Last Golden Day

A/N: Okay, if you aren't annoyed with me at the end of this you have either a high tolerance for pain, or you love me… kidding. (I made a funny, ha-ha!) This is in the second person narrative, another one-shot focusing on Harry's feelings but from the last lines of HBP.

It may be more fluff than angst, but for some reason, no matter how I write it, it's always turns like this.

Disclaimer: It's really cute that you think that I own this, but JK Rowling's lawyers do not agree with you.

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“…he felt his heart lift at the thought that there was still one last golden day of peace left to enjoy with Ron and Hermione.” Pg 652, Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, US Edition, JK Rowling

Last Golden Day

You have never been to a wedding before.

Standing before the mirror in the room you share with Ron and Charlie at the Burrow you finally notice this. The Muggles never took you for fear of embarrassment; your stay in the Wizarding world so far has been mostly unpleasant, invitations have been anything but forthcoming. So here you are now, resplendent in dark, mossy green dress robes, that perfectly match your eyes, preparing to attend one and with no clue as to what is to happen out there beyond the words “I do” and a kiss.

If you told Ron this, no matter how solid a friendship you have, you are sure he would laugh in disbelief. You might even be forced to hex him into silence.

But that's not right, he matured a bit last year, so maybe not, but you still won't tell him.

If you told Hermione though, you are guaranteed a different reaction.

When they stayed with you to your birthday at Privet Drive she had developed a near unhealthy dislike of your relatives.

Dudley failed to notice this.

It took all your strength to stop her from using magic against him. If she did it to McLaggen, he didn't stand a chance and you need her. So it would be quite possible now that she would get angry and sympathetic again and promise you that you would enjoy it.

You don't want her pity though, so you will not tell her either.

You walk away from the mirror a bit, fumbling with the buttons of your robes and peer out into the expansive backyard.

It is almost mid-morning out there, the sun having risen in the clear blue sky just over some hours before and casting its burnished gold light through a slight mist. It is a fine day for an outdoor wedding apparently, Fleur will love it.

The entire ceremony will take place with the guests seated semi-circular to a raised platform, like a Greek theatre stage, where the wedding party will stand with the Mage officiating. All round this though, are pillars draped in gold brocade and white tulle, which tie neatly into the centre above the “stage”. Small white flowers on stark branches line the aisles and the pillars, fairy lights that will glow most brightly at night circle round this and soon you will be one of the guests witnessing the bonding of two families.

The Weasleys and Delacours have gone all out for today, it builds your excitement more.

You step away from the window and re-focus on your robes. The buttons are refusing to cooperate; you refuse to believe that you are so excited at the prospect of a wedding that you can't function. You are a grown man, seventeen years alive, what will you do later on?

Thinking of that dampens your mood.

After this day you are not sure when next any of you will have a day like this. This may be your first and last wedding; you are not even likely to see your own.

No, not after that mad bastard is done with you.

You will not tell them this either. From him, it would most likely be irritating optimism, from her, these days such thoughts garner anger. She has seemingly settled herself into the belief that you stand a chance.

You will not take that away from her.

You cannot accept their confidence though. The true weight of the task at hand did not hit you until you lay down to sleep that first night at Privet Drive.

In that time before one drifts off to sleep our thoughts assault us where they could not in the day.

You were left nearly scared witless when you realised that apart from going to Godric's Hollow you had no real plan, save hoping the answers you need, whatever they may be, would be there. You have not visited Godric's Hollow yet, but you will soon, and the thought scares you.

This too then joins the long list of things you will not tell them.

You finally give up on the buttons.

Your fingertips are red from the strain to set them and you turn your attention to your hair instead. It probably won't do to have hair like that where everyone else is so well dressed and neat.

And suddenly the image of Ginny in her gold dress robes flash into your head and you involuntarily shudder. It will take all your strength to get through today you decide, the monster stirs irritably each time you intentionally avoid her.

You won't forget your Sixth Year anytime soon, and she is one of the reasons. She was your second girlfriend; you had a wonderful relationship full of many sunlit days. But just as you were beginning to enjoy being normal for once, reality set in and destroyed it.

You have decided now that you won't ever be normal, letting go of her was the right thing to do.

She could get hurt, or end up like Dumbledore and you won't be able to live with that. She'll move on with someone else, possibly Dean again, or Neville, or someone who'll be safe for her. Yeah, you'd like that.

