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 have chosen to associate myself with H/Hr because OBHWF squicks me.

Chapter 8: Footing the Bill, Part II

After thinking it over for a while, Harry Potter decided that black was definitely not his color. Black was, after all, the color of Hermione's dress; the dress that had made her so distraught that she wouldn't come out of the Weasleys' bathroom. Harry was also reasonably certain that it was that black dress that was making him think of Hermione in ways that he hadn't before. Completely non-best friendly, 'I'm attracted to you', 'would you mind if I kissed your neck?' sort of ways. It was all very confusing to Harry, who had only been looking to have a day of fun at a wedding, without having to worry about the horcruxes or Lord Voldemort. He certainly hadn't been hoping to find out that he fancied Hermione Granger.

'I don't fancy her!' Harry thought to himself insistently. 'We're only friends. Best friends. It's just that stupid black dress that's got me thinking of her that way. Once she takes it off, everything will be back to normal.' Thoughts of Hermione taking off the dress weren't helping him, however, so Harry quickly turned his thoughts to the other reason why he currently hated the color black.

Whoever had the brilliant idea of putting up a black tent in the middle of a huge crowd on a hot August day and forcing otherwise good-humored people to stay under it while a comfortable, cooling charm-controlled house stood only meters away must have been some kind of sadist. As he wiped another sheen of sweat from his forehead, Harry wondered if Death Eaters had somehow planned Bill and Fleur's wedding. 'Or maybe the wedding planner's been put under the Imperius Curse', he thought to himself, only half-seriously.

Fred and George Weasley sat in one corner of the tent, playing the least engrossing game of exploding snap Harry had ever witnessed. The twin brothers were shooting each other bored looks, regularly mopping their brows with their kerchiefs and only speaking to each other when game play required it. Arthur Weasley stood only a short distance away, sweating profusely, although he had been perspiring heavily since Harry had first seen him a few minutes before, when they were both still indoors. He suspected the father of the groom was merely nervous, although perhaps the heat had gotten to him as well, as he had begun muttering something under his breath that sounded like a prepared speech.

"That's it!" Fred cried out suddenly, tossing his cards in the floor. "I've had it! You're cheating," he said accusingly.

George stared at his twin blankly. "Of course I'm cheating. I always cheat at exploding snap and so do you." George smirked. "You're just no good at it today. That doesn't mean you have to be a grumpy git about it, though."

"Boys," Arthur said, his voice authoritative and his tone cautionary. "Don't start fighting again. This is your brother's wedding day. It's supposed to be a happy occasion. We all have to keep a stiff upper lip and put our best foot forward." Fred and George glared at him skeptically, each taking the time to wipe sweat from their foreheads dramatically. "Oh bloody hell. Not even I can stay optimistic in this heat." Mr. Weasley began to walk out of the tent. "Maybe I can find that wedding planner and get him to let us cast a cooling charm in here…"

"Yeah, good luck with that," George called after him.

"The poof's probably off hitting on Charlie again," Fred suggested with a grin.

George nodded. "Or buttering up mum, so that he has a better shot at a big tip after this tent fiasco."

"Fred, George," Harry began tentatively. "There's something I've been meaning to ask you but I wanted to wait until we were alone."

Fred rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "I think I know where you're going with this, Harry, and the answer is yes. We will marry you," he said in unison with George.

"He's got the wrong Weasley siblings, though," George countered thoughtfully. "The one you want to ask that question to," he said, pointing at Harry's chest, "is shorter, has long flowing red hair, smells of lilacs and likes to snog blokes in the hallway after Quidditch practice."

"Wait," Fred said seriously as he turned to face George. "I thought that was you." George punched him in the arm. "You do smell a bit like lilacs, you know."

"Shut it," muttered George.

Fred snickered playfully. "I guess you do have to smell your best for Pauline." Fred dragged out the girl's name for effect and earned himself another punch in the arm from George.

"I think I just told you to shut it," George said threateningly.

Harry resigned himself to the fact that he had lost control of this conversation and let out an impatient sigh. "Who's Pauline?"

Fred answered him quickly. "Pauline Piercy. She runs the shop across the street from ours. Sells the best homemade pastries you'll ever eat, although Mum will disown me if I ever say that in front of her. She's also George's date for the wedding."

