True to form, the Great British summer didn't hold back from disappointing. When the morning of the twelfth of August dawned, dull grey clouds obscured the sun. Such was the hazard when organising an important event that depends on the weather for its success. Despite the lack of glorious sunshine, rain at least wasn't pouring down from the heavens. Even so, the Grangers were wise to pack umbrellas in the boot of the family car.
There were few occasions for all three Grangers to be a team for a family event. The occasional family holiday during the summers when Hermione was at Hogwarts gave them some time where they could exist as a family unit. Otherwise, Hermione was lost in the magical world, living her separate, secret life and her parents were busy with their jobs as dentists. There was also that year which neither brought up, still a sensitive topic despite the years since it happened when Hermione sent her parents off to Australia with modified memories. When they did return to the UK, Hermione having pulled a few favours to ease them back into their lives, things returned to their general state of separation. Hermione did her utmost to put more effort into spending time with her parents, but they didn't live in each other's pockets. Their daughter had, after all, grown up - and she had grown up young in her life.
The only other family wedding that Hermione had attended with her parents had been before she had left to go to Hogwarts. She had been too young to really remember anything, though there were pictures of a seven-year-old Hermione Granger in a Laura Ashley dress with a pretty little tiara lodged in her untameable curls.
Now twenty-six, Hermione still had the same wild locks that caused her endless strife. While she waited for her dad to finish locking up the house, she busied herself with checking her reflection in the window of the car, sighing a little at the lilac fascinator she had managed to secure to her curls with sheer willpower.
Compared to how she would have dressed for a magical wedding, her outfit was rather uninspired. No floaty dress robes embroidered with silver or gold. No glittering gemstones sparkling with a myriad of colours, shimmering in folds of silk or satin. Instead, she wore a pale lilac dress with a pretty pattern of violets spreading down the full skirt that came down just past her knees modestly. Her chiffon-like sleeves dropped past her shoulders, exposing them and her collar bones. She wore her grandmother's necklace, a simple gold pendant with diamonds and amethysts detailing a flower. All in all, she was happy with the outfit and, from the way her mum's eyes had misted at the homage to her late-mother, she wasn't the only one. Hermione's gran, Violet Baxter, had been the one to get Hermione into reading. She sadly passed away before Hermione received her letter for Hogwarts.
Approaching behind her was her mother, her warm presence joining Hermione as she waited at the car. Her arm came around her waist, pulling Hermione gently towards her. Miranda kissed her on the cheek.
"You look beautiful, darling."
Hermione leaned into her mum's embrace, basking in the familial warmth. As such family occasions were so rare, Hermione had chosen to stay at her parents' house and get ready for the wedding with her mum. The precious moments where they could bond felt all the more momentous, just a mother and daughter spending time together, doing something as ordinary as getting ready for a wedding. It didn't matter that one of them had magic and the other didn't. They were family.
"Now as much as I know you're going to be distracted today with Harry, please do try to give your family some attention as well." Her mum said softly, her eyes giving off a beseeching look as she met Hermione's gaze in the reflection of the window. "Jerry and Linda haven't seen you since their 25th anniversary and that was… gosh… over ten years ago."
Hermione sighed at her words. "I know, mum. That was the last time I saw Monica as well… and the others. I don't know if we're even going to recognise each other."
"That is why you will need to socialise , darling," her mum said, causing Hermione to grimace.
Many things came naturally to Hermione, though unfortunately 'socialising' wasn't one of them. She was often more likely to scare off people when she met them for the first time rather than engage in inane prattle to foster new relationships. Finding a common ground with her muggle family was going to push her social skills. She'd be strictly limited to talking about the weather before having to lie about her life.
"Are we ready?" Her dad joined them, car keys rattling as he crunched towards them on the gravel of the drive. It was unusual to see him in a suit. When he wasn't in his dentist scrubs, he was rarely seen not wearing shorts. The weather had to be sub-zero before he was seen in jeans or trousers. His buttonhole with pink sprays matched the dusky pink dress that his wife wore, her own outfit finished off with matching flowers pinned to her dress.