The monster grumbles slightly but his power has long faded, like before, reality set in.

Your messy black hair refuses to surrender.

Today it is particularly mutinous to your ministrations and twice you've been subject to static shock. You get increasingly frustrated, feeling your unsettled breathing and the first beads of sweat and then finally dump the comb on the bed.

You will never have a normal life will you?

Back to the buttons you turn, but just as you pull away a finger and wonder if Fred and George have been messing with your clothes, a voice from the doorway says, “Oh for goodness sake, let me finish them!”

You turn to the speaker just as a woman of beauty so breathtaking that you are rendered speechless marches over to you and begin to easily finish them up to your neck.

You stand like a child while she rambles on about “boys… impossible… silly… just some buttons…” and wonder who she is. But her, “Finished, you look very neat Harry,” brings you to reality and you almost lose control of your jaw when you realise its Hermione.

Of all the words in English, Latin or any language, including gibberish, you could use to describe her at that moment, wow, still severely understates it.

As cool as a cucumber she is there in robes of ice blue that float over her much like her periwinkle ones at the Yule Ball did. Her hair has been Sleekeasy-ed and is half-pulled from her face with a few loose strands at the side and you can see hints of baby's breath (in the wedding preparations you got to know many types of flowers) between soft curls. She is also wearing some perfume, and, a dramatic first, slight make-up.

You must have been staring for she suddenly blushes and apologises, “Sorry, the others made me wear it,”

You have to wonder why on earth she would have to be sorry. The make-up is so slight you had barely noticed it in the first place.

You stammer over your reply, “Sorry? What are you sorry for?”

She instantly looks puzzled, furrowing her brow at the fact that you have come off sounding almost dazed. She turns to the door possibly wondering if one of Fleur's part-Veela relations has joined you.

If they had you strongly doubt you would have noticed.

Turning back to you now she asks, “Are you alright?” but before you get to answer Ginny appears in the doorway with a, “Hi Harry, Hermione.”

You find at once that you were right about needing your strength today, she is stunning.

In her gold robes, with some of those tiny flowers in her long red hair and surrounded by that flowery perfume, she stands in the doorway with an approving smile on her face. She is as pretty as you remember, her brown eyes twinkling slightly and you smile back.

She moves to come into the room where you now stand with Hermione, and for some reason you don't want her to. The monster is set to protest again but you turn your attention to Hermione who is asking her, “Is Mrs Weasley ready for us to come down?” and it is instantly silenced.

And you still can't find the word to best describe your best friend.

Ginny shakes her head, her hair dances a little, scattering tiny flecks of gold light in the red strands.

“Not yet, but you two should get down already, the guests are already going out there, I'm just trying to escape the wrath of Phlegm,” she replies with a mischievous smirk.

She would be hurt when you don't return it.

It seems all rather silly to be making fun of the woman who will be her sister-in-law in a few hours now, and especially since she is a member of the wedding party. You are even more pleased to find that Hermione is not smiling either.

Or maybe it was because Gabrielle Delacour, Fleur's eleven year old younger sister, had appeared in the doorway behind Ginny, also dressed in robes of gold.

The miniature version of Fleur, a very pretty little girl with striking cobalt blue eyes and light blonde hair, Gabrielle immediately comes in, making a point of bumping into Ginny as she passes, and says to you, “You will dance with me will you not `Arry?”

You struggle for an answer, you really do not want to, and she is not as shy with her crush as Ginny supposedly had been.

You look at Hermione for an answer and she is in turn staring at you expectantly, you almost catch a nod though and reply, “Well… yeah, sure.”

Gabrielle breaks into a wide grin and promptly hugs you round the chest.

It is as high as she can actually go.

Satisfied, she turns to Ginny with a slightly scathing look and says, “Your mother wants you,” and then departs.

Once she disappears from view and you can no longer hear her footsteps, Ginny breaks into nervous laughter. Still, neither you nor Hermione join in. She seems to take the hint.

“Well… I better go then… see you two later…” she says and slowly leaves.

When she is gone though, you turn to Hermione and say, “That was awkward.”

She can barely control herself, the corners of her mouth twitching, but she manages, “Very… but I think we should go down now don't you?”

You extend an arm to her and she smiles and pushes it away, “Don't be silly, now come on!” and grabs your wrist instead and drags you out the door.

You don't know how to tell her that you are very serious.

