Unofficial Portkey Archive

I am not J. K. Rowling, nor am I associated with Scholastic or anybody else who makes money off of the Harry Potter franchise. I'm just playing with the characters because I can.

Chapter 7: Footing the Bill, Part 1

"Are you nervous?" Hermione asked him with a coy expression on her face. She was leaning over him, her weight resting completely on her knees and one elbow as she traced her right index finger along his chest.

"Shouldn't I be?" Harry replied worriedly. He was lying flat on his back on the bed in Sirius' old room at Grimmauld Place, his head resting uneasily on the pillow below it. "After all, we don't know what we'll find."

"Oh, I do," Hermione assured him with a sly smile. "I've known all along."

"And you haven't told me," Harry stated, his eyes questioning her while his lips pouted.

"It's fun to keep secrets," Hermione told him in a playful whisper. "But I can tell you that it's either a hippogriff or a dragon…or a snake." She descended into a fit of giggles that made Harry frown in displeasure. "Of course, the dragon and the snake pretend that they don't like each other, but they have more in common than they know. Too many scales and not enough room to lay their eggs."

"You're not making sense," Harry told her, although he laughed along with her as he spoke. "Maybe we should wait before we rip them all off. After all, they might be holding something in."

"Honestly, Harry," Hermione said chidingly as she ran her hands along the inside of his thighs. "They have to come off eventually. Did you think you could hide your pain behind them forever?" Her fingers began to slowly unravel the bandages around his legs as Harry felt a strange tingling sensation spread throughout his lower body. "Just close your eyes and think of England."

Harry cried out as Hermione tore the last of the cloth strips from his flesh. "Oh dear," she said with a small gasp, "there's more scarring than I would have thought." Harry looked down to see that rows of lightning bolt-shaped scars had formed up and down his legs. "This would never have happened if you hadn't been in denial for so long. We could have taken the bandages off years ago if you hadn't eaten so much chocolate." She regarded him sternly as she began unwrapping the bandages around his chest. "Chocolate changes are bad for you, Harry. You should know that by now. Soon enough, the bolt of fire burns up all of the frog cards." Hermione looked thoughtful as she straddled him fully. "I suppose the only thing left to do is kiss you so that you can wake up. You deserve that much, at least. Now hold still…"

*

The next thing Harry heard was the shrill sound of an alarm clock buzzing next to his ear, making him stir reluctantly. Hermione slept next to him, her periwinkle pajamas slightly rumpled from another night spent restlessly tossing and turning. She hadn't been sleeping well at all for nearly a week, but she wouldn't tell Harry if anything was troubling her. Which, of course, only worried him more.

Their new sleeping arrangements had become fairly commonplace by now. Harry would wake up from a particularly strange dream only to find Hermione lying next to him, having fallen asleep beside him after one of their late night occlumency lessons. At first, she had been shyly apologetic about spending the night in his bed, but after he made it clear to her that he really didn't mind (and that he wasn't just being polite about it to spare her feelings) Hermione had simply smiled and let the matter drop. In fact, she had moved most of her things into Sirius' old bedroom a few nights ago, claiming that it was silly to keep them in her room when she never stayed there anymore.

Harry watched Hermione as she slept peacefully beside him, a content smile forming on his face. As the alarm had not woken her, he decided not to do so, either. They had a long day ahead of them, although it promised to be a pleasant one. Harry had never been to a wedding before, yet he couldn't help but feel expectantly happy. Bill and Fleur had found love in a time of great sorrow and overcome personal tragedy to be with each other. And if anyone deserved a break from the doom and gloom of the war, it was the Weasleys.

Harry grinned at the thought of seeing the Weasleys together again at a family gathering, but the smile vanished from his face only a moment later. In fact, he would not be seeing all of the Weasleys. Ron was still in a coma, in defiance of every healer at St. Mungo's who had assured the family that he could wake up at any moment and that there was no medical explanation for his lack of response to their treatments. Molly Weasley hadn't said so in her letters, but Harry was sure that Ron's condition was at least part of the reason that the date of the wedding had been pushed back. What should have been an entirely happy affair would now have a shadow cast over it and Harry couldn't help but feel responsible. After all, if it weren't for him, Ron would be there to see his eldest brother and his former part-veela crush tie the knot.

