Weddings, Harry realized, were not simple things. Not only his father and mother, but all of Gryffindor Tower, it seemed, were pulled into a rather frantic sort of planning that reminded Harry of the end of his fifth year at Hogwarts, when he'd been so frantically studying for his OWLs. They were much merrier things, weddings, but they required a similar bit of planning. The common room was almost entirely filled with announcements, flowers, stacks of menus, and his parents always seemed buried beneath it all.
Which was why Harry was surprised when, while taking a morning walk around the grounds just after fall term ended and most of the other students went home for the holidays, his father caught up with him.
"Oi! Peverell!"
"James!" he said, turning, certain his mouth was falling open. He snapped it closed. "What're you doing out here? Are you – er – done with the planning?"
"Not hardly," James snorted. "But Mum came and took away most of it, thank Merlin – don't tell Lily I said so – and she's still making me help out at the pantomime this year!" James tugged on his hair, appearing ready to tug it all out. "But… Mum's helping now… she's happy."
Harry struggled not to laugh. "She's really making you help out at the pantomime?"
"Yeah, I'm never going to force my kids to do it," said James. "I'm not. But I suppose it's the last year… I came out to find you, by the way, and ask if you want to help us. Peter can't, this year, has to work, of all things."
This time, Harry struggled not to laugh for an entirely different reason. "Of course I can help," he said, very generously. "I'm sure Ginny can, too."
James hardly seemed to notice Harry's assent, but plowed onward, hazel eyes glowing almost feverishly. "And that's another thing – Peter – well. Listen." His hand clasped Harry's shoulder. "It's not fair, but… well. My – er – stag party… well, you know, Peter asked if it could be just the four of us. One last time. Ordinarily I would've invited you – we could've gone around the pubs. But Peter's so busy nowadays and we've hardly at all seen him since we've woken up, and it'll be different once we've finally done our NEWTs, I keep telling him, but he wanted just the four of us."
Harry cocked his head, something tickling him at the back of his mind, making him slower to process what his father was saying.
"But we'll have the pantomime!" said James. "Which is just like a stag night."
Harry snorted. "Oh, yeah," he said.
"You aren't offended, are you?" asked James.
"No, not at all," said Harry. "I'm still invited to the wedding?"
"Of course, of course!" James nodded so much his head seemed to be bobbling on his shoulders. "I've got to get back to the castle, I just wanted to find you and make sure to–"
"Not invite me to your stag party?" Harry suggested, giving in to the urge to laugh. This seemed to catch James by surprise, and he laughed as well. "It's fine with me… when is it?"
"Oh, the full moon of course," James said, distracted once again, backing up at a run, before whirling around and sprinting up the hill.
Harry tucked his hands in his pocket. The full moon, of course. His father would spend his stag party as an actual stag. It made sense enough that the thing at the back of his mind, niggling at him, receded. Aside from Peter, that was likely the truest reason for why Harry was not to be invited. They had not yet shared with him that Remus was a werewolf and that James, Sirius, and Peter were unregistered animagi. Walking along the lake, Harry watched idly as the Giant Squid waved a couple of its tentacles out of the water. It was quite a big thing to reveal, he had to admit.
Harry found himself a little jealous, and was made more so when, after his walk, Ginny found him and told him that Lily had just invited her to Lily's hen do.
While his father and his friends were off running in the woods, Harry slept poorly. It wasn't that he was hurt, exactly, that they hadn't confided in him. Merlin knew that it was quite a heavy secret. But it bothered him that it was Peter who had, seemingly, wanted to exclude Harry. It itched at the back of his mind, keeping him awake well into the night, almost wishing that Lily had chosen not to include Ginny in her party.
His unease followed him into his dreams, which were fitful. Just before he woke, his anxiety crested, and he found himself back at the Department of Mysteries, in the circular room that contained all the doors. But this time, Harry was not trying to get into any of them. Instead, there was a persistent knocking upon one of the doors, and an indistinct voice demanding – or perhaps begging – him to just open it. But there were no handles on these doors, and his wand was not a wand at all, but a snake–
Harry woke up gasping. The dream did not vanish as his eyes opened; instead it stuck to him like cobwebs, this feeling that someone wanted – needed – him to open that door. Tossing his arm over his eyes, Harry groaned. He did not think his evening had been any more restful than his father's.
Once more, before anyone returned to Hogwarts, Harry tried to contact Sirius, calling his alias into the mirror three times. He was somewhat relieved when he found a different view, this time of the kitchen. There was a cauldron bubbling over a fire in the corner of the room, heat rising from it, creating waves. And someone in the room, out of sight from Harry, was singing. It wasn't Sirius, who had quite a nice voice; whoever it was had a deep rasp and an inability to carry a tune.
"Hello?" Harry called. "Hello?" The singing abruptly stopped. "Hello? Can you hear me?"
There was a quiet mutter, a muffled thud, and then the hang-dog face of Mundungus Fletcher appeared in view. Harry's mouth dropped open. "Dun–!" He broke off before he fully uttered the familiar, and gave a loud clearing of his throat. "You aren't Sirius," he said, roundly astonished. "Where is he?"
"Ain't seen him more'n a few minutes at a time for more'n a week or two," Dung said, gruff and suspicious. "Said 'e might be hearin' from someone. That you?"
Harry's heart gave a thud in his chest. Sirius had thought he might hear from Harry; that boded well. "Did he have a message for me?"
Dung eyed him. It was astonishing to see him twenty years before they would meet. It was, generally, astonishing to see the younger versions of people he had known; but Dung was different. There was very little that had changed about him; Harry thought that perhaps a life of hard-living had aged him before his time.