When you get downstairs, to the lower rooms of the Burrow now bathed in a soft gold light that filters through the windows and wide open front door, you remember something that made you hesitant to come in the first place.

There is Bill in his robes readying for marriage, and there is his still scarred face.

He could be dead now; this would have been his funeral and Fleur his weeping fiancée instead of blushing bride.

It reminds you that you only have today to enjoy and then tomorrow the world to save.

He turns at you and smiles, Ron grins like an idiot at his side, (the best man, no one trusts the twins) and Hermione drags you outside before you can say a word.

Without is much brighter and warmer than within, and it increases the effect of Hermione's appearance by giving her a faint glow while streaking her hair honey-brown.

It is beginning to scare you how her appearance seems to be drawing your attention.

You scold yourself for it and then for not noticing before. Someone this beautiful (again an understatement, the words of description fail you) should never, could never be ignored unless by someone completely daft. Then again, you and Ron have never been the beacons of clarity before…

Your excitement and mood take a further dip south when you spot the Ministry officials, and Percy, making their way to their seats.

You had forgotten that they had been invited; Percy no doubt forced to attend by his boss to try to “soften” you.

You want to throw them out but you can't. This isn't your house, this isn't your wedding, and you may never live to see yours in the first place.

Instead you glare slightly at them and the gaggle of reporters that came; smile at other guests, including Neville and Luna who are waving at you; and take Hermione's arm, this time without protest, and lead her up the aisle to the seats you were assigned just behind the Weasleys at the front.

At least Percy is not up here.

It is only when Neville and Luna come over to greet you after you sit that you realise you are still holding Hermione's hand.

You immediately release her but not without noticing how awkward it had just made you feel. But then, after a year of distance between you any contact you two might make feels awkward. Yes, that's what you tell yourself.

“Hiya Harry, Hermione… wow, you look great!” Neville exclaims and suddenly you wonder whatever happened to that shy boy looking for his toad and being harassed by Malfoy since First Year.

You suppress this thought and smile instead though; you have no rights to solely compliment Hermione today. In fact, you notice now, you haven't really complimented her yet at all.

Luna speaking brings you back to reality, and it is in her usual Luna-ish manner.

“Yes she does look lovely, Harry must think so too, you were really staring at her just now did you know?”

You feel your eyes widen in alarm.

Hermione and Neville immediately turn to you, Hermione noticeably arching an eyebrow.

You straighten your face and manage to reply, “Well… yeah, Hermione you look great, I think they're a lot of jealous wizards around,” and before you could stop yourself, “I don't want Ron to hurt me for not keeping them away.”

Hermione, who had been smirking all this while, changes to an unreadable expression and you pretend to glare at some random wizard nearby hoping to distract her.

You didn't fail to notice the blush on her cheeks when you mentioned her look though. It's hard not too, you felt a strange tingle in your chest and you warmed nearly all over.

Luna speaking, again distracts you, “There's no one there Harry.”

You wish she would go away, she's not helping you any.

Thankfully there is another distraction. Ron and the groomsmen are heading up the aisle with the groom.

In the light you find that Bill doesn't look that bad, and to Fleur he probably is the most handsome man in the world.

You wonder how she could think such a thing, how she could not see those scars without a grimace.

Ron walks on past you two before comically stopping and heading back to look you both over. He then flashes a grin and continues up with his brothers. You arch an eyebrow to Hermione who's staring ahead at him looking decidedly perplexed.

Her dress seems to be flowing over her like waters cascading a waterfall and a slight breeze gently toys with her hair.

He probably stopped for the same reason you lost all cognitive function upstairs, she is… once again capable of leaving you speechless.

When she turns, finally noticing that you're staring again, you look away.

You saw something different in her eyes while she looked at Ron, and you don't want to think about it. More than that, you don't want to know if she caught you staring, no reason you could give her would save you embarrassment.

But why embarrassment, you were simply admiring your best friend.

Oh you know why, you have never done this before. If she knew she would think you shallow and you can't bear that.

But why not, she would understand that you are a man, and no ordinary one would avoid staring at her now.

But she is not some eye-candy for you and everyone else, (you take care to look around at a few of them) she's your best friend and she's (you finally find the word) perfect.

Yes, yes she is.

Not perfect in that annoying, everybody-likes-me, I-can-do-no-wrong, kind of way, but perfect in the fact that she can have her flaws and you love them.

You pause now.

