Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its characters. Just borrowing them for a story and my own imagination.
Chapter 11
The morning of the wedding arrived like a held breath, full of golden light and hushed excitement. The Burrow was a hive of activity, but beneath it all ran a current of reverence, as though even the house knew this day was sacred, suspended briefly outside the war threatening to reclaim them.
Mia awoke before dawn, the air still and soft. Her skin still held the lingering calm of the Dreamless Sleep Potion, her body relaxed in a way it hadn't been in weeks. She stayed in bed for a few moments longer, watching the sunlight stretch across the floorboards in gentle stripes. Today wasn't about missions or danger. Today was about love. About beauty. About remembering that they were still human.
Ginny burst into the room not long after, already in a half-fastened bridesmaid gown and wrestling with a curling charm that had clearly gone rogue.
"Hermione!" she called, voice bright with a mix of nerves and excitement. "Fleur says we've got an hour, and Mum's threatening to hex Gabrielle's shoes if she keeps clicking them on the floor."
Mia laughed, pushing the covers back. "On it."
She dressed quickly in her underthings and joined Ginny and Gabrielle in the room Fleur had commandeered for preparations. It looked like the inside of a perfume bottle — soft chiffon and golden light, with enchanted petals drifting lazily in the air. A dozen beauty charms hung suspended midair like soap bubbles, each performing a specific task: smoothing fabric, adding gloss to lips, curling hair in perfect spirals.
Gabrielle, tiny and radiant, twirled in front of a mirror, her champagne-gold dress catching the light like spun sugar. Her hair had been curled into perfect ringlets, half pulled back with a circlet of baby's breath and stardust pins.
Ginny's dress was a deeper shade — gold with hints of rose in the fabric's shimmer, like sun-warmed copper. It hugged her waist before flaring gently at the hips, and delicate magical embroidery in the shape of vine leaves crept up from the hem, twinkling faintly with motion.
Mia's dress was something else entirely. Fleur had chosen it herself, claiming it would "suit her eyes." It was the color of moonlight over parchment — a pale ivory-gold that shimmered with every movement. The bodice was fitted with soft boning and enchanted lace that fluttered at the edges like breath. Tiny threadwork stars had been stitched across the sleeves and collarbone, glimmering when she turned. The skirt flowed like smoke, whispering against the floor, and when she twirled — just once, to test it — it fanned out like an unfurling spell.
"Stunning," Ginny said behind her, and Mia found herself flushing.
Then the room went quiet as Fleur stepped through the door.
Her gown wasn't just beautiful — it was enchanted in the deepest sense. The fabric was gossamer silk layered over moon-spun velvet, white as snow but catching light in a thousand different hues. It shimmered subtly with each breath, like dew melting into morning. Her veil trailed behind her in silver filigree lace, embroidered with her family crest and softly glowing runes of blessing.
Small golden butterflies — no longer simply decoration — flitted gently in and out of the folds of her dress, never straying far, as though they recognized her as their queen.
Her hair had been swept into an elegant twist, held in place by pearl-tipped pins and a single crescent-moon comb. Around her throat, she wore a simple pendant of rose quartz — a charm of love, old and powerful.
Mia felt her breath catch.
"You look…" she started.
"Like a goddess," Ginny finished reverently.
Fleur laughed softly, the sound like wind chimes. "Good. Because I intend to be one, at least until ze vows are over."
They all laughed, and the tension broke. Final touches were made — floating earrings fastened, perfume charmed to release in pulses rather than all at once — and then it was time.
The ceremony was held in the orchard behind the Burrow, which had been utterly transformed. Rows of wooden chairs lined the central path, flanked by golden blooms and glowing lilies that pulsed with soft light. A soft breeze rustled the trees, carrying the scent of honeysuckle and apple blossoms through the air.
At the end of the aisle stood a handfasting arch, tall and woven from white willow branches, silver ivy, and strands of phoenix feather. At its center hung a glowing orb of light — not fire, not spell, but something older and sacred, flickering softly in time with the couple's heartbeats.
McGonagall stood beneath it in deep violet robes with silver embroidery along the cuffs. Mia felt a sharp twist in her chest as she watched her. It should've been Dumbledore. Everyone felt it. But McGonagall stood tall, carrying the weight of the role with quiet dignity.
Mia looked at the men gathered at the end of the aisle, her heart catching a little at the sight — Bill standing tall and stunned at the altar, Charlie grinning like a loon, Fred and George adjusting each other's ties with exaggerated flair… and Ron. Dressed smartly, looking awkward but oddly charming, like he couldn't quite believe he was expected to wear dress robes again.
There was one seat left empty in the front row.
Harry's.
Of course, he was there — just not as himself.
Mia's eyes swept the seated guests until she saw him: a tall, lanky redhead near the back, sitting beside Sirius and Remus. His freckles were a little too symmetrical, his ears sticking out in a way that felt distinctly un-Harry. But the way he sat — alert, slightly tense, trying to look casual and failing utterly — gave him away instantly.
Mia allowed herself a quiet breath of relief. He was safe. They all were. For now.
Gabrielle went first, walking down the aisle with solemn grace. The music, soft and stringed, began to swell — no orchestra, just magic, played through the air. Ginny followed, smiling nervously but radiantly. Then Mia stepped forward, the orchard light catching in the floating stars of her dress, and the guests turned to watch her glide past.
And then — silence.
Fleur stepped into the clearing like a vision from another world. The butterflies stirred, catching the sunlight in gold-dipped wings. The orb above the arch pulsed gently as she approached, brighter and brighter with each step. At the front, Bill's breath visibly caught. His scars — still raw in places — couldn't take away from the awe written across his face.
When she reached him, they took hands, and McGonagall stepped forward.