Before getting into the car, Hermione checked her handbag. Her wand was cleverly concealed in a hidden pocket, magically expanded to house it discreetly. It left her feeling uncomfortable as she was used to having her wand holstered for quick access at all times. Yet there was nowhere she could conceal a holster while wearing a dress. She had to maintain her muggle appearance, even going so far as to use muggle cosmetics rather than the magical ones that she preferred. Distantly, she wondered if Harry would notice the difference.
Her thoughts kept circling back to Harry. As she got ready, she found herself wondering about his reaction when he saw her. Would he find her appearance drab compared to the finery that she found herself wearing for formal occasions at the Ministry? Would he comment on her hair - which he recently started to do? Would he notice how she had worn a bra that specifically pushes her breasts together to make her cleavage more noticeable? Would he notice her new perfume?
Her mum certainly didn't help with her obsessing thoughts. Her passing comments about her and Harry's relationship were becoming more and more calculated. They increased in frequency so much, her dad even remarked at dinner if he should be worried that Harry was going to steal his wife. Her mum complimented Harry so often, making very suggestive points as she obviously compared Harry to Ron. The frustrating thing was that Hermione couldn't correct her. Harry was very good-looking. He was kind and considerate. He made Hermione laugh, made her feel valued and cared for. He always asked how she was and had an interest in her work. He was the best friend she could ask for.
The Two-hour-long drive to Surrey wasn't going to help stop her from ruminating about Harry. Especially not when her mum had annoyingly planted the seeds in her head. In the months leading up to the wedding, the subject of the event had been put a little on the back-burner as she and Harry started to get increasingly busy with their respective jobs. He only just returned from Italy. The last time she saw him before heading off to Gloucester to stay with her parents, he had been sporting a healthy tan. He had been frustratingly enigmatic about his plans for the wedding, his eyes gleaming mischievously as he told her to 'wait and see'. They had ardently disagreed about Harry's decision to go along with the story of how he was the pariah of Little Whinging, but Hermione relented as it was ultimately his decision. She did, however, know Harry very well. As much as he was a very good person with strong values about forgiveness and reconciliation, he did have a vindictive streak. Harry knew how to kill with kindness. He could wield guilt like a weapon.
The anticipation had her frazzling with nerves. What did he have planned? While Hermione could rely on her parents to cover for her and keep her from receiving too much attention, Harry wouldn't be so fortunate. He'd given her plenty of warning about the reception he'd receive and had made her promise to not jump to his defence. They were to pretend that they didn't know each other - just respective cousins to the bride and groom. She would have to act as the audience, watching on impartially as Dudley Dursley's choice of guests caused a stir.
The rain still held off as they passed from Berkshire into Surrey. Hermione barely listened as her mum gave her dad directions, watching out the window as she mused over how strange her situation was. Here she was, one of the most important witches in the country, sitting in the back seat of a car while being driven by her parents to a wedding. It was refreshing to have such banal concerns rattling in her head other than the usual stresses that occupied her mind. It was a unique experience to feel like an imposter when living the life she had been born into. It made her wonder if Harry's mum ever felt the same way.
Again, her thoughts went back to Harry.
Soon they passed the sign welcoming them to Little Whinging. Their destination was the parish church. It was nestled beside a small wooded area past the village centre. Their route didn't take them near any streets that resembled that one where Harry had lived - or Hermione assumed they hadn't. From what they had glimpsed, the village was quaint enough - very normal and uninspiring. There were balloons tied to the church gate where they pulled in to part where there were already cars. Hermione gave her leg a small pinch, just to be sure that it wasn't all some insane dream.
It was real.
While they had arrived early, they weren't the only ones. A small group had amassed outside the church, waiting to be ushered into their seats when it was time. Fresh nerves flourished at the sight of the group as it truly started to dawn on Hermione that her muggle life and Harry's were about to collide. She felt oddly detached from herself when she got out of the car, taking a moment to steady herself in her heels while walking on the gravel.
"Ah, Reece is already here with his boys. You remember Jack and Adam, Hermione?"
Her mum quickly appeared at her elbow, her arm threading through Hermione's with a mother's instinct. Hermione had to sort back through a huge volume of memories to reach her childhood, pushing through a life of war and magic before getting there.