Of course, Ginny would be there as well. A few weeks ago the very idea of seeing her would have thrilled him, as he would have a built-in excuse to spend time with her without drawing anyone's suspicion that they were more than just friends. However, his feelings for Ginny had cooled rapidly over their time apart. At the end of last year, he had thought she understood him, and that she knew what she was getting into by agreeing to have a relationship with him. Now he wasn't so sure. The fight they'd had about Hermione at St. Mungo's a few weeks back certainly hadn't helped their fledgling romance any. Harry grimaced at the thought of how awkward it would be to see her again in the aftermath of their first fight.

Deciding not to dwell too much on thoughts of Ginny Weasley, Harry rose from the bed, stretched and went through his usual morning routine. He showered, threw on a pair of slacks and a t-shirt (he would change into dress robes before the wedding, naturally) and made himself a breakfast of scrambled eggs and bangers before Kreacher could serve his master the house elf's usual morning offering of porridge with walnuts. He took the time to make a plate for Hermione, quickly performed a warming charm on it and then made his way to the master's study.

The room was now hardly recognizable as the same one he had found on the night he destroyed Slytherin's locket. The Black family portraits were gone, Regulus' notes were stored away and the bookshelves were neat and tidy, courtesy of a serious cleanup effort undertaken by Hermione. A huge map of England dominated the wall above the desk and a small bright green dot just north of Plymouth indicated where Moorefield was now.

Hermione had outdone herself placing every kind of tracking, tracing and homing charm she knew on the drunken Death Eater after they had found him at the Od's Blood Inn and Tavern a few weeks ago. They could now follow his every move as he meandered across England, but they had little chance of getting their hands on Ravenclaw's quill, as it remained imprisoned in one of Fred and George's Reach For Something Strongboxes. The dark wizard would have to voluntarily remove the quill from the box before they could take it from him.

With that avenue of the horcrux hunt more or less closed to them, Harry and Hermione had been concentrating on Hufflepuff's cup, the other item from Hepzibah Smith's collection besides Slytherin's locket that Voldemort had shown an interest in as a youth. Their attempts to find what Harry strongly believed to be a horcrux had been hampered by their need to monitor Moorefield, so that one of them had to stay at Grimmauld at all times. (They had even contemplated sleeping in shifts so that they could watch the map constantly for movement, but found that the Death Eater was a meticulous creature of habit, sleeping in most mornings and then staying rooted in one place at night.) Despite this handicap, Harry and Hermione had compiled a list of likely wizards and witches who might have wanted to acquire part of the old Hepzibah Smith collection, as well as a handful of places where Voldemort might have thought to hide the cup.

Satisfied that Moorefield was unlikely to suddenly apparate to Scotland, Harry tore his eyes from Hermione's improvised map and glanced over at the clock. The wedding would start in a little over two hours. 'Plenty of time to get ready,' Harry thought to himself. Harry and Hermione had promised each other that they would take the day to relax, have fun, and do their best to forget the stress of searching for the horcruxes, at least for a little while. Still, he thought, maybe he should wake Hermione. Harry seemed to recall that girls liked to have a little extra time to get ready for big events like weddings, and while Hermione wasn't like other girls in many respects, he doubted she would mind if he got her up a little early.

*

"Two hours?!?" Hermione exclaimed as she literally leapt out of bed, her voice panicky. "The wedding is in two hours?! Do you know how long it's going to take me to get ready?"

Harry chewed his lip in thought. "More than two hours?" he guessed confusedly.

Luckily, Hermione was ignoring him at the moment, as she opened several dresser drawers and pulled various items of clothing out of them, seemingly at random. "I have to take a shower, style my hair, squeeze into my dress, fix my hair again, then I've got to do my make-up… Harry, what were you thinking, letting me sleep through the alarm? I was the one who set it!"

Harry shrugged. "I noticed you hadn't been getting much sleep lately and…well…you looked so peaceful. I figured you were due for a lie in."

Hermione looked up at him and her expression softened quickly. "That was very sweet of you, Harry." She then let out a deep growl of frustration. "How am I supposed to get ready for a wedding in two hours?!"

