoubtedly gripped her at a young age, and none had seemingly been able to see it.
At the very first opportunity, she had joined Voldemort and had become what none who carry the Black name should: a sheep.
Her appetite for violence had been given an outlet, though it could never be satisfied.
Bellatrix had simply been a bad egg from the very beginning, and Sirius maintained that her death would be the direct cause of hundreds of lives that had been preserved.
"My Lord, where are you?" she whispered weakly, her eyes fluttering open though they were glazed over.
Sirius leaned in so his lips were only an inch from her ear.
"He's dead," he whispered tauntingly. "There's nothing left for you to hang onto. Why don't you join him, Lestrange."
He would not give her the courtesy of referring to her as anything else, and as she nodded, she breathed her last with a cruel smile cresting her lips.
Sirius shot her a final look of disgust.
He would see that she was buried, but not amongst his own.
No, she would rest with the Lestranges, and Sirius hoped that whatever was waiting on the other side for them all was not restful for the hateful woman.
He hoped that her misery had only truly begun.
(Break)
All was falling into place.
Whilst his latest batch of Death Eaters cultivated a formidable reputation for themselves, the Dark Lord had been hard at work, considering any and all things he might face when he confronted Harry Potter.
Investigating the Peverells had proven to be a rather fruitless task, but that did not mean the Dark Lord couldn't prepare accordingly.
He'd experienced the magic of his foe, had become familiar with it throughout their several skirmishes, and he'd concocted his plans around all he could learn of the Deathly Hallows.
Although he was loathe to admit it, he wanted the Hallows for himself.
His own power, combined with that of the artefacts, would be quite the sight to behold, and there was not any alive that could hope to stop him.
The thought brought a rare smile to the Dark Lord's lips, and he took a moment to envision the very outcome he was working tirelessly towards.
Potter would die, and the young man would be relieved of is trinkets.
Of that, there was no doubt.
(Break)
He stared at the stone resting in his palm and had been doing so for several minutes, perhaps hours now. Harry couldn't be sure how much time had passed, but as he mustered up the courage to do what he'd set out to, the room had darkened considerably.
Turning it over in his hand, he braced himself, not knowing what reception he would receive.
He felt their presence before he saw them, and then they were there.
Having been tempted every day since he'd retrieved the stone, he'd finally done it, and now, he was simply lost for words.
They looked at him confusedly for a moment before the woman recognised him, her eyes widening in awe.
"Harry?" Lily whispered emotionally.
He could only nod in response, any words he might want to speak dying on his tongue.
"James, it's Harry!"
It appeared that they were all rooted to the spot, and oddly, it was the inane things Harry noticed.
He was the same height as his father, and seeing the man in the flesh, he could see why those who knew him commented on the resemblance they shared.
Lily was shorter by a head, and it was she who found her feet first, closing the distance between them and cupping Harry's cheek.
"You're a man," she choked.
Harry shivered as she wrapped her cold arms around him, though he would endure much worse for this moment.
"I had to see you both," he murmured.
He felt another pair of arms wrap around him, and Harry released a staggered breath.
"I can't believe it," Lily whispered as she extracted herself. "You're so grown up. You were just a baby when…"
She broke off, unable to finish what she was going to say.
"And now I'm not," Harry replied. "I know what you both did for me. You gave me a chance, and I couldn't have asked for anything more. You died to protect me, and that's something I've never forgotten. I've always been so proud to call you my mother and father."
James and Lily positively beamed at him.
"I'd do it again without hesitation," James declared.
"As would I."
"Well, let's be grateful that's not an option," Harry murmured sadly. "Now, it's down to me to finish it."
"The prophecy," James growled.
Harry nodded.
"You might not understand the magic behind it, but it's very real. It will only end with either him or me dead. That's the hand I've been dealt, and I can only do my best with it."
"He's a monster, Harry," Lily whispered.
"As am I," Harry sighed. "I've done things that no good person would ever do. I've killed, I've tortured, and I have done everything I could to be where I am now, no matter who suffers for it. I have seen friends die and lost others I cared so deeply for. It is the way of war, and I've learned it the hard way."
"But you are alive, Harry," James pointed out. "That's all that matters. If what happened to us can be a lesson, it should be that you can't ever predict when it will all come to an end. Enjoy the good things you have and take the bad as they come. My only regret is that I had so little time with you both as a family."
"I am," Harry assured his father. "I'm getting married tomorrow."
"Married?" James chuckled. "Who's the lucky lady?"
"Her name is Isabella. She went to Durmstrang, and we met a couple of years ago."
"She must be special if you're marrying her."