"Vaguely, yes," Hermione said honestly of her older cousins. She peered curiously at the group outside the church then. It had been a very long time since she had thought about her extended family. The last time - before the wedding surprise had happened - was when she had made the plans to protect her family. She believed the Baxters would be safe - the link between her and them too tenuous for a purist magical Government to concern themselves with investigating.
Her mum marched her to the family while her dad lingered back at the car, his phone having gone off. Leaving him to deal with whatever business had come up on his day off, they went to join the other guests. While her mum guided her towards who she expected was her uncle and sons, she noticed a group around her own age talking loudly and laughing. She didn't recognise any of them, which was hardly a surprise, but it got her wondering if they were Dudley's friends or Monica's.
"My Goodness, it can't be little Hermione?"
A shocked voice snapped her attention back. Hermione found herself face-to-face with a group of stunned faces. Drawing up on her clunky social skills, Hermione plastered a polite smile on her face as she looked at who she could slightly remember was her uncle.
"Hello Uncle Reece."
It was with some relief that there weren't too many awkward reunions to get through. Each one went by in a similar vein with a relative exclaiming in shock about how much she had grown - as if it was a surprise that she would appear different in her twenties compared to how she'd been in her teens. Her mum spoke enough for all of them as she navigated between different family members as more showed up. Hermione offered her polite greetings, asking after each relative as she was thrust in front of them before introducing herself to their partners. Wisps of old memories started to form as she spoke with her cousins, remembering parties from her childhood where they all played hide-and-seek together in the gardens of their respective houses. They weren't fond memories. From the sheepish glint in her cousins' Jack and Adam's eyes, she knew they could remember those parties as well… and how Hermione had been picked on relentlessly.
Before she forced herself into any more awkward unpleasantries, voices at the front of the church rose up in volume, dragging her attention back. She caught sight of a broad man clapping another on the back forcefully, guffawing with a huge smile on his face. The man hadn't left the church alone as a very rotund older man dressed in a matching suit joined him. Hermione's mouth parted with slight shock as she saw the Dursleys for the first time since witnessing them picking Harry up from Kings' Cross all those years ago.
Tentatively emerging from the church doors came a tall and thin woman, sniffling into a handkerchief where she dabbed at her eyes. A small flock of middle-aged women amassed to her sides, cooing their support and sharing their compliments. The thin woman flashed a few smiles, her watery blue eyes gravitating often to where the burly man was making his way through the group, welcoming and greeting the guests.
"Finally coming out to welcome everyone then?" Hermione's Uncle Reece remarked under his breath, sharing a look with his wife, her Aunt Fiona. She shook her head pointedly at him.
"Quiet, dear. I'm sure they had important things to arrange first," she said under her breath. Hermione took a few steps away from her family, trying to subtly move close to the groom's party so she could eavesdrop on the conversation. As she did, she stepped into the path of her Great Uncle who used the opportunity to ask her about how her job in London was going. Her mum thankfully appeared, ready to deflect the questions and assist.
Looking over her shoulder, Hermione watched as the Dursleys made their way through, shaking hands and thanking people for coming. Dudley and Vernon Dursley wore matching suits of dark green with large white roses adorning their lapels. Where Dudley looked striking in his three-piece suit with his broad shoulders and muscular physique, his father's suit appeared ill-fitting as if the buttons of his dress shirt were about to ping free. Vernon's shirt collar appeared to be on the cusp of strangling him if the colour of his face was any indication. His beetroot complexion, in combination with his thinning hair and ridiculous moustache, weren't the best of looks. A very loud and abrasive laugh roared out of the man as he responded to something that was said to him by one of the guests.
It appeared that it was time for everyone to be seated as another man dressed in a dark green suit appeared from the church just as organ music started up. Hermione gravitated towards the church along with her parents, fiddling with her handbag as she glanced around, looking for signs of a head of messy black hair. Distracted, she didn't notice that her mum had successfully jostled her to the doors. At a pointed nudge at her side, Hermione refocused on the present, finding herself suddenly face-to-face with Dudley and Vernon Dursley.
"Thank you for coming," Dudley said to them automatically before slowly blinking. A strange look passed over his face as if struck with a sudden confundus charm. He stared at Hermione, his mouth having dropped open. There was a slight spark of recognition in his eyes as he looked at her. Surely he wouldn't recognise her?