"Well?" Harry pressed.
"Nothing," said Dung, brows furrowing. "Yer just younger an' I expected. But he didn't say to tell you nothing. Just said I might see you."
"Is he… all right?" Harry asked.
Dung shrugged. "Seems so. 'E's busy. I been helpin' him a bit, buyin' the books and such–"
"Books?" Harry said, astonished. Sirius was buying books?
"He likes his research," said Dung, as though it were fact. "I can show you."
Harry pulled away from his own mirror as Dung took up the other one, sending the kitchen to spinning around and around in a way that made Harry feel slightly seasick. But the journey only lasted a moment, and then they were in a room that had previously been empty when Harry had lived there over the summer. Now it was filled with towering shelves, a full quarter of which were filled with books. Even more were stacked on the floor, as though waiting to fill in the empty shelves.
"'E likes 'is books, does Sirius," Dung said cheerfully.
Harry managed to make out some of the titles on the shelves: Thought and Memory was a slim volume, entirely black, with silver embossed lettering; beside it, flat on its back, spine outward, was a much thicker tome: In the Depths of Time. Other titles included: Memories Unbound, The Three Who Went to the Past, The Running Grave, and How to Manipulate the Past to Change the Present. Harry recognized some of them, dimly, as being mentioned in the footnotes in some of the time travel books he had forced himself to read over the last year and a half.
"Thanks," said Harry. "Will you tell him I tried to contact him?"
"Aye, I will," said Dung.
"Bye, then." Harry broke the connection, but did not look away from the mirror, which now reflected his own face.
Sirius, it seemed, had not given up on finding a way back to 1996. Harry had wanted to talk to Sirius, not Mundungus Fletcher. He'd wanted to tell him that he and Ginny had become Peverells in every legal way, and now he had some regrets. Had he just repudiated the Potters, his own family, from whom he had been sundered far too young? And yet, the necessity may very well have been Harry's own fault, for he'd focused on restoring Ginny and the others to a wakeful state at the expense of finding out why and how they came to be in the past in the first place. What would it mean, going forward?
What if it was why Harry had had that dream, so similar to the ones he'd had during his fifth year at Hogwarts? It worried him, that.
And yet… discovering that Sirius had not given up had tension dissolving from his shoulders.
With deliberate caution, Harry returned his mirror to where it was most often hidden: Under his mattress. Then, determined, he went to wait for Ginny to return. Instead of brooding, he could smuggle her out of the castle. It was December, and not the perfect time for flying, but there were other ways they could occupy themselves out on the secluded grounds, away from prying eyes.
While his plan to get Ginny out of the castle was a good one, it was one of the last times they were able to have more than a stolen moment or two. If the constant wedding revelry in the last week had been a lot, it took on a nearly frantic tone leading up to Christmas. And Harry and Ginny found themselves caught up in it, still on the fringes, but closer to the center than they had been a year ago. They even managed to be roped into helping out with the annual Christmas pantomime in Godric's Hollow; they passed out enchanted the programs to form reindeer that galloped on air to each member of the audience.
Later that evening, Euphemia Potter stopped him with a gentle touch on his arm.
"There you are," she said warmly, hazel eyes twinkling. "Fleamont says he hasn't seen you in an age."
"Erm," said Harry, looking around the room, "I've been catching up with… you know… school." He ruffled his hair.
"You don't wear a watch?" Euphemia asked suddenly.
Harry peered at her, quizzical. "I had one… but I, er, lost it." He'd left it behind in 1996, buried in his trunk. Shrugging, he added: "I've been able to get places okay," he offered.
She pursed her lips. "Hmm," she said. "Well, Happy Christmas, Harry Peverell," she said. "We'll see you at the wedding?"
"I'll be there with bells on," Harry joked. "Happy Christmas, Mrs. Potter."
HPHPHPHPHPHPHP
New Year's Eve arrived before he knew it. One moment, he was at Hogwarts, reviewing the last term with Ginny, both of them concentrating so hard on their studies that they hardly found time to snog at all; the next, he was seated in the small church at Godric's Hollow – a choice that surprised him – waiting for the wedding to begin.
His parents, Harry realized, were quite popular. Nearly half of Hogwarts was there, professors and students alike: Professor McGonagall wore pastel pink dress robes and a matching fascinator, complete with flowers that bloomed as she walked, a sight that had Harry gaping after her; the entire Quidditch teams from both Hufflepuff and Gryffindor showed up, wearing each other's uniforms, which made his father laugh uproariously from the front, where he waited for his bride; Professor Dumbledore and a handsome, older wizard walked in close enough together that Harry and Ginny glanced at each other, wide-eyed.
But, most curiously for Harry, he saw a sour-faced young Petunia and an older, much more pleasant looking woman who he recognized from photographs at the Dursleys as his other grandmother. She was taller than Petunia by a hair and wore a green dress and an open smile. Several times, Harry saw her shoulder move, as though she were nudging her daughter to sit up straight; perhaps she was hissing at her oldest daughter to be respectful. Petunia, Harry knew, could have used more such direction from her mother.
His other grandparents stood at the side of the church, holding hands and taking it in turns to beam down at the congregants and at their son, who stood shoulder to shoulder with Sirius at the front. Once everyone had their seats, a chime sounded. As one, stringed instruments rose into the air; bows were set to strings by invisible hands; and music began to play, coaxing bridesmaids to walk down the aisle, all smiling, and carrying – of course – armfuls of lilies.