"She is," Harry replied with a smile. "She's been there for me through everything. She keeps my secrets, she patches me up if I need it, and she just wants me to do what makes me happy. I can't really say the same about anyone else. They all have these expectations of me. They either think I'm going to be like Dumbledore or change the world around me to help everyone else. That's just not who I am. I help those who need it, but I'm no revolutionary or politician. I don't want any kind of power. I just want to be able to blend into the crowd, and I know that won't ever happen, but I just want peace for myself."
"Maybe you'll find a way to have it," James offered. "The world is a fickle place, Harry. If you're fortunate, they will find something else to focus on."
"I hope so," Harry murmured quietly.
"Forget the war for a moment," Lily suggested. "Why don't you tell us about everything else?"
Harry snorted humourlessly.
"Well, I can't say it's been great overall, and I don't think you'll disagree."
His parents frowned at him, and Harry braced himself for a long conversation.
He would keep nothing from them.
James and Lily Potter should know the truth of what their sacrifice had brought their son.
(Break)
"Nervous?"
"Petrified," Isabella answered.
Their wedding day had come around so fast. Between making the preparations, waiting for her dress, and dealing with all of the other smaller things that came up, it was as though it was only yesterday that Harry had asked her to marry him.
"It's good to be nervous," Theo replied. "It means you're less likely to mess up."
"Thanks," Isabella grumbled as her mother helped her with the dress.
"You look great," Theo complimented, a rare gesture on his part. "If you don't want to marry him, I can get you away," he added with a grin.
"Would you?"
"Of course," Theo assured her. "I'm the one who has to live knowing that you and Potter are, well, you know."
Isabella did her utmost to hide her grin and Theo grimaced.
"That's disgusting," he groaned.
"We're going to be married, little brother. What do you think we are going to get up to?"
"Would it be too much to ask that you get a shared interest in reading?"
Isabella laughed and Theo shrugged.
"It was just a thought," he sighed. "Anyway, I won't wish you luck. That ran out the day you met that prat."
"That prat is going to be your brother-in-law," Isabella reminded him.
Theo shook his head.
"Never say that again."
Isabella rolled her eyes at him.
"You like Harry. If you didn't, you wouldn't let me marry him."
"I'll admit, he's not as bad as I thought, but if you tell him that, I'll tell him about what you did in Aunt Rosalina's pool."
"I had a stomach ache!"
Theo laughed and Isabella threw a nearby cushion at his retreating form.
"Git," she muttered.
"He always did know how to get under your skin," her mother sighed. "He's happy for you, Isabella. He wouldn't come if he weren't."
"I know, but he's still a git."
Her mother hummed and took a step backwards to admire Isabella in her completed dress.
"Perfect," she said proudly. "You look amazing, my girl."
"Don't cry, Mum," Isabella pleaded. "You'll start me off and we've already done my make-up."
"That can be fixed," her mother said dismissively, wiping at her eyes as she made her way towards one of the side tables in the living area. "Here, I think this will do both of us good."
She held up a bottle of expensive honeyed mead, and Isabella nodded appreciatively.
The butterflies in her stomach would not settle, and she was hoping it would take the edge off her nerves.
Most of those attending the wedding, she hadn't met.
She'd been introduced to Cedric, Tonks, and Sirius, but she wouldn't know anyone else other than her mother and Theo.
Harry had assured her there was nothing to worry about and that there were two people in particular he wished for her to meet, two people he was deeply fond of.
He'd said no more on the matter, but if these people really were as special to Harry as it seemed, Isabella wanted to make a good first impression on them.
"To you and to Harry," her mother toasted.
"To me and Harry," Isabella echoed, allowing the bittersweet liquid to slide down her throat.
(Break)
"He looks so nervous," Nicholas commented amusedly.
"It's his wedding day," Perenelle sighed. "Ours was so long ago that I barely remember it," she added teasingly. "How did I end up married to such an infuriating man?"
"It was my dashing good looks, my wit, and unending charm."
"What happened to them?" Perenelle questioned with a grin.
Nicholas narrowed her eyes at his wife before chuckling.
"You were once so sweet to me."
"I still am."
"You are," Nicholas replied with a smile. "I can't say I ever felt that I deserved you."
"You didn't."
"You're still here."
"Maybe I'm the fool."
Nicholas's smile widened.
Not a day went by that they didn't trade playful barbs with one another. It kept the alchemist on his toes and ensured they he never got complacent when it came to ensuring his wife was happy.
Maybe that was the advice he would give to Harry.
"Oh, here she comes," Perenelle said excitedly as a young woman entered the room, escorted by someone who appeared to be her brother. "She's beautiful, Nicholas."
She was.
Harry had told them about Isabella from when they'd first met, when he'd been duelling in Knockturn Alley. Perenelle had admonished for such reckless, dangerous behaviour, but Nicholas had told Harry how proud of him he was for taking the initiative.
Nicholas knew about risks and how they could be beneficial.
He hadn't created the Philosopher's Stone by playing by the rules.