"We are gathered here," she began, "in light, in love, and in defiance of fear. We gather not only to bear witness to a union, but to celebrate it — to affirm that love still blooms, even in darkness. Especially in darkness."
She raised her wand, and golden cords wove themselves into the air — soft as ribbon, glowing with the heat of old magic.
"Bill Weasley. Fleur Delacour. Step forward and bind your hands."
They did, and the cords wrapped gently around their joined palms, glowing brighter with every vow.
"With this binding, do you promise to walk together, even when the road grows dark?"
"I do," Bill said, voice steady.
"I do," Fleur echoed, her voice like silk.
"Do you vow to share your strength and your weakness, your laughter and your grief?"
"I do."
"I do."
"Do you offer your wand hands, your whole hearts, and your magic to this union?"
They answered as one.
"I do."
The golden cords pulsed, then wove themselves into a final knot, the ends vanishing into sparks that floated upward like fireflies.
"Then, by ancient magic, by witness and vow, I pronounce you bound in light. You may kiss."
Bill leaned in, and Fleur's veil fluttered softly as they kissed, a moment so full of love that even the wind seemed to hold its breath. When they pulled apart, the orb above them burst into golden bloom — radiant and pure, scattering beams of light in all directions.
Applause rang out through the garden, a rush of noise and emotion that left Mia blinking back unexpected tears. Ginny nudged her with a watery grin, and they followed the bride and groom down the aisle, past rows of clapping, beaming guests. Harry caught her eye as she passed. Even behind Polyjuice-altered features, his grin was unmistakably his.
The reception began almost immediately, tables reappearing under canopies of trailing white blooms. The food was nothing short of magical — roast meats, summer fruits, delicate pastries, and champagne that refilled itself.
Mia found herself talking with old classmates and Order members alike, floating from table to table, golden skirts swishing as she moved. She ran into Viktor Krum by the edge of the orchard, looking striking in formal robes and just the right amount of stubble.
"Mia," he greeted, warm and slightly surprised.
"Viktor." She smiled, genuinely glad to see him. "You came."
"Of course. I vas invited. Besides…" He tilted his head. "I vanted to see how you are."
They chatted a little — mostly about work, the Tournament, his new post abroad — and Mia could feel the faint thread of nostalgia between them, but no tension. Just kindness. She was glad for that. When they parted, Viktor kissed her hand and bowed, ever the gentleman.
Soon after, the dancing began.
Harry — still disguised — offered her the first spin. He held her hand awkwardly at first, unsure of the height difference his temporary body gave him, but they quickly fell into rhythm. His laughter was soft in her ear.
"This is weird," he murmured.
"You're dancing. At a wedding. It's allowed," Mia replied, smirking.
"Still weird," he insisted, but he didn't stop smiling.
Next came Ron, who tripped over his own feet twice and muttered something about shoes being a Ministry conspiracy. She laughed and told him he was better than Viktor, which made him puff up visibly and start leading a little too confidently.
Remus cut in after that, the two of them gliding easily together under the fairy lights.
"I think we needed this," he said, eyes kind and a little tired.
"We did," Mia agreed, leaning into the calm he always seemed to carry.
Their dance was slower, less playful. They talked in low murmurs — about the ceremony, about the beauty of it, about how Fleur had managed to charm the butterflies to stay for the whole night.
And finally… Sirius.
He swept in with flair, twirling her before she could say a word.
"Well, well, Kitten," he purred, one eyebrow raised. "Save the last dance for me?"
"It's not the last dance," she retorted, already breathless from the spin.
"Details."
He led her with practiced ease, his grin lazy and full of mischief. At one point, he dipped her low — dramatically — catching her securely before bringing her upright again. Her cheeks were flushed when they parted, and he winked shamelessly.
Then the world cracked.
It began with a flicker in the sky. Then — the air shimmered.
And suddenly, through the hedgerow, a glowing lynx burst forth — silver and luminous, all elegance and warning.
Gasps rippled through the crowd as the Patronus leapt high above the dance floor and landed at the center of the orchard. It stood still, majestic, before opening its mouth.
"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Then — screams. Chaos.
Panic ignited like wildfire.
Chairs were knocked over. Voices rose. Someone screamed.
Mia's heart seized. She gathered her skirts in one hand and turned, already scanning for the others. She'd packed their go-bags last night, sensing this might happen. Thank Merlin.
She spotted Remus near the edge of the tent, already heading her way, eyes sharp. They didn't need to speak. He gave her a quick nod and peeled off toward Harry, who had already broken cover and dropped the disguise.
Sirius met her halfway, breath ragged. "We have to go. Now."
"I've got everything. Come on!"
In the chaos, they barely paused — hands grabbed, arms tugged, one final scan for Ron, for Ginny. She trusted they'd get out. She had to.
Mia Apparated with Sirius just as the wards around the Burrow began to shudder.
They landed hard in the Lupin cottage, Remus and Harry arriving just a few moments later. The air inside was still. Safe. Protected by the Fidelius.
But the weight of what they'd just left behind pressed heavily on their chests.
Hours passed. No contact. No owls.
To avoid compromising the location, they didn't use traditional methods. Instead, Mia pulled out the old enchanted Dumbledore's Army coins she'd improved over the summer, now capable of sending short but meaningful messages.
She pressed her coin tightly, focused her magic, and sent a single note to Ron's.
Are you safe? Everyone okay? Contact when able. We're secure. – M
Time dragged. She couldn't eat. Could barely sit still.
It wasn't until after the sun had begun to set, painting the hills outside in deep orange and violet, that her coin warmed in her palm.
The message shimmered up:
All safe. Will talk later. Be careful. – R
She closed her eyes and let out a long, trembling breath.
They were alive. For now, they were safe.
But the golden day had ended.
And the war had truly begun.