Petunia was scowling at the girls. Harry wondered if his mother had invited her to be one of her bridesmaids; he thought she might have, and Petunia had refused.
"My grandmother just swatted Petunia." Harry made the pretext of bending over for a dropped hymnal. His amused aside was no louder than a breath and was for Ginny alone.
"Good," she said, satisfied. "Now shh."
The music, which had been a light, frilly little piece grew louder and more emphatic. People began twisting in their pews, glancing toward the back, all eager to catch sight of the bride. None more so than his father, Harry noted, who had – impossibly – widened his smile even further. To Harry's shock, tears formed at the corners of his eyes when he saw a flash of white through the crowd. Appalled, he forced them back where they had come from, blaming it on the music, which seemed to be seeping into his bones. He grabbed Ginny's wrist, trusting the crowd of bodies to keep that hidden, needing to feel her; then he dropped it, heart racing.
People staggered to their feet as Lily nearly floated down the aisle, alone, wearing a simply white dress that trailed out behind her. Her red hair was pinned up with a spray of flowers, and her green eyes did not waver even a moment. Her eyes, Harry knew, were on his father.
Nerves fizzling, Harry sat down a beat slower than the rest of them, and knocked the hymnal to the ground again. Ginny's lips twitched, and the quick, sidelong look she gave him brimmed with amusement.
"You try it," Harry said in a very low voice.
"Can't," said Ginny, "they're already married."
With effort, Harry turned his attention back to the front, where a small wizard with tufty hair and a round belly, had come to give his blessing to his parents' bond. Harry sank into a sense of warmth, watching them; it was only heightened by Ginny's presence beside him. Both parents spoke very earnestly, each quoting a rather romantic section from a book, which surprised him, and each starting to cry a little as they spoke their vows, which didn't. Through it all, Ginny was there, her hand close enough to his that their pinkies touched. There was nothing more he wanted to do than to hold her hand, twine his fingers with hers; and as the ceremony continued, Harry's thoughts wandered, slightly, to the times when they were able to be closer to each other than even this.
"Do you, James Gareth Potter, take Lily Victoria Evans as your wife?"
"I will," his father said shakily.
"And do you, Lily Victoria Evans, take James Gareth Potter as your husband?"
"I will," said his mother, on a laugh, "Oh, of course I will."
The Ministry official was hardly able to pronounce them bonded for life before James swept Lily in what first appeared to be a rather desperate sort of hug, and quickly turned into a rather romantic kiss that lasted perhaps a touch too long. There had been times kissing Ginny when the world had seemed to fall away and nothing but her seemed really and truly real; as his parents kissed, he wondered if they were experiencing that moment, and thought they might. There was a fizzy sort of feeling racing through his veins, combining his thoughts of Ginny with his parents' obvious affection for each other.
Finally, they broke apart, helped along by Fleamont Potter's cleared throat. Laughing, they marched down the aisle together, tearing their eyes off each other only to give their guests fleeting glances. Harry managed to catch both their gazes, beaming at them, his fingers just grazing the small of Ginny's back for a second before he dropped his hand to his side once more.
"Congratulations," he mouthed to them.
They might have nodded at him, but they might have been nodding to Ginny or even to the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, who sat behind them. But it was enough for Harry to have witnessed this; it was nearly unbelievable to him that he had witnessed his parents' bonding ceremony, that he had been able to see the start of their family.
"Can you believe," Harry murmured to Ginny, once the bridal party had followed the newly married couple out of the door, and the other guests began filtering out of the small church, "that I was afraid he had tricked her?"
A delighted laugh escaped Ginny. "What, like a love potion?" she said, setting the hymnal on the little shelf on the back of the pew in front of them. "No way. She," Ginny emphasized, "is in love with him."
An inexplicable little thrill went through Harry at those words and the way she said them, lingering over the simple sounds that did complex things to his thoughts. But there was no time to puzzle out why, for Ginny was throwing her cloak over her arm and exiting their row. "I think so too," he said. Of course she did.
While Harry had expected the guests to walk from the small church in Godric's Hollow to the Potter Gardens, where the reception was to be held, his grandparents had had a more pragmatic idea: A line of carriages had appeared on the street, ready to convey the small crowd in style. Harry and Ginny clambered into the last one, squeezing in beside Dumbledore and his friend, who was introduced as Theseus Scamander.
"Scamander?" Ginny asked, leaning forward. "Any relation to–"
"Newt?" Theseus said, amused. "Yes, he's my little brother. My much more famous little brother."
"Fame is overrated," Harry put in, after a shared laugh.
"Is it just us four?" Dumbledore asked, peering out the window. "I suppose we're the last?" He rapped on the roof of the carriage; it lumbered forward at once. Unlike the horseless carriages at school, these, Harry suspected, were truly powered by magic rather than by invisible thestral.
"Albus had to admire the shops," said Theseus.
"It's the Muggle knitting patterns," Dumbledore said quietly.
The carriage jolted along cheerfully, turning at last onto a heavily wooded drive that Harry knew led to the Potter Gardens. Oddly, as much time as he had spent in Godric's Hollow, he had never made it out here. It was a lovely drive, the trees were dusted with snow, and it had a private, secluded feel despite it being so close to the Hollow.
"Incidentally," Dumbledore said, "we're about to pass a property that I believe would interest you two."
Theseus choked. "A property? Not the old Gaunt place?" He was laughing. "Albus!"
"Why, what's wrong with it?" Ginny asked, curious.