Harry still didn't see why two hours wouldn't be enough time to get ready for anything other than deep sea diving or fighting Lord Voldemort, but he smartly kept that to himself. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

"You wouldn't happen to have a ten gallon drum of Sleekeasy's handy, would you?" Hermione asked jokingly. When Harry only frowned in response, she shook her head. "Never mind. Why don't you change into your dress robes and apparate over to the wedding early? That way you can tell Mrs. Weasley that I'm going to be late." She turned to leave the room, then stopped. "Better yet, just tell her that I might be late." Hermione then pivoted to face Harry. "Actually, say that I probably won't be late, but if I am it's only because…"

"…I'm a thoughtless git who let a girl get her beauty rest?" Harry finished for her with an apologetic half-smile.

Hermione blushed prettily. "Well, I wasn't going to put it that way, but that was the gist of the message, yes. After all, you did only give me two hours…"

Harry glanced at the alarm clock with a chagrined look on his face. "Actually, it's more like an hour and a half now."

Hermione gave him an anguished glare. "An hour and a half?!?" She promptly stormed off in the direction of the loo, muttering under her breath about clueless boys and lost time turners.

*

Harry had never apparated to the Burrow before, nor had he given any thought to that fact before he gave it a go. This might have explained why, after concentrating on his destination with the appropriate amount of determination and deliberation, he landed on the opposite side of Ottery St. Catchpole from the home of the Weasleys. On top of a tree branch. Head first. Discovering to his dismay that the branch was not sturdy enough to hold him, he plummeted to the ground roughly, his shoulder bearing the brunt of his weight as it struck a rather large rock which, in Harry's opinion, had no business lying there where anyone could fall on it. Also, his socks were missing, but the sharp aching in his back and his pounding head made that seem trivial by comparison.

Lying on the ground in pain, Harry groaned loudly as he struggled to get up. He did a quick search of his surroundings, making sure he still had his glasses and his wand. Once he found them both intact and in their proper place, he breathed a sigh of relief. His relief was short-lived, however. 'Wait a mo. Didn't I bring a wedding gift?'

A moment later, a slender, carefully wrapped box fell from the tree and hit Harry squarely in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. It was quite heavy, as the package contained an antique silver sword he'd inherited from his godfather. The blade had been presented to one of Sirius' wealthier ancestors by the headmaster of Beauxbatons, as a thank you for a large donation to the wizarding school. The sword sang the school song when you drew it from its sheath and bore the academy's crest on its hilt. He had thought it a perfect present at the time, but faced with the knowledge that he would now have to carry it across Ottery St. Catchpole, Harry deeply regretted not going with his first choice of a gift certificate to Quality Quidditch Supplies. 'Or perhaps a feather of some kind,' Harry mused groggily.

Without warning, a head full of dirty blonde hair popped into view. Luna Lovegood stood above him, her gray eyes looking him over as though he were a strange assortment of nargles. "You're not wearing any socks," she declared, as if the entire idea scandalized her.

Harry smiled weakly. "You've got me there." He extended his hand to her. "Would you mind helping me up?"

Luna gave him her hand happily and soon they were standing side by side in the middle of a wooded path, a canopy of leaves providing them with ample shade from the August heat. "Not wearing socks to a wedding makes a very bold statement about your intentions to the ladies present, you know. People might get the wrong idea about you."

Harry gave her a skeptical look as he cast a quick cleaning charm on his dress robes. Luckily for him, grass stains probably wouldn't show up well on his green robes. "That wouldn't surprise me. I don't know very many people who have the right idea about me."

"Well, you shouldn't, as there are only three of them," Luna confirmed as she began to lead them down the path. Before Harry could ask her who they were (or ask himself why he was curious about her answer), she continued. "I would offer you my socks, of course, but you'd look quite silly in them." She lifted her pleated fiery red skirt a bit to reveal a matching set of white socks, one of which had a dark-haired groom pictured on the ankle, while the other featured a brown-haired bride. They seemed very enamored with each other, smiling widely and blowing each other kisses from time to time. When Luna brought her ankles together, the bride and groom began to snog enthusiastically. Harry got the feeling that if Luna kept her ankles together long enough, they would do more than snog. "They're clearly girls' socks, you see."