"I presume you're Dudley?" Her mum struck up at once, beaming at him with her winning smile that she always had prepared for her nervous patients. "I'm Monica's Aunt Miranda. We've never had a chance to meet you before. This is my husband, Richard, and my daughter, Hermione - Monica's cousin."
Dudley's mouth then shut, the slack shock disappearing as he smiled. Hermione's gaze immediately zoned in on a spot just to the right of his mouth. She couldn't believe her eyes. Dudley had a dimple in the exact spot as Harry.
"Oh, wow! Hello!" Dudley grasped hold of Hermione's dad's hand first, shaking it empathetic. "It's great that you made it all the way from Gloucester… is that right?"
"Yes, that's right. Unfortunately we have few opportunities to see our family down this way but weddings do tend to bring family together."
Hermione zoned out of the conversation, completely taken aback by the dent in Dudley's cheek. She didn't notice Vernon Dursley's attention moving onto them while she gaped at his son.
"More of Monica's family, yes?" Vernon asked her dad, his eyes zipping onto him before addressing her mum or Hermione first. "Vernon Dursley. Father of the groom."
Trying her hardest not to laugh at his ridiculous introduction, she caught the flush on Dudley's face and the burn of embarrassment. Her dad hesitated, baffled at the abrupt introduction but took Vernon's offered hand.
"Um, yes, nice to meet you," her dad said, clearing his throat as he glanced briefly in Hermione's direction. Thankfully, introductions were on a time-limit, giving them the excuse to escape. Soon they were in the nave, greeted with traditional organ music before an usher in the same dark green suit as Dudley and his father reached them before they were left to their own devices.
"Ah, you'll be in the second row," the usher remarked once he found out what their relation was to the bride, "next to your brother's family, I believe?"
As they reached their pews, Reece and his family had already taken up most of the row, leaving them to sit at the end. Hermione gave her parents a pointed look, not needing to convey her thoughts aloud. Her dad chuckled, moving ahead to sit first before his wife went to sit on his otherside, leaving Hermione to sit on the end where she would have a perfect vantage point for Harry's arrival… and the bride's arrival, of course.
More family members siddled in the row behind them, people who Hermione didn't know. She assumed they were relations on Monica's mother's side. She turned her attention to the front of the church, spotting the thin woman she'd seen earlier. It had to be Harry's Aunt Petunia, though it was hard to tell as there was zero resemblance between the woman and her nephew. Her outfit was nice enough combined with a dramatic mint-green hat atop her mousy hair. She stood at the front with whom Hermione assumed to be the best man, dressed in the same suit as the rest of the groomsmen. She appeared to have at least stopped weeping.
With the church mostly filled, the Dursley party at the back of the nave made their way to the front. The officiant, the parish vicar from the looks of things, had moved to engage Petunia in conversation. She rather rudely didn't respond, her face scrunching up as the water-works picked up again as her son approached. Hermione could hear derisive huffs and low murmurs in response to Petunia's noticeable poor manners coming from her side of the nave. What sympathy Petunia appeared to have from her peers wasn't shared by the bride's family. Vernon arrived to stoically pat his wife on the back, grumbling something low that had to be some sort of attempt to comfort her. Dudley chose to speak with his best man, leaving his parents to their display.
Hermione felt Harry's arrival before she saw him. In a building full of muggles, the magic clashed against her senses like a gong. Her head snapped around, so quickly her neck muscles twinged in protest. The initial spark of magic she felt had already faded, causing a knowing smile to bloom on her face. It had been on purpose. A way for him to warn her that he was there… or a way for his magic to say 'hello'. He'd chosen to show up on the cusp of being late. Whether intentional or not, Hermione found it difficult to judge. It was frustrating to be unable to read his intentions with her usual ease. Her thoughts were in a spiral when he entered.
His eyes immediately found hers. When their gazes locked across the distance, meeting through a gap between fancy hats, her thoughts scattered completely. The moment lasted barely half a second before his green eyes looked away. It wasn't long until he was in full view, standing at the back of the aisle while he waited for the usher behind the other late-comers yet to be seated.