"There is nothing wrong with it but superstition," said Dumbledore. He pointed out the window to a rather old sign bearing fanciful names: Cat's Scramble, Weeping Widower's Walk, and Hag's Point. "It does bear a ghost, but–"
"We live at Hogwarts," Harry snorted, "We don't mind ghosts." He peered closer. "Which one is it, then?"
"It'll be the Weeping Widower's Walk, I'll bet," Ginny said with great good cheer. "Is that the old Gaunt place?"
"Indeed," said Dumbledore, giving them an oblique look. "It is not mere whimsy that prodded me to make the suggestion that you purchase this for your home," he said. Harry gave Theseus Scamander a swift glance; the man sat as tranquil as he had before, smiling a little to himself, seemingly unsurprised by Dumbledore's swift change of mood. "But the old families were granted the permissions to use wards that are now no longer allowed."
"Oh!" Theseus sat forward. "That's why?"
"Indeed," said Dumbledore. "It's an older property – there will have to be some work done to it – but it was built at a time when witches and wizards had much more… freedom, shall we say. And it is the only property that I can think of that has such a thing."
"Brilliant of you," said Theseus. The two of them shared a smile.
"Thank you, old friend," said Dumbledore.
"But don't wards break down eventually?" Ginny asked. "My d–I, er, know someone who needs to update the wards around their home pretty consistently."
"There are ways to get around that," said Theseus, launching into an explanation that carried them the rest of the way. Harry let it wash over him as he stared out the window until the sign faded into the trees.
Will that be our new home?
"But all that said," said Theseus, "is that only Albus would think of you two purchasing a home with such a reputation…"
They were still chuckling when the carriage came to a gentle halt and the doors opened. As they were the last to arrive, it came as no surprise that the sounds and smells of a party beckoned them out. Ginny's hand was at the small of his back as he exited; some small part of them had been touching since they'd sat down in the pew, and Harry did not much like the idea of being apart.
In fact, he might need a brief moment in order to gather himself up and not reveal to the entire Potter family and friends that he and Ginny were rather closer than brother and sister tended to be.
"I'm going to take a moment," he said, leaning forward to whisper in her ear.
Her smile flashed at him. "I'll save you a seat," she said. Then, added a playful: "If you don't take too long."
"I won't," he said.
Their arms brushed once more, then she was gone up the path that wound so swiftly out of sight that it had to be magical.
"Ah, there's the receiving line, Theseus, shall we?"
And Dumbledore and Theseus went onward. Harry could hear the noise of a rather large party. It even seemed like his parents were close, and he could hear them over the general din. But he could not see them; it was as though they hid behind a veil.
Harry shuffled his feet, tucked his hands in the pockets of his dress robes, and peered around, still startled by the rather sedate sedan parked amid all the carriages. Swiping his nose against his robes, he looked about, grimacing, not particularly wanting to think of the two who had driven in that sedan.
It was not until his gaze had wandered, curious, toward the small hill just outside of Mr. Potter's property, that he saw the dark and silent silhouette in between the trees. His heart gave a great bound, then settled somewhere in his stomach.
"I knew you'd come," said Harry, marching toward his erstwhile godfather.
When he was less than five feet away from his godfather, Sirius said, "Last time, they married in spring." There was no rancor in his tone, just a flat sort of weariness. "I came to see the changes."
"You could come further," said Harry. Relief was spreading through him. Sirius's expression was clean of that betrayed look that had haunted Harry for the last two months.
Sirius gave him a smile, but shook his head. "I don't think so, Harry."
"I talked to Dung," said Harry. "Did he tell you? How'd you—"
"—find him?" Sirius asked. "I've lived this before. Of course I could find him."
His tone had hardened and the relief Harry felt retreated. "That wasn't what I was going to ask," said Harry, suddenly irritated.
A dark eyebrow winged upward. "What was it, then?"
It was on the tip of Harry's tongue to tell Sirius everything that had happened in the very long two months since they had last spoken. Had it only been two months since Nurmengard? It seemed, in terms of Sirius, to have been quite a bit longer. No longer irritated, Harry said, "It's nothing… nothing to talk about at a wedding reception, anyway. I tried to talk to you."
"I know," Sirius said gently. "I'll be around more, Harry."
Relieved, Harry nodded. "They would let you join us, you know."
"I will leave that to my younger self," said Sirius. "Why don't I see you tomorrow? If you'll be feeling up to it, of course."
"Up to it?" Harry asked, uncertain.
Sirius smiled wryly. "If I recall correctly, Mr. and Mrs. Potter were very generous with the wine they served." He glanced at his watch. "I'd better go, and so do you."
"But wait," said Harry, "what about tomorrow?"
"I'll contact you by mirror," Sirius told him. "But we've got a lot to discuss–"
"Yeah," said Harry, thinking of how he'd become a Peverell, how they were thinking of buying a home – a haunted one, no less – and his dreams. "Yeah, we do. Tomorrow."
"Tomorrow," promised Sirius.
A few minutes later, Sirius having left so suddenly he'd left no trace of ever having been there, Harry hovered awkwardly at the end of the receiving line, his neck itching under the collar of his dress robes. It did not help when Petunia stalked back down toward him, bearing down in a way that reminded him of his earliest memories, when she would come after him with a wooden spoon.
"Come on, Mother," she hissed.
"But Petunia, dear…"
"We don't belong here," snapped Petunia.
Harry edged to the side.
"But—"
"Every single person here is one of them," Petunia spat. Mother and daughter had stopped just at the end of the cobbled path. The flowers tinkled with music, nearly drowning out the argument. "Don't even pretend you're comfortable with it." Her bony finger jabbed toward the lilies. "Look at the flowers, Mother."