"Clearly," Harry agreed with a nod.

"I'm thinking of wearing them on my wedding day," Luna added dreamily. "Of course, I'm not sure I'll want to get married at the Burrow. It's so terribly hot in the summer and a Peruvian zorphul's lair is much more romantic, anyway. So have you found any more horcruxes?" she asked conversationally.

Harry started in horror. "Not so loud," he cautioned in a whisper. Luna did not look apologetic in the slightest as Harry answered her. "No, we haven't found any more horcruxes, but it's not for lack of trying. A Death Eater took Ravenclaw's quill and...well, I really shouldn't say any more about it. You're in enough danger as it is." Harry turned his head sideways to give Luna a cautioning look. "You haven't told anyone else about the…" he lowered his voice, "…horcruxes, have you?"

Luna shook her head no. "I considered telling Daddy, but I didn't think he would believe me. The subject comes up sometimes when I speak with Ronald, of course, but he already knows about them."

"Do you talk to Ron often?" Harry asked, secretly pleased that Luna was keeping Ron company, even if it was only while he was comatose.

"Every time I go with my father for one of his therapy sessions, I stop by and see him," Luna answered brightly. "He doesn't talk back, of course, but I think he hears me. His cheeks turn a bit pink when I tell him how handsome he is." Luna's lips quirked upward. "I sometimes see Ginny there, too. She's very worried about you."

Harry worked hard to keep his face impassive. "Is she?"

Luna nodded. "Everyone is, really. But if you want to know what I think, Ginny's more worried about what you're doing alone with Hermione Granger than anything He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is plotting." Harry blushed deeply and looked away from Luna. "You know, that's very close to the shade Ronald turns. It always reminds me of the plumage on the crimson crested crinklesnik."

"There's nothing going on between me and Hermione," Harry assured Luna, his voice even.

"I'm not the one you need to convince of that," Luna declared airily. The two of them were now within sight of the Burrow and Harry took the time to admire the decorations of blue and silver tinsel, the heart-shaped streamers (which at regular intervals let out a sigh and exploded) and small dancing cupids the size of garden gnomes that reminded him of the valentine he'd received from Ginny in second year. "Mrs. Weasley worked like a ground wren at getting this place ready for today. She really did an amazing job with the décor. Although the refreshments were a disaster, until she fired some of the help. Someone kept putting carpe diem potion in the punch."

"Carpe diem potion?" Harry asked, confusion evident on his face.

Luna didn't seem to pick up on his incomprehension. "Yes, isn't it strange? As if a Gryffindor would need liquid courage at his wedding. The only other things it's good for are treating multiple personality disorder and healing wounds inflicted by a toad-toed findlewatt. Bill doesn't strike me as the sort of wizard who would go hunting for findlewatts, though."

As they approached the Burrow, Harry turned to face Luna. "We probably shouldn't be seen coming in together," he told her, thoughts of the attack on the Quibbler not far from his mind.

"Naturally," Luna agreed with a genuinely happy smile. "You are Hermione's date, after all. Although I imagine you'll want to rush off and see Ginny." Harry's face fell. "Or perhaps not." The blonde Ravenclaw looked thoughtful. "Would you like me to keep her occupied for a while? I can be very distracting when I want to be."

"You would do that for me?" Harry asked, a bit surprised by Luna's willingness to help him avoid his ex-girlfriend.

"Of course, Harry," Luna replied, her entire demeanor warm and supportive as she looked at him carefully. "You're my friend." Harry's face turned beet red. "If you keep doing that, you're going to attract a female crimson crested crinklesnik. It's mating season for them, you know," Luna warned. "If I can find you, I'll see you at the reception."

"I'll be the one without any socks on," Harry said with a smile. As she ran off to search for Ginny, Harry entered the Burrow to look for Mrs. Weasley, wondering all the while how Luna knew that Hermione was his date.

*

"Ce n'est pas important," an angry voice that sounded like Fleur's carried throughout the house. "Ton chapeau est ridicule. Je ne serai pas porter ton quelque chose monstrueux."

"Quelque chose monstrueux?" an older French woman's voice screeched back. "La chapeau de ma grand-mere?!?"