"Shut…it," George ordered him through clenched teeth.

"The only problem is…" Fred began with a hearty chuckle, "she can't tell us apart. She keeps thinking I'm George and he's Fred."

"Shut it now," George exclaimed in exasperation.

"Say what you will about going on double dates with Angelina and Alicia," Fred said with a wolfish grin. "At least they knew who to snog."

"Alright, that tears it," George growled. "'Happy occasion' or no 'happy occasion', I'm going to hex you until your bits fall off."

Fred couldn't stop laughing. "Well, I suppose that would be one way she could tell us apart. Of course, she'd have to get both of us naked to know for sure…"

"Before you two kill each other," Harry interrupted forcefully, "I'd like to ask you about your Reach For Something Strongboxes."

"Of course, Harry," George said with a small bow, his anger apparently forgotten.

"Dynamite sellers, those are. One of our fastest moving items," Fred continued.

"Not literally, though," George added. "That would have to be our Quicksilver shoes with the patented winged heels. Those things will fly off the shelves by themselves if you don't watch them."

"We could give you one for free if you'd like," Fred offered generously. "You know your money's no good at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes."

Harry's gaze flitted back and forth between the twins. "Actually, I need to know if there's a way to break into one. Without losing a hand."

Fred and George shared a pained look. "Trade secret, Harry," George replied with a grimace. "We can't give those away, not even to you."

"This isn't just for some prank," Harry exclaimed in frustration. "This is important! Something of Voldemort's is in one of those boxes; something that I need to defeat him."

"Blimey," Fred replied in astonishment. "You-Know-Who's actually using one of our products to protect something?" His voice sounded half-horrified and half-awed.

George had a sheepish expression on his face. "The truth is, Harry, we don't know how to get around the curses protecting the box…and neither does anybody else."

"The Reach For Something Strongbox is actually a copy of the Box of Set," Fred explained. "It's an ancient artifact Bill brought home from Egypt a few years back. None of the curse breakers at Gringotts could even make a dent in the magic protecting it."

"Good thing it was empty," George threw in. "Otherwise the Ministry couldn't have asked Bill to study it and we couldn't have copied the curses so exactly." He grinned devilishly. "Of course, we had to change the name to avoid confusion. Try saying 'I need to order enough boxes for six boxed sets of Box of Sets by the sixth' five times fast and you'll know what I mean."

Fred shrugged. "Also, most of our customers were just using them as a place to store their hard liquor. Hence the name, 'Reach For Something Strongbox'."

Harry tried not to let the disappointment show on his face. "I wonder if Bill would have any idea of how to get into one," he wondered aloud. "He's studied the original, after all."

"I dunno, Harry," George replied mischievously. "I think Bill might be a bit…busy, these next few weeks."

"Or months," Fred added with a wide grin.

"Maybe even years," George said with a quick laugh. "'Course there'll be sprogs by then, so he might have slowed down a bit…"

"Have I come at a bad time?" a Scottish voice asked, causing all three of them to turn around. Oliver Wood stepped through the open flaps of the black tent and greeted Harry with a firm handshake and a friendly smile. He was wearing a very expensive-looking set of black dress robes, but somehow seemed less imposing than he did when they were students at Hogwarts together. After they exchanged pleasantries, the former Gryffindor Quidditch captain gave Harry the once over. "Look at you, man. You're all grown up. It seems like only yesterday I was teaching you the difference between the quaffle and the snitch."

"It was," Fred said with a mock frown. "Harry's great at fighting dark wizards, but he can be a little thick sometimes. Too many bludgers to the head, I think."

"Not that that was our fault," George amended hastily.

"Fred and George Weasley," Oliver said with an indulgent laugh as he shook each of their hands in turn, although he made sure that there was nothing hidden in their palms before he did so. "I see you two haven't changed a bit."

"Well, we struck it rich," Fred said thoughtfully. "Aside from that, why mess with perfection?"

"The joke shop, yes," Wood replied politely. "I read about that. You're still keeping it open, then, even with everything that's going on?"