Harry eyed his grandmother, who seemed to be wavering under her daughter's disdain. Surely she wouldn't leave her other daughter's wedding just because Lily was a witch marrying a wizard?
"They're… they're… lovely."
"They're unnatural."
Petunia made to pull her mother away, but the older lady stuck in her heels. "Your father," she said very censoriously, "would have wanted us to stay. He would have loved… they married at that little church — he would've loved — and it wasn't so uncomfortable there—"
"They had no business—"
"Petunia. Your father—"
"Daddy isn't here!" Petunia cried, startling the flowers into silence. "He isn't. He was the one who wanted us to put up with this utter nonsense." Her chin was trembling. "But go ahead. Stay. See if James can — can fly you home on one of his twigs. Lily was always Daddy's favorite, but I didn't think she was yours, too."
"Now, Petunia, he loved both of you—"
"—I am leaving."
Petunia stalked off down the path, back to where the carriages were. Harry assumed she was the one driving the lone car, shiny and out of place, that was parked there. Still curious, Harry stared at the woman he now remembered had been used to compare him to Dudley, with he, Harry, always emerging the loser. Your grandmother would have been so proud of you, Petunia had told Dudley, often, usually while shooting Harry nasty looks. He had not, in his childhood, been primed to expect his grandmother to be much different from Petunia.
"Petunia!" His grandmother raised her voice; Petunia stopped, but did not turn around. "What would people say if we left? She's family."
"We don't need to worry about what those people think," Petunia said, incredulous. "Imagine that! They're the fr—"
"Hush! Not so loud!"
Harry's grandmother gave one last look toward where the bell-like flowers rang, and the trailing end of the receiving line. It was a swift look, unreadable, and then — with a squaring of her shoulders — she whirled around and followed her other daughter. Unable to help himself, Harry stepped out of the shadows and onto the path, where he settled near enough she had to skirt around him.
"Are you leaving?" Harry asked.
"I — yes —" she stammered. Her face was as long and horsey as Petunia's. "My daughter is leaving, and—"
"Isn't your daughter up there in the receiving line?" Harry asked, jerking his thumb in the opposite direction of the lone car parked among carriages.
A scarlet flush rose on her cheeks. Lily Evans's mother — Harry's own grandmother — said nothing more to him, only ducked her head and hurried after her daughter. Harry stared after her, a complicated mixture of annoyance and disappointment flowing through him. He'd wanted, he realized, for Petunia to have been the odd one out in his mother's family; he'd wanted to assume that his grandparents had loved their children equally.
But his grandmother was fleeing along with Petunia, so alarmed by the use of magic that she could not even bother to stay for Lily's wedding reception.
Harry was just turning up the path when rustling and quick footsteps had him whirling back around, hoping his grandmother had given Petunia the slip—
—but no, it was Old Bones, who was rather resplendent in bright yellow robes. His hair puffed outward in a halo about his head, further perfecting the dandelion look.
"Peverell!" he boomed.
"Old Bones!" Harry said. They shook hands. Harry stole a glance around him. The path was empty of everyone, even grandmothers. Setting it firmly aside, Harry peered closer at his elderly professor. "Were you hurt?" he asked, spotting a gash on the side of his head.
"A bit of a flying carpet accident," said Old Bones, clapping him on the shoulder. "Not to worry, not to worry."
After casting one more look over his shoulder, Harry allowed himself to be buffeted along by Old Bones, who — for his age — was rather a force of nature, dandelion appearance and all. The moment he had attempted to take in order to breathe in a moment had been ruptured first by his Grandmother Evans and Petunia, and then by Old Bones. Perhaps it was for the best, Harry thought, as they rounded the corner and found themselves to have nearly missed the receiving line at all.
James and Lily Potter had their arms entwined and were beaming at everyone, even at Mary MacDonald's pet frog, a rather green fellow, who'd replaced her last one, who was currently being held up rather close to Lily's face. Light flashed to Harry's right, where a photographer squatted, happily documenting the moment.
"Mary!" Lily said, as Mary laughed. "Take him away!"
"She doesn't want to kiss any frogs," said a smug James. "She'd rather just kiss me."
"Can't you share?" Mary asked.
"No," they said together.
"Just checking to make sure you're loyal," Mary said cheerfully, tucking the frog back in her pocket. "You both passed the test."
"And they did well!" boomed Old Bones.
"Old Bones!" Young Sirius swooped down on him, grabbing the Professor into a hug. "You made it!"
"I had a delay," Old Bones said, rueful. "Unavoidable, I'm afraid."
"Is that what happened to your head?" Lily asked with warm sympathy. "Come here, I have some balm in my bag." She waved off Old Bones's protests that she was the bride, and she wasn't to be bothering her head over him. "You aren't a bother," she said. "Besides, I'm still waiting on a few… guests."
There was a delicate enough pause that Harry knew she was speaking of her mother and sister. His stomach twisted.
"I think we're the last of them," said Harry.
"But—"
"There were a couple of others on the path," Harry said firmly, not wanting his mother to wait any longer than she already had, "but they left."
James and Lily exchanged a glance. "They left?" It was James who asked. There was a quiet thunder in his tone; it was the sound of a storm rising. "They left?"
"James," Lily said quietly. She had pulled a little container out of her bag; it was filled with a silvery sort of goo that Harry thought smelled like dittany and yogurt. It was a combination Fleamont Potter would like. She used her wand to spread the goo on the gash on Old Bones's lined, tired-looking face. "It's all right."