Trying his best to ignore the argument between Fleur Delacour and her mother, Harry crept through the Burrow silently while keeping an eye out for Mrs. Weasley. Although the Weasley household was usually kept very clean, he had never seen it as spotless as it was today. The floors seemed to sparkle and shine, the furniture was all perfectly placed and the walls and banisters appeared neatly polished. Although Harry was certain that it had taken a great deal of effort, he wasn't sure that he liked the Burrow as much when it was gussied up this way. It had lost some of the lived-in feeling that always made it seem like home. Of course, the sound of French women screaming at each other in the next room didn't help, either.

While he was admiring the gleam of the wooden furniture around the kitchen table (and wondering if he could ever get his Firebolt to look that shiny, even with the best broom servicing kit on the market), he literally ran into someone. A tall, red-haired someone. "Percy?" Harry asked with a note of surprise in his voice.

Percy Weasley stood anxiously before him in simple gray dress robes, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else. "Harry," he acknowledged with a curt nod.

The Delacours had stopped shouting, which made the silence that filled the room even more awkward and uncomfortable. The two of them really had nothing to say each other, or at least nothing that could be said in polite company. "I…I didn't expect to see you here," Harry remarked, deciding to be honest.

"My duties are what they are," Percy replied stiffly. "I have an obligation to attend my brother's wedding. It would seem improper if I didn't." The prodigal Weasley sniffed. "I must say I'm surprised that you're here as well. Nobody's seen you for weeks and you never returned your wedding invitation."

Harry didn't much care for Percy's tone. "I've been busy. As for the invitation, I'm here as Hermione Granger's date." Hermione had sent her invitation back over a week ago, having checked the "plus one" section of the card to indicate that she would be bringing someone to the wedding. "Have you seen your mother?"

"Of course I've seen my mother," Percy snapped back. "What kind of terrible son do you think I am? Are you suggesting that I would come back here after all this time and then just ignore my parents?"

Perhaps Harry had touched a raw nerve. In any case, he was nonplussed. "So where is she?"

Percy looked somewhat repentant. "Oh." His voice suddenly became very small. "Upstairs, the last time I saw her. Third door on your right."

"Thanks," Harry replied in a polite, clipped voice. Deciding not to waste any more time talking to Percy, Harry dashed up the stairs, quickly catching the sound of Mrs. Weasley's stern voice.

"No, no, no," she scolded wearily as Harry caught the familiar scent of lilacs. "This arrangement isn't going to match the flowers in the garland or the trellis. We're either going to have to try and transfigure them or bring in new bouquets." Charlie Weasley and two harried assistants stood around her with humoring expressions on their faces. "Harry," Molly gushed suddenly upon seeing him. "So good to see you. How are you getting along?"

"Quite well," Harry answered meekly, not wanting to burden her with his troubles. "I just wanted to tell you that Hermione might be a bit late and…"

"Oh, that's fine, just fine," Mrs. Weasley responded dismissively, only half-listening to what he was saying. "Would you mind doing me a favor? Be a dear and take these wreaths down to the gentleman in charge of the floral arrangements. You can't miss him, he's tall, blonde…"

"And flamboyantly gay," Charlie added under his breath. The two assistants snickered a bit, but said nothing.

"Charles Orpheus Weasley!" Molly Weasley exclaimed. "You know nothing of the sort about that kind-hearted man."

Charlie spread his arms with his palms up in a gesture of exasperation. "He's complimented me on my dragon-skin boots five times, mum. Five! If I got that kind of attention from a girl… well, let's just say I wouldn't have to worry about where I was spending the night tonight." Molly looked ready to scold him again, until he cut her off. "And the only reason you're sticking up for him is because he keeps feeding you that rubbish about your being prettier than the bride. Which is still more proof that he's a poofter, if you ask me."

"Well, no one did," Mrs. Weasley replied snappishly, clearly embarrassed by Charlie's accusation.

"I'll just, uh, take these downstairs then," Harry said as he grabbed the wreaths and beat a hasty path to the stairwell.

"Be careful with those, Harry dear," Molly Weasley called after him. "And whatever you do, don't use magic to levitate them. They're very delicate!"