His appearance drew attention very quickly. Whispers and murmurs swept through the congregation in place of low thrum of conversation. The general feeling on the groom's side of the hall was shock and disbelief. It was markedly different on the bride's side, especially from the back rows where Monica's friends and colleagues had been placed, a few giggles punctuating the interested whispers. That was until a soft gasp made it through, followed with an indiscreet exclamation.
"Oh my God! That's Harry!"
"Harry who?"
"Dudley's cousin."
The cat was out of the bag within seconds. 'Harry' had obviously heard the reaction, the amusement very evident on his face as he waited, rocking back on his heels. When the usher returned to greet Harry, he rather comically jerked to a sharp halt as he gaped at Harry in shock.
"Hiya Malcolm. Long time, no see," Harry's voice carried through the church without effort, the acoustics lifting his clear tenor above the murmurs and whispers.
" Potter? " The usher croaked out before clearing his throat, realising that they had a very attentive audience.
"Harry!" Dudley's voice then trumpeted from the front of the church. The murmurs were growing in volume as Harry grinned, striding forwards. He clapped the stunned usher on the shoulder and walked past him, moving with purposefulness as he came up the aisle. His eyes briefly caught Hermione's and she felt his magic again ebbing towards her, her own singing in response.
And did it sing.
Hermione had seen Harry dressed to impress many times. Like her, he couldn't get away with showing up at formal events in a drab set of dress robes. He had the very best robe-makers clambering over each other to have the honour of dressing him. She'd seen him gracing ballrooms in glorious robes, his appearances always making the front page of The Daily Prophet. Yet dress robes were their own special style and one that very much belonged in their world. Harry always cut a striking figure in expensive robes, but they weren't the most flattering style even if they were very flamboyant.
No set of dress robes could ever achieve what a tailored suit could on a man - in Hermione's oh-so humble opinion. Harry's suit was a clear example of why. Tailored to a perfect fit, he was dressed in direct contrast to the wedding's theme. Where the groom and his groomsmen were dressed in dark green and cream, Harry was dressed in black and deep red. As jet black as his hair, his suit was shaped to his trim frame. Under his jacket, he wore a wine-red waistcoat with golden buttons and a matching tie. A wine-red and gold handkerchief was artfully arranged in his breast pocket. Finishing off the outfit was a single white rose pinned to his lapel - one sign to show that he was a member of Dudley's family, his buttonhole matching the groom's.
And then there was his hair . He had very clearly gone to as much effort with his hair as he had done with the rest of his appearance. Miraculously, the errant locks were laying flat. It was a very different look to the one he was famous for. He was almost unrecognisable, but Hermione knew his face in a crowd no matter how different. His scar was on full display, not hidden under his fringe. He was without his glasses, his eyes as brilliantly green as ever. His face was smooth, cleanly shaven, skin a light bronze colour from his time abroad in Italy.
There was no denying that Harry was by far the most handsome man in the building. He probably was the most divine being in the church, striding confidently as if he'd been Heaven-sent. All eyes were transfixed on him - including his family.
Vernon Dursley had the most painful looking smile forced on his face. Petunia, at least, had been shocked out of crying, just staring at her nephew with wide eyes. Harry paid them little to any attention, instead clasping his cousin's forearm in a genuinely warm greeting. Both of them were grinning, their matching dimples on display. Their heads then drew together as they talked privately as Dudley guided Harry towards the front pew of their side of the church. Whatever was being discussed, Harry clearly didn't agree, shaking his head. Dudley started to gesture, indicating the pew. From what Hermione could gauge, Dudley wanted Harry to sit at the front, pride of place as a member of his family.
"He certainly knows how to make an entrance, doesn't he?" Hermione's mum remarked, amused. "You never said Harry has an air for the dramatics."
Hermione quietly hushed her mum, glancing around, hoping no one overheard her mum. She levelled a pointed look at her mum who just sat back, that frustrating knowing smile plastered on her face. Looking back up at the front of the church, it appeared that Dudley had won the exchange as Harry parted from him, heading down to the far end of the row. Hermione could see the raised colour in his face even from a distance, reading loud and clear that he wasn't pleased. He turned before sitting down, saying something to the people sitting immediately behind him. A satisfied look shot over his face then.