James ignored this, peering hard at Harry, as though Harry had handed Petunia the keys to the car, shoved her in, and slapped the trunk. He blew out an angry, noisy breath. "They left in the middle—"
"It was the church service that mattered to them," said Lily, still working on Old Bones. Harry thought she would've made an excellent healer, if circumstances would have allowed her to become one. "Well, it would've mattered to my dad, anyway."
"Lily…"
But Lily ignored her new husband, turning to Harry. "Did they say anything?"
Harry knew that she was asking him if her mother and sister had passed along a message — perhaps that an emergency had cropped up, and that they'd had some sort of excuse for leaving the wedding. Dislike for Petunia and Grandmother Evans hardened within him. Neither had bothered with any sort of excuse. "It was Petunia dragging your mother along. She doesn't like witches and wizards much, does she? Not even her own sister."
Tears sparked in Lily's eyes. "That's why we went to the trouble of getting the church," she said, swallowing. "We didn't have to, but I wanted… them… to be comfortable."
"Any reasonable person would have been," James muttered. "Sorry, love, but they owe you an apology."
"Or more," said Harry. A thought struck him. "At least they didn't bring Vernon, yeah?"
Both his parents stiffened. "Vernon?" James asked.
"How d'you know about him?" Lily asked.
Harry's shoulder blades twitched. Fuck. "Uh… they — uh — didn't they?" He shrugged, trying to ignore the panic gusting over him. "They mentioned a, uh, Vernon at the church. Your, ah…"
James seemed to take pity on him and clapped him on the shoulder. "Haven't even met him and you've got his measure, eh?"
But Lily had her head cocked and was looking at him rather curiously. Her hands were frozen in the act of healing Old Bones's gash. Another, stronger gust of panic hit him. His heartbeat sounded in his ears.
"And that's me, recovered," announced Old Bones, who seemed not to have noticed Lily's divided attention. "James, I hope you know you're a lucky one." His smile widened, becoming almost too large for his face. "I have seen many things in your future, my lad. Yours is entwined with hers now. And I am quite, quite happy with what I've seen."
His parents now beaming under Old Bones's blessing, Harry escaped further questions, skirting around the young Sirius, and entering the gate that led to his grandparents's gardens. They were impressive, with rows and rows of flowers and tables clustered all around. Despite it being New Year's Eve, there was a heady scent of spring in the air. The house looked behind it all, large and spacious. Harry might have been more curious to study where his father had grown up, but with his thoughts swirling around as they were, all he wanted to do was pretend he had not tried for a bit of solitude prior to this reception. He needed to find Ginny. Scanning the people nearest him, he wandered further and further into the garden, looking for her bright red head.
Old Bones, behind him, continued to offer platitudes to the new couple. They faded in volume. Surely he could not have seen — truly — where their lives were headed and how soon they would end unless Harry managed a miracle. Had Old Bones a glimpse of such a thing, or even the smallest sliver of an inkling, he would not be standing before them on their wedding day, offering them the empty promises of a seer.
His suddenly darkened mood lifted when he found her, seated again with Professor Dumbledore and Theseus Scamander, bare arm draped over the back of an empty chair, the bangles on her wrist winking silver in the torch light. She was not turned to him; nevertheless, Harry could see the laughter on her face, which fairly sparkled with humor and the fairy lights among the hedges surrounding it.
Letting the brief encounter with the two Evans slide off him, Harry allowed his shoulders to relax. He allowed another brief moment to breathe in. As he blew out that breath, he was impressed anew at how quickly the wedding had come together and how many guests had come to wish his parents well. The ranks of the guests had swollen even more; Harry noticed this, even as he had a difficult time looking away from one guest in particular.
It was his other grandmother who pulled his attention away from Ginny. Delicate thought she looked, she had charge of the reception, and was marshaling the straggling guests to their places. In a moment, she had him in hand. "Do you know where you're supposed to be seated, Harry?" she asked.
"Yeah," said Harry, "I see Ginny…"
"Be a dear, and go join her, would you?" Despite the phrasing, this was a clear command and Harry took it as such, fighting a grin as he strode over and plopped into the open chair beside Ginny.
"I thought you got lost," she said.
"Nah," said Harry. "Just saw a couple of people I knew…"
At that moment, a light flashed in his eyes. "What the–"
Looking around, he saw a camera hovering over the table. It hung at a rakish tilt, and proceeded to take another couple of pictures before the table caught on, and they clumped closer together for a group photograph, with Ginny still laughing at 'the look on his face'. Finally satisfied, the camera swooshed away to find another group.
"Wine?" Dumbledore offered.
Harry nodded. And the general merriment of the evening increased by an order of magnitude. There were more cameras recording the events of the day; a lively discussion between Harry, Ginny, and Theseus – who turned out not only to have been an Auror, but had a great love for both Quidditch and Quodpot – was punctuated by sips of wine and bright flashes.
A bell rang, light and airy, but loud enough to gather attention and make heads swivel to the front. There stood James, tall and proud and his arm around a beaming Lily. "My wife and I," he said with relish, "would like to thank you for coming to our wedding and for joining us for the evening. I'm assuming you're all as hungry as I am–"
"-we've hardly eaten all day," put in Lily.
Menus were conjured from thin air, appearing in front of every guest.
"So we just wanted to say thank you, and – let's eat!"
Harry laughed along with everyone else, who seemed charmed by the young couple who were so obviously very much in love. But he was surprised and intrigued by the appearance of a menu rather than actual food. And everyone's, he noticed, looking around the table, was different.
"Is it normally done this way?" Harry asked in an undertone. He had never been to a wedding, magical or otherwise.