Harry made his way down the staircase as fast as he could while carrying four oversized wreaths in his arms. He couldn't help but wonder if Hermione had made it here alright or if perhaps she had ended up slightly off course as he had. Nor could he help wondering if Hermione's dress would make her look as beautiful as she had been at the Yule Ball. 'Nonsense,' Harry thought to himself. 'She's almost three years older now. She'll probably look drop-dead gorgeous.'

Wait. What was he thinking? Hermione? Gorgeous? Surely not. She was merely his best friend. Ron's girlfriend. Ginny's best friend (er, maybe?). He couldn't afford to think of her that way. It must have been all those weeks of being cooped up with her, occasionally noticing how pretty she looked when she was sleeping, or how cute it was when she concentrated on a particularly interesting passage in a book…

Thankfully, his thoughts were interrupted by Bill Weasley, who was leaning against the wall just outside the door, making two of the dancing cupids fight each other with his wand. "Oi, Harry," Bill said with a laugh in his voice. "Mum's roped you into toting flowers around, has she?" He broke the spell on the beaten and bruised cupids and pointed his wand at the wreaths. "Here, let me. Wingardium leviosa." The wreaths flew out of Harry's hands and sped toward the trellis where a tall, blonde man with neatly styled hair stood, puzzling out how to set up the dais.

"The first rule of weddings, Harry, is always to avoid the mothers of the bride and groom," Bill explained patiently as he walked towards him. "The second rule of weddings is to either have a beautiful girl on your arm or be on the lookout for one you can put there. Thankfully, since I'm the groom, I don't have to worry about that one anymore. How about you?"

"I'm Hermione's date…sort of," Harry explained, his voice catching in his throat for no apparent reason.

Bill raised one of his eyebrows. "I don't think my sister will be very happy to hear that. Of course, she invited some other bloke as her date, so I don't think she has much room to complain. Still…I'd be careful, Harry. She's pretty hung up on you. And she's damn good with those bat bogey hexes."

"So I've heard," Harry remarked dryly. In his sixth year at Hogwarts, hearing that Ginny had 'some other bloke' as a date would have awakened the monster in his chest, who would have roared or at least sniffed around interestedly. Today, however, the monster seemed rather lethargic and bored, as though it were waiting for something exciting to happen, but couldn't decide what that would be.

Harry looked at Bill's cool and calm demeanor and frowned. "Aren't you nervous?" he asked.

Bill scoffed. "I'm marrying the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world." He fidgeted with his tie, straightening it to where it now looked respectable. "Of course I'm nervous. I'm a bloody wreck."

"Still, it must be nice," Harry said, a small amount of wonder in his voice. "Marrying the perfect girl, settling down, starting a family."

Bill shrugged. "She's perfect for me, anyway." He stooped slightly so that he could look Harry in the eye. "There's no such thing as the perfect girl, Harry. Everyone has their own little quirks and flaws. If you love a person enough, you learn to live with them. If you don't, you'll likely drift apart."

"Listen, Harry, there's something I wanted to ask you," Bill said, his tone suddenly very serious. "With everything that's been going on, we've had to make some last minute changes. My four brothers were supposed to stand up with me," he supposed Bill was omitting Percy on purpose, "and Fleur had some cousins that were going to be her bridesmaids." Harry nodded. He thought he knew where this was going. "Unfortunately, my best mate at Gringotts was badly injured in a Death Eater attack about a week ago and, well, you know what happened to Ron. I've asked Charlie to step in as my best man, so that leaves the position of two groomsmen wide open. As for Fleur's four cousins, let's just say there was a falling out there and leave it at that.

"So I asked myself, wouldn't it be smashing to reunite the greatest Quidditch team that Gryffindor House has ever had, that didn't have me on it, of course," Bill amended with a laugh, "to fill in the gaps? Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell have agreed to be bridesmaids and Oliver Wood's filling in for Charlie. How would you like to take Ron's place in the wedding party and be a groomsman?"

Harry considered it for only a moment. "I'd be honored," he answered with pride.

Bill shook his hand enthusiastically. "Thanks, Harry. All you have to do is show up at that little black tent in about twenty minutes." He pointed at the tent in question and then winked at him slyly. "I've got to run. Charlie's going to help me do a last minute run through of my vows. Although I don't think I can quite picture my brother as Fleur." He turned to run up the stairs. "See you at the altar," he called back after Harry.