As if sensing her stare, his eyes found hers. He smiled back at her. Her own lips curled up in response, a warm, fond feeling blooming inside her. It was just one look, but it told her enough. He was okay. He was in control. The warm feeling started to descend down, growing hotter. She recoiled in surprise at the intensity of her attraction, forcing herself to look away from Harry.
Why did he have to look that good in a three-piece suit?
"Don't get too distracted, darling," her mum then murmured under her voice, being a little more careful about maintaining their ruse. "Remember you're here for your family."
Before she could respond to the reminder, the organ music suddenly stopped. She looked up, watching as the Dursley's got the message from the back of the church that the bridal party had arrived. The chattering stopped as a collective hush descended on the congregation. Vernon and Petunia hurriedly spoke to their son before taking their seats at the front. There was someone else other than Harry sitting in the middle, a woman judging from the lurid bright yellow hat that hid the rest of her from view. Harry sat a pointed distance from the only other family member. The gap between them was very marked.
It was no wonder when Hermione realised who it had to be - the infamous aunt that Harry had blown up before third year, an incident that caused him to run away.
Hermione clenched her hands in her lap, forcing her anger down. Now she knew why he didn't want to sit there. While he never told her or Ron why he had exploded at his aunt that summer, only something truly awful could have set him off in such spectacular fashion.
Her anger diminished as her heart started to ache. Reuniting with her family was an uncomfortable experience punctured with some unpleasant memories, but being teased by her cousins wasn't anything like what Harry had gone through. She had been bullied, that much was undeniable, but Harry had been abused. The very people he was being made to sit next to made his life miserable on purpose. And there he was, dressed up as the black sheep they made him out to be, the illusion hiding the Gryffindor lion under the guise. It took tremendous courage to do what he was doing.
The vicar took his position once Dudley and his best man moved to face the front of the church, backs to the aisle.
"Please may all rise for the bride."
Hermione blinked. She had almost forgotten that her cousin was yet to arrive - the whole purpose for the occasion. As she rose along with everyone else, she caught her mum's knowing look.
Perhaps she had a point about being distracted.
As much as Harry was prepared to maintain the unflattering story his relatives circulated about him, he had gone to the trouble of adding a small addendum. He felt comfortable enough admitting to strangers that he had fallen on the wrong side of the law a few times, chalking the incidents up to an ill-spent youth as the juvenile delinquent he apparently had been. Such behaviour was to be expected from a neglected, abused orphan who lashed out to get attention. He had been a child to be pitied, not reviled. His life had been on the path of turning him into another statistic where the authorities had failed to prevent another child from falling victim to crime and drugs.
Thus entered Harry's little change to the narrative. A little truth always made for the best lies, after all. Harry included the fact that, not only was he a reformed troublemaker, he was also very rich. He wished to include in his story how he had inherited a vast wealth from his deceased parents the moment he became of age. Freed from the custody of his guardians and financially secure, he left Little Whinging for good, never to be seen again. He refused to show up as the vagabond his relatives took pleasure in painting him as.
So Harry unashamedly took himself to Saville Row to have a suit fitted, spending an extortionate amount of money in the process. He breezed through muggle London as a wealthy heir to a large fortune, transitioning effortlessly into magical London where he was the most famous wizard alive. While he usually greatly disliked the fame and fortune that came with his name and achievements, he had it on full display before his non-magical audience. He had even slipped on his solid gold signet ring with the Potter crest, one heirloom that made its way back to him once he was free to reclaim his life.
He prepared for a dramatic reaction to his appearance. Harry wasn't a vain man, but nor was he oblivious to how he had inherited more than wealth; he had his parents' good looks. No stranger to attention, he could let it wash over him like water off a duck's back. What he couldn't achieve, however, was ignore the close attention of one person in particular. There was little he could do to avoid the pair of warm brown eyes that pulled his concentration away from the present. His magic rebelled as well, seeking her out. The precious glances he allowed himself confirmed something he knew to expect.
Hermione was stunning.
He didn't need to see the bride to know without a doubt that Hermione out-shone all in attendance. Her presence alone was enough. He basked in the knowledge that she was there with him, sharing in the mad experience, both wrapped up in the wild coincidence that Fate had thrust upon them.