"Not at any of the weddings I've been to," Ginny whispered. Her head was bent over his hand, peering at the menu for the Three Broomsticks: she was close enough he felt her breath on his skin. "Mostly the food is made at the wedding."
"I quite like it this way," Theseus commented, having overheard them. He waved his own fancy-looking menu from a place called The Bowtruckle's Arms. "I always like a good vegetarian option." He elbowed Professor Dumbledore. "Remember Newt and Tina's wedding?"
"Vividly," Dumbledore said, very dryly.
"The wedding was beautifully catered," Theseus informed them. "But poor Newt was so distracted by his nerves that he forgot to properly secure his beasts…"
"They reacted as beasts might," said Dumbledore, continuing the thread. "Which is to say, none of us ate that night. But the beasts were well provided for which provided a lot of comfort to the couple."
"To Newt, at least," said Theseus, laughing. "Tina was not quite so sanguine."
"But I agree, it's quite brilliant to do it this way," said Dumbledore.
Harry shrugged, leaning back in his chair, and allowing the scent of honeysuckle to wash over him. A glance at the head table showed his parents, as happy as they'd been as they'd said their vows to one another, laughing at Peter Pettigrew capering about.
If there was an awkward moment because Lily did not have any family members to stand and toast for her, it was smoothly covered by the elder Potters in their toast. After thanking them for coming on such short notice, Mrs. Potter raised her glass of sparkling wine. "While my son James has been the light of our lives"-the audience let out a collective "awww"; over at the head table, Sirius gave James a playful shove–"we have always felt the lack of a daughter. No longer! For James has provided us one who is as kind and charming as she is talented and beautiful. Lily, love, welcome to our family!"
"You're not going to shove me out now that you've finally got what you've wanted from me, eh?" James called to his parents after everyone had toasted.
Mrs. Potter put a hand to her heart. "Oh James, never!" Then, after a playful pause, she added: "Not before we've got some grandchildren."
Both the bride and the groom were laughing. Harry leaned back in his seat, allowing the revelry to wash over him. There still remained food on his plate, and his wineglass was nearly full, but there was something else filling him now. His family – the family that James and Lily had created, and the same family that Harry had so lacked during his childhood – felt more real to him than it had at any other time in his life. The flashes of light signifying another picture had been taken was a constant reminder that while he had seen some few of these photos in the album Hagrid had once made for him, he had not expected it to be like this.
"Harry," Ginny hissed, elbowing him in the side.
Startled, Harry blinked, surprised to see everyone standing and raising their glasses once more. Hastily, he stood; some of his sparkling wine spilled over the rim and onto the snowy white tablecloth.
"To James and Lily!" he chorused along with the others.
Once settled back down, the dinner plates disappeared one by one.
"Alas," said Old Bones, whose fork had still been hovering over the plate, "I wished for that last potato."
"Looks like they've done the desserts the same way they did dinner," said Ginny, when a tiny menu appeared on her plate.
"They've done an admirable job on such short notice," said Old Bones. "I've heard planning weddings is a nasty business – likely why I never did it."
Harry chuckled along with the rest, ticking the dessert he most wished to try; his gaze wandered, then, over the rest of the guests, all of whom seemed as good-natured as the bride and groom. Most were enjoying each other with great good cheer, but Harry's eyes happened to catch Edgar Bones, over across the garden, who seemed to be staring over at their table.
A second later, his sticky toffee pudding appeared on his plate.
But it was the heady aroma of treacle tart that caught his attention the most. "Treacle tart!" he said, almost accusingly. "That wasn't on my menu!"
Ginny smirked at him. "It was on miiine," she sang, already digging into it.
Harry leaned toward it, mouth watering. "Lucky girl," he said, envious.
"I know," she said, taking a bite, and making sure to do it slowly; Harry felt this was primarily for his benefit.
Leaning back, he dug into his own dessert. But it wasn't the same, and Harry wished that he'd had Ginny's menu instead of his own. The scent was heady and strong, taunting him. Shifting in his seat, sighing, he took another bite.
"Oh, here," said Ginny, giggling. Then, to his astonishment and delight, she transferred half her treacle tart onto his plate. "You big baby."
Harry swooped down with his fork, not wanting his good fortune to disappear if she changed her mind. "Fank 'o0," he said. The flavor burst on his tongue. There was nothing wrong with sticky toffee pudding, but nothing could beat treacle tart. Harry closed his eyes, enjoying it.
"Ah, having a sister must be different from having a brother." Theseus's dry words broke Harry out of his blissful reverie. When Harry looked at him, he added, "My brother would have been more likely to give his dessert to our ghoul than share with me – especially if he knew how much I liked it."
"My brother would've held me to the ground and crammed it down my throat," said Dumbledore, cheerfully enough, but there was a hint of warning in his eyes that made Harry stand up straighter.
"I, uh, I lucked out with – uh–"
"Sisters," Ginny finished for him, when he couldn't bring himself to force the word out.
Harry sighed, less eager to eat the treacle tart Ginny had been so generous with. Groping about for a change of subject, he turned to Old Bones, and said: "What about your siblings?" he asked, thinking of Edgar Bones.
Old Bones, who was almost always cheerful, seemed to dim. His hair flattened as he ran his hand through it. "I don't speak to my siblings, and haven't since I was about your age," he said, in a rather different sort of voice than he usually had. Harry deduced that it was a subject Old Bones did not like to linger on. "But when I was younger, I imagine that if they knew I liked something, they would take it away and hide it from me."
Harry felt a pulse of sympathy. "I know someone like that," he said, thinking of Dudley. "But he'd be more likely to smash it to the ground and complain to his mum that I stole it from him."
