Ron's words proved to be prophetic. A muted "bang" sounded, and all heads turned to see Arthur Weasley with his wand upraised. He waved his wand once, and the crowd parted like the Red Sea under the command of Moses' staff. The resulting corridor found Harry and Hermione standing at one end, Arthur and Molly at the other, the latter of whom stood before a long, white-draped table. The table was empty, but it did not remain so for long. Molly clapped her hands twice. A soft popping sound followed, and immediately the crowd gasped.
The wedding cake that had appeared on the table was beyond magnificent. It stood fully seven layers high, its snow-white frosting trimmed with green. And there was something curious about it that the newlyweds could not quite define. As they approached the table, beckoned forward by Arthur and Molly, the details of the splendid cake sharpened, and Hermione let out a tiny squeal and gripped Harry's hand convulsively.
The cake was covered with tiny figures of people, and, just as with wizard paintings and photos, those figures were moving. As if unwilling to believe their eyes, Harry and Hermione stared in mute wonder as they watched their seven years at Hogwarts being played out on the frosted surface of the cake.
Harry saw himself catching the Golden Snitch, his fist held high as he soared on his broomstick. In another place he was dashing past a raging Hungarian Horntail, a golden egg tucked under his arm.
Hermione found her own triumphs, if less spectacular than Harry's, no less thrilling to relive. In one place she was holding the congratulatory scroll she'd received upon shattering the school record for O.W.L.'s at the end of Fifth Year. Elsewhere she was delivering her valedictory speech, holding the bronze plaque celebrating yet another record for N.E.W.T.'s.
They appeared together as well. One scene illustrated their adventure in the corridors deep under Hogwarts in their quest to safeguard the Sorcerer's Stone. Another scene showed them flying Buckbeak up to the North Tower to rescue Sirius from Flitwick's office. And on the topmost layer (which station was a proclamation of triumph) they stood shoulder-to-shoulder, wands out, facing the unmistakable figure of Lord Voldemort.
So it went, from first layer to last. Seven years of adventures, triumphs -- and heartaches. Memories of the Triwizard Tournament were austere, relived with reverence for Barty Crouch and Cedric Diggory, who fought the Good Fight without living to see its ultimate success.
As if sharing a single thought, the newlyweds exchanged a look of regret that this panorama of remembrance should be defiled for something so prosaic as hunger. (And given that both of them had just endured a three-day fast, that was not a sentiment to be entertained lightly.) But a moment later, a familiar click-whirr, click-whirr lifted that weight from their minds with the sureness of a Levitating Charm. They looked around to see Parvati smiling at them over the eyepiece of her camera, in which was now impressed for all time the image of the Hogwarts elves' seven-layer masterpiece. Exchanging a smile, Harry and Hermione gave each other's hand a squeeze as they turned toward Arthur and Molly.
"I trust you have a knife, Molly?" Harry said.
"Actually, no," Molly said somewhat airily. "But I know someone who does."
Molly clapped her hands again. With a sound like a whipcrack, tiny figures had appeared on the table on either side of the cake. They were nearly identical from first to last, sporting long, bat-like ears and eyes the size of tennis balls. Their attire was likewise identical, consisting of a crisp, white tea towel, worn toga-fashion and emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest.
One alone differed from his fellows in this respect, and it was upon this individual that the newlyweds bestowed a warm smile.
Dobby was resplendent in raiment outrageous even for him. He wore his omnipresent mismatched socks, one a bright canary yellow, the other a shocking violet that pained any eyes unwise enough to dwell overlong theron. A bright orange tea cozy topped his head, clashing blindingly with a baggy crimson sweater on which a Gryffindor lion was woven in gold thread.
"Mr. 'Arry Potter, sir!" Dobby said, bowing so deeply that his long nose nearly touched the table between his stockinged feet. "Please allow us to serve you and your lovely wife, sir!"
In the wink of an eye, Dobby produced a large, wedge-shaped knife from thin air and sprang eagerly at the cake (which was nearly as tall as he). Only a quick, sharp rebuke from Molly stayed the knife-edge less than an inch from its target.
"Now, Dobby," Molly told the house-elf in a quiet yet forceful voice, "it's tradition that the bride and groom be first to cut the cake. Once they have done so, then you may serve the other guests."
Dobby's disappointment was manifest, but he brightened quickly and bowed toward Harry and Hermione, extending the knife, handle first.
Harry grasped the long handle near the blade, leaving room for Hermione to grip the end. Together they carved a slice of cake and fed each other enthusiastically, to the accompaniment of cheers and laughter, augmented by the chatter of Parvati's camera and the scratch and swish of Dean's chalks and Lavender's quill. The young couple then proceeded to kiss and lick cake crumbs and dabs of icing from each other's faces. Molly Weasley gasped, her plump face taking on the aspect of a tomato. The younger guests giggled and hooted, shouting encouragement, while the adults coughed uneasily and accepted small servings of cake from the solicitous house-elves. For his part, Ron inhaled his cake with alacrity, knowing it was but the prelude to the proper feast to come.
The plates, once empty, were not collected by the house-elves. Instead, Arthur Weasley waved his wand with a great flourish. The plates abruptly transfigured into small, empty goblets of polished crystal.
"And that's how it's done, Finnigan," Professor McGonagall stated with a sidewise glance even as she saluted Arthur with her upraised goblet. Dean chuckled, clapping his best friend on the back merrily.
Silence fell. The guests raised their goblets, and one-by-one each cup magically filled with that person's drink of choice. This accomplished, Dumbledore stepped forward, a warm smile on his bearded lips and his blue eyes glowing. He raised his goblet toward the newlyweds, the others following suit.
"To Harry and Hermione," he said in a voice like water flowing through a quiet meadow. "May their happiness know no end."