After battling his way through a cold reception from his aunt and uncle, he found himself wistfully smiling in the aftermath of the moment he managed to secretly share with Hermione across the distance. It warmed him despite the stabs of cold hurt that would incessantly bother him while surrounded by those who openly despised him. It also calmed the anger and outrage surging through him being made to sit next to Aunt Marge. The two feet of space he put between him and her wasn't enough. Judging from the snarl he received in greeting, she agreed.
Getting ready to fully flex his cocky bravado, Harry turned to look over his shoulder. His sudden attention interrupted the guests and friends of Dudley who were still indiscreetly gossiping about him. He flashed a crooked smile at them.
"Shame about the weather, isn't it?" He said to no one in particular.
"Holy shit, it really is Harry Potter," came the response Harry wasn't expecting. He looked over to who had made the outburst, a man his own age with very curly blonde hair. Recognition stirred at the sight of the mop.
"In the flesh," Harry replied drily, lips quirking involuntarily in amusement, "and you're Rupert Hill. I remember you. You went to Little Whinging Primary too, right?"
"Yeah, I… we were in the same class," Rupert said a little thinly, his face flushing as he glanced over to his friends, "there's a lot of us here from our early school days… because, you know, Monica was in our class too."
"I know," Harry said, activity at the back of the church catching his eye. Sure enough, the organ music suddenly changed. "Unless I'm mistaken, she's just arrived."
Harry had to hand it to his cousin. He had found himself a very beautiful bride. Her impressive gown took up a considerable portion of the aisle as her father walked her down, dressed in forest green with an emerald tie. Behind them, three bridesmaids in pretty dresses of deep green followed, holding bouquets of white roses. The tasteful choice of green and cream as their wedding colours had surprised Harry initially, expecting the dreadful taste of his aunt to find itself dominating the proceedings. Instead, Monica had taken charge over the wedding planning - and it definitely paid off. Harry imagined that there would be a lot more pink if Petunia had a say.
Dudley looked over his shoulder as the music, Pachebell's Canon in D, approached the climax. His blue eyes shimmered with tears as he gazed upon his new wife in soft awe. She smiled back at him from under her veil, her eyes only for him as she came to join him at his side. All the while, Petunia snivelled and sobbed quietly. Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. She really was laying the tears on thickly, but then, it wasn't clear what she was crying about. Was it pride over her son? Or grief over losing her son to the control of different woman?
When Marge pulled out a wad of tissues from her handbag, Harry looked away in disgust before she loudly blew her nose.
"He's all grown up, Vernon," Marge rasped out once she stuffed her tissues away, "my neffy poo is all grown up."
The bridal party carefully made their way to their seats, Monica's parents and the bridesmaids all moving to stand at the pew level with theirs. Once they were ready, the vicar gave the request for all to be seated. Harry risked a glance back over to where Hermione was standing, seeing her properly now. His eyes snapped back to the front before she caught him staring - especially as he hadn't been staring at her face. He'd been right. Monica may be radiant as the bride, but Hermione was exquisite. Her elegant dress accentuated her figure, specifically her assets. He'd been noticing them all too much over the past few months and now he couldn't stop himself. Not when she was like a beacon in the dark.
"Please, may everyone be seated," the vicar requested of the congregation. Harry was reluctant to sit down and have his view of Hermione obscured by Marge's ridiculous hat.
You're at Dudley's wedding, idiot. You're not here to moon at Hermione! He firmly told himself when he found himself staring at the side of Marge's pinkish face. He turned away, busying himself with the Order of Service.
All the while, he was painfully aware of how hot he was. Were ties always so bloody uncomfortable? And why was he wearing three layers in the middle of August?
As the vicar opened the ceremony with a prayer, Harry quickly found his attention waning. The vicar's dull voice rivalled Professor Binns. If Harry could bottle up his voice, he could make a fortune out of the cure for insomnia. Not that he needed more money. After a few minutes had passed, some of the guests coughing occasionally, Harry made a discovery about muggle weddings.
They were very, very boring.