Old Bones gave him a smile. "Yes," he said. "Something like that."
A small silence fell over the table as they continued on with their dessert. Harry grew even more acutely aware of Ginny beside him; every time their arms brushed, awareness of it rushed through him, and he grew paranoid that the others at the table could see it, and would suspect he and Ginny of being rather too close for siblings.
Damn that bit of the charade, he thought glumly, for perhaps the hundredth time.
It was almost a relief when great wings blotted out the setting sun, and a large eagle owl dropped a scroll in Dumbledore's lap. The professor's face fell into grim lines as he read it.
"What is it?" Harry asked sharply.
"It's a letter from Caractacus Burke," said Dumbledore.
"What's he want?" Theseus asked.
Thoughts whirled through Harry's head, but before he could settle on a suspicion, Dumbledore said:
"He's asked for help," said Dumbledore, rising to his feet, and unhooking his tall wizard's hat from his chair. For a brief moment, his gaze met Harry's. "His grandson is missing and his shop's been ransacked."
"His – you mean, Simon Burke?" Harry asked.
"I'm afraid there's no time to waste," said Dumbledore, moving more swiftly than Harry had seen him do so. "Send the new Mr. and Mrs. Potter my well-wishes, will you?" A moment later, he'd disappeared off down the garden path, hidden behind whatever veil the Potters used to hide their home from curious Muggles.
"My, my," said Old Bones, "Does he do that often?"
"More than you'd imagine," said Theseus.
More owls appeared, winging their way toward others, including Mr. Potter, Edgar Bones, and an older witch Harry did not recognize. A pall spread over the wedding, spreading even to the high table. Smiles soon grew fixed. Whispers grew louder. Curious, Harry watched as one by one, shoulders slumped and faces fell.
Only Old Bones remained his old self. "Not to worry," he said, clapping Harry on the shoulder. "We'll rally in time for the dancing. You'll see."
His fortune-telling turned out to be true. Within ten minutes of Dumbledore leaving, the elder Potters were raising their wands and clearing the tables and chairs to make way for a dance floor. Lights winked on one by one as the sun fully set over the hills. James and Lily took to the wide open space, surrounded by friends and loved ones, and wrapped themselves around each other. Harry watched as they swayed together, eyes only for one another, a solemnity now present that hadn't been there all day.
Harry snagged his wineglass off the table, and took another long swig. The bubbles fizzed on his tongue, making him smile. It warmed his belly, making him forget Simon Burke and what might have happened to him; another long sip, and his glass was drained.
Glancing down at Ginny, he asked: "D'you want to go on a walk?"
She peered up at him. "Sure," she said.
They made sure not to walk too closely together; Harry tried to carry on that he was her brother, but it was a role that everything within him rebelled against. Once, the spot between his shoulder blades itched; he turned to find Remus Lupin staring at him from the head table. Harry gave him a little wave that was as nonchalant as he could make it, then turned down the path opposite to the one that led to the flat spot where all the carriages were parked.
The gardens were extensive, and it was not long before they found a secluded bench. It reminded him of the winter garden they'd discovered at Hogwarts; it was just as secluded and quiet. It was full night now, with only the smallest sliver of gray over the hills. Harry lit the tip of his wand and settled it on the bench.
"So," said Ginny.
"So," said Harry.
And then he leaned in and kissed her. She tasted of treacle tart, sparkling wine, and something else, something entirely Ginny. Her lips softened against his; she made a sound low in her throat. It was heady, this, headier even than the glasses of sparkling wine he had drunk. His mind whirled with it, until his only thought was that he wanted to be as close to her as possible. Her waist was in his hands, and it was easy, so easy, to lift her up and into his lap. Heat grew between them. It was New Year's Eve, they were outside, and Harry was hot all of a sudden.
"Ginny–" he murmured against her lips.
Her arms wound tighter around his neck, crushing him to her.
Harry groaned, squirming under her; the pressure against his growing erection driving him wild. Then, she was twisting in his arms, squirming, until she sat astride him, robes bunched up, revealing her legs. Harry slid his hand from calf to thigh, shifting his hips so his erection pressed tight against her.
Their eyes caught and held. Harry was certain she'd felt his desire for her before – how could she not have? But this was different. His heart thundered in his chest, his hands squeezed her thighs, and nothing in his life had ever felt quite so good.
She wriggled against him; two bright spots of color appeared in her cheeks.
The pressure was too much; Harry shifted under her, gripping her thighs even tighter, rubbing himself against her center. "Merlin," he groaned. "Is this…?"
She leaned forward, kissing him again, tongue tangling with his in a way that nearly distracted him from the way their lower bodies moved against each other. His heart pounded heavily in his chest.
It was only by chance that Harry opened his eyes at exactly the right time, only to find that the privacy of the bench was shattered. Everything in him froze. His eyes caught Remus Lupin's wide-eyed, open-mouthed look of shock. Scrambling to his feet, Harry shoved Ginny behind him. His wand rolled off the bench and onto the ground, scattering the light, until it came to a stop. Harry bent down to retrieve it, hands shaking.
"Remus, look," he said. "Look, uh–"
Ginny shoved him behind her. "Remus, look, we can explain."
"Explain?" Remus's voice cracked. "You – but – how?"
And that, thought Harry, as his mind raced, was a very good question.
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Author's Note: Well, that is another arc finished, and just in time for me to fall into the world of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom. I hope you enjoyed this one! I was really tickled to think of Harry witnessing his parents' wedding. Until next time!