"See you," he replied with a wave. As Bill departed, Harry turned around to look at the layout for the wedding. It was a truly gorgeous set up, with rows of white wooden chairs leading up to a large platform filled with bouquets of white, red and pink roses, lilacs, tulips and a few other flowers that he didn't immediately recognize, some of which wound around a magical chuppa that arched over where the bride and groom would stand when the ceremony started. Idly, Harry wondered if his parents' wedding had looked anything like this. Had they gotten married at Godric's Hollow? How long had they dated before they tied the knot? How did James and Lily Potter know that they had fallen in love with each other?

Harry Potter did not know the answer to any of these questions, but he was very curious to find out all that he could about his parents' lives. He was also interested in visiting Godric's Hollow, the place where his parents had died and where he had become the infamous Boy Who Lived. Perhaps once they had destroyed Ravenclaw's quill and Hufflepuff's cup, he and Hermione could go there.

Deciding to see if Hermione had arrived yet, Harry walked back into the house and caught a glimpse of a vision of loveliness descending the stairwell. Ginny Weasley wore a shining white dress trimmed in gold. Rather than merely walking, she seemed to be floating down the stairs like a cloud. Her movements were as graceful as a swan gliding along a still pond on a spring afternoon. Red hair cascaded down her shoulders and her creamy white complexion made her skin look like porcelain. She was the perfect image of beauty.

Harry was astonished by how little he cared. Although he grinned and stared reflexively (a common reaction from a teenage boy upon seeing a pretty girl), there was no flush in his cheeks. No pounding heartbeat. No goose pimples. No activity at all from the monster in his chest, who remained unusually dormant throughout her entrance. Had all of his feelings for Ginny really disappeared? "Hi, Harry," she greeted him, flashing him her prettiest smile.

"H-hi," Harry stammered by way of reply. Alright, so perhaps not all of his feelings were gone. Still, something was missing; some spark of what made their relationship so passionate was sorely lacking. "You look really nice," he complimented her lamely.

"In this old thing?" Ginny retorted with a laugh. "I only break it out when I de-gnome the garden or feel like throwing dung bombs at Mrs. Fawcett's kneazles. You should see me when I really get dressed up."

Harry let out a small, polite chuckle. "So, is your date around?" he asked, trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible.

Ginny looked confused for a moment and then snorted. "Oh, you mean Neville? Yes, he's around here somewhere, probably fending off Luna. She's been talking everyone's head off today. 'Did you ever hear about the time I saw a three-headed brakenphleen snail?' 'What do you think of the Ministry's new policy on the use of wand growth potions?'" she mocked, doing a spot on imitation of Luna's perpetually dazed look. "But Harry, Neville's hardly my date. We agreed to come together to the wedding as friends, but he knows I'm not interested in him. There's no need for you to get jealous."

Harry wasn't jealous at all, really. Which, given his reaction to Ginny snogging Dean Thomas last year, was a bit odd. "So…did you bring anyone to the wedding?" Ginny asked in a perfectly innocent tone.

"Er…yeah," Harry answered, preparing himself to face the full wrath of Ginny Weasley. "I'm here with…"

"Harry," Neville's frantic voice interrupted them as he ran down half the staircase breathlessly. "You've got to… come quickly! It's… Hermione."

Harry frowned inquisitively. "Hermione's here?" He did not miss the angry look in Ginny's eyes, although her smile remained perfectly in place. "What's wrong?"

"She won't come out of the bathroom," Neville panted. "Said something about her dress being awful. I figured maybe you could talk to her, seeing as how you're her…"

"Best friend," Ginny finished for him. "Yes, I think that's a splendid idea, Neville. Harry, why don't you go see if you can talk some sense into Hermione? I'm sure her dress isn't as terrible as she's making it out to be. Honestly, that girl can be so self-conscious sometimes."

"Alright," Harry agreed, although he was a tad suspicious of Ginny's motives. There was a catty look in her eye that he just didn't trust. He ascended the staircase quickly, all thoughts of his ex-girlfriend leaving his mind as he searched for Hermione. Finding the bathroom door straight across from the room where Molly Weasley had been worrying over the flower arrangements earlier, he gave it a soft knock. "Hermione?"