Bill and Fleur's wedding had been action-packed in comparison. The vicar continued to blather on, leaving Harry stumped as he tried to keep up. He'd forgotten that marriage was a religious affair and so very steeped in traditions. He scanned through the Order of Service, inwardly groaning at the number of readings and prayers that he would have to sit through. Then he saw something that made his blood freeze. There were hymns. How could he have forgotten that there was singing ? He felt prickles of unease spreading over him, making him even more uncomfortable under his silk shirt.
By the time the first hymn had ended, Harry decided that Hermione might have a point. Perhaps he was masochistic. Who in their right mind would subject themselves to such torture? He just had to mumble his way through Jerusalem while cringing to the sound of Marge and Vernon between them blaring the anthem at the top of their lungs. Behind them, Dudley's friends were snickering.
At the critical junction of the ceremony when Piers Polkiss rushed forwards with the rings, Harry was close to falling asleep. What the Hell was wrong with him? There he was, attending something as an actual family member, and he was nodding off!
He forced himself to sit forwards and listen to the vows, making himself appreciate the gravity of the moment. There had been a time when he'd been forced to consider whether or not he was ready to make such a huge step in his life with another person. Bonding himself for life to another wasn't a hasty decision to make. As it turned out for him, he hadn't been ready. He broke Ginny's heart, dashed Molly Weasley's hopes to have him as a son-in-law, and had been unable to find love ever since.
Where he sat, he had a clear view of Monica, her veil lifted as she gazed into the eyes of her dearly beloved. As she repeated back her vow to Dudley, the tremendous look of wonder in her blue eyes wasn't an act. It was a look of love, the real thing that possessed magic of its own. He listened to the words she recited back.
"I give you this ring as a symbol of my love and with all that I am and all that I have, I honour you…"
Across from him, he could see Vernon and Petunia holding hands. His gaze narrowed on the gold band on Vernon's stumpy ring finger. Resentment burned within him. How was it fair that such horrible people could be allowed to find companionship in each other? How was it fair that they had been able to live their married lives while Harry's own parents…
Stop it.
It wasn't the first unwanted thought about his parents to plague him that day and it certainly wasn't going to be the last. Harry was filled with a strong desire to leave the church, his nerves on edge as his emotions threatened a riot. He had to stay in control. Fortunately, it was time for another hymn, the awkward clambering to his feet distraction enough to drive his conflicted feelings away.
Things were at last starting to draw towards the end of the ceremony. When finally the kiss between the new husband and wife was received with applause, Harry couldn't be more eager to leave. Even an unpleasant conversation with his old school bullies would be a welcome distraction. He was jerked out of his own thoughts when he realised that he was among the first in the church to leave as he was in the front row. There was a hold up, however, as Marge struggled to get up from the pew. She leaned heavily on her walking stick in an effort to heave her weight upwards on her stocky legs. Harry inwardly sighed, knowing that for appearances sake he couldn't just stand there while the infirm relative struggled to rise. He had to help out before she barked at him to 'make himself useful' or throw some insult his way for old time's sake.
Harry moved to Marge's other side as Vernon went to help her on the other. He met Vernon's look and a begrudging understanding shot through them. Scowling, Vernon said nothing as Harry brought his hand under Marge's arm and supported her weight as she got to her feet. He had the distinct wish to wash his hands in acid after touching her, but kept himself in control. Neither Vernon nor Marge could hiss something unpleasant at him without causing a scene, so the Dursley siblings ambled away without thanking him or acknowledging him any further. As Harry glanced behind him, he saw that their behaviour hadn't gone unnoticed. When he then went to leave behind them, looking across straight to Hermione, the bride's side hadn't missed the exchange either.
A mischievous smile twitched in the corner of his mouth. It appeared that he had to do very little to cause the Dursleys to reveal their true colours in front of the people they intended to impress. As he took the rear of the groom's family party, he passed Hermione on his way out. He met her eyes, her warm brown meeting his green.
Talk later, she mouthed to him. He nodded imperceptibly in response, dragging his gaze away from her reluctantly. As he did, he grew conscious of the stares coming from multiple female members of Monica's side of the church - not just family, but friends. All pairs of eyes surveyed him with interest. He looked away, feeling very hot again.
Why did I have to wear a three-piece suit? He thought to himself glumly.