"We knew that there would be rough times ahead when we opened Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes," George explained with an unusually somber expression on his face. "We're not about to shut it down now that it's finally off the ground and making us money. Besides, Harry here will off old What's-His-Name before too long. Won't you, Harry?"

"Er, yeah," Harry replied uncomfortably. In truth, he had no idea how he was going to defeat Lord Voldemort (other than by destroying all of the horcruxes he had made, which would at least make him mortal), nor did he know how someone like George could even joke about it. Between his increasingly frequent dreams as Lord Voldemort and his fears of facing the Dark Lord in battle, it was a wonder that Harry got any sleep at all anymore. Which was, perhaps, why he was feeling a bit drowsy.

Stifling a yawn, Harry tuned himself back in to the increasingly lively conversation of Oliver Wood and the Weasley twins. "From what I heard, you left a portable swamp outside of her office and told Peeves to, what was it, 'tear the place apart'?" Oliver asked with a laugh.

"You've got it all wrong, Wood," Fred informed him with a pointed glare. "We didn't tell Peeves to 'tear the place apart.'"

"Yeah," George agreed in an indignant voice. "We told him to 'give her hell from us'."

"Honestly," Fred said sulkily, "what kind of incorrigible hooligans do you take us for? We never encourage vandalism." He considered that for a moment. "Well, unjustified vandalism anyway."

George shook his head as he turned to look at Fred. "How do these rumors get started?"

Only Harry noticed when someone else entered the tent. "Speaking of starting rumors," he said under his breath. Rita Skeeter stood in front of them as though fixed in place, nibbling on the end of her quick-quotes quill with an amused expression on her face.

"Well," she began in a slightly overwhelmed voice, "aren't the four of you a delectable bunch?" Harry felt a shudder of revulsion creep up his spine. "Do you mind if I just stand here and stare at you for a while?"

"Only if you don't mind that we're not staring back," Fred answered her disdainfully.

"Oliver, you paid more attention in Defence Against the Dark Arts class than we did," George asked Wood with a nudge. "What happens when you stare at a Gorgon for too long?"

Oliver Wood shot George Weasley a bemused look. "You turn to stone."

Rita attempted to laugh girlishly, but it came out as more of a cackle. "Ah, the infamous Weasley wit. It's as much a family trait as your red hair and your lack of money." Her eyes brightened a bit at Fred and George's suddenly sour expressions. "But you two have gotten around that one, haven't you? Why, you've started the most successful new business the wizarding world's seen in a hundred years. In the middle of a war, no less." Her quill sped along at a brisk pace as she spoke. "You've become quite the hot item in the gossip pages, too. The readers of Witch Weekly want to know all about you. Are you seeing anyone? Is it serious? Just how did you get the money to start Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes? And are the two of you identical in…uh…every way?"

"Witch Weekly?" Oliver Wood asked confusedly. "Wait, is this an interview? Because I'd have to clear that with my agent if I were to agree to…"

"Already done, my dear," Rita replied with a plastered on smile as she handed him a pre-signed form, which he quickly examined. "I didn't get this far in the gossip business without doing my homework." Wood scowled at her silently. "Look at you, all dour and brooding. This is your second year as the starting keeper for Puddlemere United, isn't it?"

"First, actually," Oliver corrected her with a shy smile. "Although I did fill in for Gracchus most of last season."

"Don't be so modest," Skeeter enthused. "You did much more than 'fill in', you put the poor fellow out of a job. You averaged eleven saves per game and held your opposing teams to the lowest scoring percentage in the league. If your seeker hadn't been rubbish, Puddlemere probably would have won the divisional championship last year." She waved her hand dismissively. "Or so our sports editor tells me. I'm much more interested in the reaction you've caused among the female fans. They've dubbed you 'the Hot Scot', you know. Care to react?"

"Now, wait just a minute," Oliver Wood stopped her. "I didn't agree to be interviewed."

"None of us did," Harry interjected angrily. "Rita Skeeter has a nasty habit of sticking her nose in where it doesn't belong."

Rita's fake smile fooled no one. "Can I quote you on that? Because I think our readers will find that very funny, coming from you."

"This is a private wedding," Harry growled. "Since I doubt very much that Bill and Fleur invited you, I'd like to know how you wormed your way in here."