"Go away," Hermione said in a depressed voice, although from what he could hear, she didn't seem to be crying.

"It's me, Harry," he informed her in a whisper. "Can I come in?"

"Of course you can," Hermione replied gloomily. "Whether or not you should, though, is up to you."

"I'll take that as a 'yes'," Harry replied as he opened the door for a split second, stepped inside and then closed it tightly behind him. He also took the time to cast a silencing charm on the door, so that they couldn't be overheard. The only light came from a tiny window just above Hermione, so that she sat in complete darkness, while the sun's rays fell directly on Harry's shoulders. Unable to see her properly, he turned in her general direction. "So, Neville told me you were upset…"

"It's black," Hermione interrupted, disappointment heavy in her voice.

"What's black?" Harry asked her seriously.

"My dress!" Hermione exclaimed, suddenly standing to allow Harry a peek at what she was wearing. The dress in question was elegant, strapless and form-fitting and, in his humble opinion, it made her look absolutely stunning. Harry felt a warmth spread through his chest as he looked at her and he could swear it suddenly became uncomfortably hot in the Weasleys' bathroom. He was now very glad that Hermione was his date.

Still, the dress was black. And Hermione was less than thrilled about it.

"It looked dark blue when I tried it on at Grimmauld Place, but you know how dim the lighting is there," Hermione explained with a moan. "I should have known that old hag wouldn't have owned a stitch of clothing that wasn't black."

"Wait a minute," Harry said, coughing a bit to hide some of his amusement. "Are you telling me that you're wearing a dress that belonged to Sirius' mum?"

Hermione looked down. "Well, yes. My Yule Ball gown wouldn't fit me anymore and my parents haven't sent me any money in a while, not enough to go out and buy a new one, anyway. When I saw this hanging in one of the closets upstairs, I was fairly certain that I could alter it to fit my measurements…"

"You know, Hermione," Harry interrupted her, trying his best to suppress laughter at the thought of Mrs. Black's expression if she knew that Hermione was wearing her dress, "if you had told me you needed one, I would have bought you a new dress."

As she shook her head no, her Sleekeasy-tamed curls swung back and forth hypnotically. "I wouldn't have felt right about asking you for money, particularly not for something as frivolous as a dress," Hermione answered him. She looked down at her outfit in disdain. "If only it had been dark blue."

"I think it looks beautiful," Harry threw in helpfully.

Hermione's eyes met his briefly. "I can't wear a black dress to a wedding, Harry. Black is only supposed to be worn at funerals; the Weasleys will think…"

"I think you look beautiful," Harry continued insistently. This time Hermione blushed deeply and fell silent. Harry nodded his head toward the door. "Come on. The wedding's going to start soon." Grabbing her hand, he led them out of the loo and into the hallway. As soon as they exited, Neville rushed past them into the bathroom with a relieved look on his face.

Harry turned to face Hermione, stopping her in the middle of the hallway and still holding her hand in his own. "Bill's asked me to stand up with him, so I won't be able to sit with you during the ceremony." Harry smiled at her winningly. "Some date I turned out to be, eh?"

Hermione squeezed his hand. "I think you've been a marvelous date, Harry." Seemingly in slow motion, she kissed him on the cheek, making his face turn bright red. For a moment, he had the urge to turn his head slightly, so that instead of hitting his cheek, her lips would brush his own. 'Bloody hell,' Harry thought. 'I'm fantasizing about kissing Hermione!' "I'll see you at the reception, won't I?" Harry nodded mutely and as he watched Hermione go, he felt a little emptier inside, as though a dementor had passed by and sucked all of the happiness out of the room.

"Harry," Luna said from behind him, startling him slightly, "if I didn't know better, I'd think that you were trying to attract a crimson crested crinklesnik during mating season." She clucked her tongue at him reprovingly. "That can be very dangerous, you know."

"Yeah," Harry replied in a detached voice, although he wasn't thinking about crimson crested crinklesniks. "I know."

To Be Continued...

Yeah, some romance. Finally. Anyway, expect Part II to be about twice as long, although it's pretty much guaranteed to have a scene featuring your favorite character (unless Ron's your fave, then you're out of luck).

ITL

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