Calling her perfect you can understand, loving her as a friend you can understand, but the way the words sounded in your head you cannot. Did you just think that you loved her and in a more than platonic friend kind of way? You are very sure that you did.

What is wrong with you? What exactly happened between the time you first began dressing and now? You've lost your mind; Voldemort must have gotten in and is messing with you.

He must be enjoying this, the sick bastard.

But your scar is not hurting. It has not hurt since the end of your Fifth Year.

Then that could only mean one other thing. One other frightening thing… you are in love with her.

You sit there floored, not quite believing what you've just realised.

So this is what it must be for Fleur, though you are not sure about it really. But then, aren't you currently finding fault with every soul who dared claim Hermione “plain”? She is not, she never was, and the situations are different, but the meaning is the same. Love is blind, and you never want to see again.

It's impossible. You're too young, you're both too young. You just had your first successful relationship with that lovely red-head in the house. You barely have had enough experience in love to fully comprehend what it really is. How could you truly be in love, especially when you're just seventeen?

The sound of music distracts your internal monologue. The ceremony is about to begin.

Hermione takes your hand and beckons you to rise. You wonder if she notices how suddenly your hand feels clammy in hers. You wonder if she realises that your heart rate has quickened and you're sure that you're beginning to sweat and that it has nothing to do with the heat.

You wonder if she would even care.

She is not looking at you though; she is looking at Ginny and Gabrielle, bedecked in their flowing, empire waist gilt dress robes, now leading the way down the aisle. They are marching up past you to the altar smiling proudly and Ginny takes care to wink your way.

Poor thing, she must think your blanched appearance is for her.

If only they all knew that the spotlight has been stolen from them. Stolen, by the plainly perfect bushy haired, brown eyed beauty standing at your side, and never are they to take it back. Not even the golden haired, dark blue eyed bride who follows them up to the altar can distract you now. You literally have to be pulled into your seat moments later for the fact that you have forgotten the world around you.

Hermione does it with a smirk. You wish to kiss it right off her face.

Now this is getting scary.

For the rest of the ceremony, (or whatever it was, you weren't quite paying attention, so in retrospect, you still have yet to attend a wedding) you mull this over while casting surreptitious glances Hermione's way.

You must be shallow for only noticing her now. You must be callous to suddenly be thoroughly possessive of her as if she is yours when you know she's Ron's. (Well, that's at least what you think anyway.) You must be the worst person in the world for the fact that you still don't care. Ah yes, you are quite a wonder Harry James Potter.

Suddenly it is over, thankfully incident-free, and all have risen. (That was it? Where was the ceremony? The big event you got stuck repeatedly in the fingers decorating for? The celebration of the “symbolic union of two souls as one” you learned the names of countless useless flowers for? They should seriously rethink this idea.) William and Fleur Delacour-Weasley now walk silently past you both down the aisle to their new lives.

You take the opportunity to slip your hand into Hermione's and she smiles, ever so sweetly at you.

At that moment, all coherence once again flies out the window. If Voldemort stormed in now, complete with marching band and ticker-tape parade, you would not be the wiser.

You are actually led away by Hermione again, face crinkled and muttering silently, gilded hair now dancing as she walks, possibly thinking that you're under a veela charm. If only she knew.

She mutters to herself all through the congratulating of the newlywed couple. She glares at your dazed expression when Fleur, and her many female relatives including Gabrielle, (unfortunately) chooses to kiss your cheeks. She shakes her head and sighs when you near stumble into an errant chair as she leads you over to where Ron and the others are gathered talking.

All the while you want to laugh.

You miss the amused, mildly perplexed look on Ron's face, the strange knowing smiles on Luna and Neville's, the confused expression of Ginny's, the indifferent one of Gabrielle's.

You do not care to see them anyway.

As a matter of fact, you are only mildly aware of the alarm bells sounding off in your head over this little epiphany. The plan for today was to enjoy yourself, not fall off of that precarious cliff you've been standing on since around Third Year with no safety net and no one else with you. The plan today was to give the Weasleys some happiness before you, and unwillingly at that, took away their son to join you on a very dangerous expedition you don't want Hermione anywhere near now.

No part of it involved falling in love with your best friend. No part involved hoping that she someday would plunge off of that cliff behind you.

And again, you don't care.

You're too busy thanking every deity known to man for Quirrell-mort and that stupid troll.

Fin.

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