Bowing to their Speaker, Harry and Hermione linked arms and drained their goblets. The guests did likewise, whereupon everyone lifted their empty glasses high in one great, sweeping motion. Immediately the goblets flew from their hands, soared into the sky -- and turned into a cloud of snow-white doves which scattered to every corner of the azure sky and were gone.
There followed a series of muted explosions as Fred and George ignited an assortment of Filibuster Fireworks, filling the sky with a riot of color -- and their mother with ire.
"Those boys!" she hissed at Arthur, whose attention was arrested by the fireworks display along with everyone else. "What will the Muggles think?"
"Not to worry, Molly," Arthur said reassuringly. "We'll modify a few memories, if need be. This is a special day. Do you remember our wedding day? I know I'll never forget."
Arthur's arm drew Molly close, and a quick glance showed that she was smiling wanly in spite of her irritation.
"Right, then," Arthur said as the sky cleared of smoke and the sun shone unimpeded upon the host of smiling faces. "Dobby, would you do the honors?"
Bowing low, Dobby turned and gestured at the table. The lopsided remains of the cake vanished ( eliciting a mournful groan from Ron). But Ron and everyone else immediately cheered and applauded as the table was suddenly filled to overflowing with platters and dishes of the grandest foodstuffs any had seen since the Leaving Feast at Hogwarts. His eyes glowing like sapphires, Ron pushed back the sleeves of his dress robes and gestured enthusiastically at the air, whereupon a knife and fork appeared in his hands.
"That one he learned," Professor McGonagall said bitingly, but her smile belied the sharpness of her comment.
It was a mobile feast, with small groups milling about in conversation as house-elves darted hither and yon to heap every empty plate higher than before and fill every goblet to overflowing. The plates and goblets had all been enchanted to hover in mid-air before the feasters, freeing both hands for their necessary tasks, and bewitched napkins flitted about like hummingbirds to catch dropped bits of food and dab at a mouth or chin where needed.
When at last of the guests had eaten their fill (even Hagrid, whose appetite had sorely tested the mettle of six eager-to-please house-elves), Hermione insisted that she and Harry go to the table and express their thanks for the elves' hard work. Dobby had acted as a sort of headwaiter throughout, directing the other elves with the precision of a British Army sergeant from his post atop the table. He was standing now amidst heaps of empty plates, surveying the table (and its marked absence of food) with nods of satisfaction. When he saw Harry and Hermione approaching, he greeted them with a broad smile and a tip of his tea cozy.
"You all did a marvelous job, Dobby," Hermione said as Dobby's face glowed with unrestrained delight. "A feast like this would cost a fortune at the best restaurant in Hogsmeade. I hope Professor Dumbledore is paying you what you're worth."
The light in Dobby's eyes dimmed only a trifle, but, as if in compensation, his smile broadened until it was nearly touching his long, pointed ears.
"I is a free elf, Missy Hermione," Dobby announced proudly. "I is choosing where I works, and how much I is getting paid.
"And today I is wanting no paying, Missy. We is all loving Mr. 'Arry Potter, and we is all wanting to do this for him. This is our -- our wedding present."
Dobby's large eyes grew softer now, almost misty.
"We is all wanting Mr. 'Arry Potter to be happy. We is all seeing how much you loves each other, and we is all loving you very much, Missy Hermione, for marrying Mr. 'Arry Potter and for making him so happy."
Hermione's cheeks were now the color of rose petals, and Harry chuckled as he gave her a hug, which she returned.
"You'll be staying on?" Harry asked Dobby as his hand gently caressed his bride's softly curving hip. "The party's just getting started, and I want all my friends to share this day with us."
Dobby's oversized eyes began to brim with tears.
"I -- I is Mr. 'Arry Potter's friend...?"
"Of course," Harry said warmly. "I want you to stay and have a good time. Didn't you tell us that Professor Dumbledore gives you a day off now and then? So take today off and enjoy yourself!"
Dobby's face twitched, as if a great conflict were going on just beneath the surface of his now quivering smile.
"Dobby," Hermione said suddenly, "Fred and George are preparing more fireworks for later, but I think it's proving to be a bit more work than they anticipated, truth to tell. What they need is someone to help them a bit…" She raised her eyebrows meaningfully, and Dobby's face became positively incandescent.
"I is knowing much about such things, Missy Hermione! I is got good magic! I is thanking you very much, Missy!"
Dobby leaped down from the table and darted through the scattered clusters of witches and wizards toward a cloud of black smoke which unmistakably marked the location of Fred and George. Hermione turned to Harry with a satisfied look on her face.
"Okay," Harry said teasingly, "who are you and what have you done with my wife?"
"Pardon?" Hermione smirked musically.
"The Hermione I know and love would have got up on her soapbox and delivered a ten-point speech on elf rights, quoting chapter and verse from the SPEW manifesto."
"I was a bit naive then, wasn't I?" Hermione smiled placatingly. "Don't worry, love. Voldemort may be gone, but there's still a Good Fight to be fought. And won. But I've come to the conclusion that this is a battle best won by working through the system rather than against it."
She paused meaningfully, and it was several seconds before the light came on in Harry's brain.
"The Ministry?" he said, his eyes widening with excitement until he began to resemble a tall, bespectacled house-elf. "You mean they -- "
"Their owl arrived two days ago," she said with barely suppressed excitement. "Naturally I couldn't tell you, we were miles apart and bound to silence.
"I'm just an intern, of course," she added. Then a firm smile engraved itself on the soft oval of her face. "But I'm going to climb that ladder rung by rung...and I'm not stopping until I reach the TOP."
"Hermione Potter, Minister of Magic," Harry laughed, hugging his wife playfully.
But Hermione was not laughing. Her smile merely set itself a bit deeper as she took her husband's hand and led them
back into the midst of the celebration.