No, he'd broken them dozens of times to experience his success, and Harry had needed to do the same even to stand a chance with his own.
"She looks so nervous," Perenelle observed.
"Weren't you on our wedding day?"
Perenelle nodded as she smiled at Harry who was in awe at the sight of the woman walking down the aisle towards him.
He shared a few words with the other man, both laughing before shaking hands.
With that, Isabella was taken by Harry, and he carefully placed her opposite him.
"I do love weddings," Albus murmured from Nicholas's right.
The man had always been rather soft and a hopeless romantic. That would never change, though it amused Nicholas to no end that someone so famous for what he'd done could be brought to tears by two people exchanging their nuptials.
Nonetheless, Nicholas could not deny that he himself was experiencing his own sentimental emotions.
He'd watched Harry blossom from a boy who'd been meek with potential to perhaps the most talented young man he'd met.
Still, he scowled as the grinning Perenelle offered him a handkerchief as the ceremony came to an end and Harry and Isabella Potter shared their first kiss as a married couple.
(Break)
Harry had never enjoyed being the centre of attention, but he couldn't get married without inviting a select group of people. Of course, Sirius was here along with the Flamels, Dumbledore, Ron, and Hermione.
He'd also asked Cedric and Tonks to be here to share in the occasion as he and Isabella had theirs.
The only others Harry wished could attend were his mother and father, though he was content with the conversation they'd shared the previous night, and it was something he would treasure for his remaining days.
"Do you feel any different?" he asked Isabella.
She shook her head, the smile cresting her lips not having shifted since Theo had handed her to him.
"No," she answered. "You?"
"Only the weight of a wife I have to answer to now," Harry quipped.
Isabella swatted his arm playfully.
"You should have thought of that before you married me."
"Is it too late to reconsider?"
She quirked an eyebrow at him.
"It's too late, Harry," she sighed as she wrapped her arms around him. "For both of us."
He chuckled as they walked side by side down the aisle, and it was Dumbledore who greeted them first.
"Congratulations to you both," he offered, his eyes twinkling merrily.
"Thank you, Professor," Harry replied. "I'm not sure if you've ever met, but this is Isabella N-Potter," he corrected.
Isabella beamed at the use of his name and accepted Dumbledore's proffered limb.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Potter."
"And you, Professor."
Dumbledore offered Isabella a warm smile before he was all but shoved aside as Perenelle wrapped Harry in a tight embrace and began murmuring to him in French.
Isabella looked at him confusedly, and Harry wrapped an arm around Perenelle's shoulder and gestured for Nicholas to come forward.
"These are two of the most important people in my life," he said sincerely. "They took me in when I was eleven and have been there for me through everything. I'd like you to meet Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel."
Isabella gaped for a moment, taken aback by being introduced to two of the most famous people in the wizarding world.
"Flamel, as in the creator of the Philosopher's Stone?" she asked.
"It's always the stone," Nicholas huffed good-naturedly. "I have other achievements."
"Oh, be quiet, Nicholas," Perenelle chided lightly. "It is wonderful to meet you, Isabella. If your marriage is anything like mine, it will not be an easy one."
"I'm not expecting anything less from Harry," Isabella replied, embracing the older woman.
"You're in trouble now, Harry," Nicholas chuckled. "When you decide to act up, you'll have both of them to deal with."
"I didn't think of that," Harry grumbled. "I'll cross that bridge when I come to it."
"Take it from me, you can't prepare for it," Nicholas warned.
"I'll remember that," Harry murmured as Isabella turned back towards him. "Are you ready to go home?"
She nodded and looped her arm in his.
"We can catch up with the others at Sirius's in a little while."
They were hosting the reception at Grimmauld Place, another private affair that Harry was grateful for.
Very few outside of the church in Godric's Hollow even knew he was getting married, and he appreciated the privacy of the occasion.
"How long do you need?" Sirius asked as he reached them.
"An hour or so?" Harry asked Isabella.
"That works," she agreed, her eyes widening as they stepped outside of the church.
Harry turned to look at what had horrified her, and his heart sunk into the pit of his stomach.
Flying above the home of many of his ancestors was the Dark Mark, yet before he could digest its presence, an explosion rent the air, followed by the tell-tale screaming of an attack.
"Shit!" Sirius cursed.
Harry immediately flicked his wand into his hand, the cold magic washing over him chilling the churchyard.
"Isabella, I need you to get the Flamels, your mother, and your brother out of here," he instructed.
She nodded, placing a searing kiss on his lips.
"Don't die, Harry," she whispered tearfully. "Not tonight."
He offered her a lop-sided grin and she rushed of to do as he'd asked.
"I've sent for the Aurors," Sirius informed him.
"And the Order are on their way," Dumbledore added.
Harry merely nodded as he summoned Mallory and climbed upon her back.
"Come Death, come," he whispered before taking to the sky.