Rita Skeeter looked smug. "My dear boy, this is no more a private wedding than a professional doxy fight. You truly understand nothing of publicity, do you? Here the four of you stand, the most eligible, sought after young bachelors in all of wizarding England and you think that I'm here by coincidence?" Her brittle laugh made Harry's blood run cold. "You are too, too precious. And your righteous anger makes you look very handsome. Tell me, do you think that fact helped you become the recklessly brave hero that you are today?"

"Alright, boys," Arthur Weasley called out in a booming voice as he re-entered the black tent. "They're ready for you outside and…" He stopped dead in his tracks at the sight of Rita Skeeter. "What are you doing in here?"

Skeeter looked like the cat who had eaten the canary. "This is where the story is, Arthur. Where else would I be?"

Arthur Weasley's eyes narrowed. "Outside. Now." Mr. Weasley grabbed Rita Skeeter by the arm and pulled her outside of the tent. The four groomsmen gathered next to the tent flap, trying desperately to overhear what the two of them were saying. "This isn't what we agreed to. You were just supposed to cover the wedding…"

"Yes," Rita Skeeter replied in a put upon tone of voice. "The 'Wedding in a Time of War' angle. Two crazy kids making it work despite their generation's impending doom, etc., etc. Frankly, after a few paragraphs it all becomes so frightfully dull." The gossip maven let out a mirthless chuckle. "Although I suppose it might be interesting to see if we could run a story about the Weasley-Delacour wedding and the Weasley-Delacour divorce in the same issue."

"You don't know what you're talking about," Arthur Weasley replied, his voice hard but even.

"Really, Arthur," Rita continued maliciously. "Do you honestly think a woman who looks like that is going to stay married to your horribly disfigured son for long? She'll probably have him cuckolded before the honeymoon's out."

"Leave," Mr. Weasley snapped. "Now."

"You can't ask me to leave now. Not with the fanciable foursome in there, practically begging for a juicy front cover spread. My photographer isn't even here yet…"

Arthur Weasley's voice was unforgiving. "Get off of my lawn. Get out of my house. Never come back."

"Alright," Rita agreed with a tone of superiority. "This is your family's affair, after all. Although Witch Weekly would, of course, have to ask you to refund the money we spent on all of the wedding preparations. When shall we expect our repayment of the five thousand galleons?" Her question was met only with silence. "That's what I thought. Now if you'll excuse me, I think I see Bozo coming this way." She began to walk away from him, then turned around to throw salt in the wound. "Please pass along my compliments to the groom. I'm simply thrilled that he decided to take my advice on his groomsmen."

***
"That Rita Skeeter woman's a real piece of work, isn't she?" Oliver Wood asked conversationally. Fred, George, Oliver and Harry stood neatly in a line along the left side of the aisle leading up to the altar, waiting for the wedding procession to start.

"She's a real piece of something," Harry replied. "I'm not sure that 'work' quite covers it, though."

Oliver chuckled. "You and the press never have gotten along very well, have you?" He turned slightly to look Harry straight in the eye. "You know what you need? An agent."
Harry shot him a skeptical glare. "No, I'm serious. You'd be surprised how much better press coverage you'll get once you have someone watching out for your best interests."

Harry sent an irritated glare Rita Skeeter's way. She was currently setting up a camera shot from the opposite end of the aisle and dispersing some of the wedding attendees as she did so. "If I get any better press coverage, I don't think I'll be able to stand myself."

Wood shrugged slightly. "Just saying you might want to give it a try, is all. It can't hurt to improve your image." Oliver Wood shoved his hands in the pockets of his robes. "You know, Harry, Fred and George might think what you're up against, facing You-Know-Who, that it's all a big joke, something to have a laugh over, but I don't." His eyes now had a distant, stormy look to them. "My parents and my oldest brother fought in the first war. My brother, he…he didn't make it. I never really knew him, but my folks were always bragging on him, telling me how great he would have been if only..." Oliver shook his head as if to rid himself of the memory. "So if you ever need anything, just give me a shout, yeah?"

"Sure," Harry replied simply, a little taken aback by Wood's offer. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks."

An awkward silence set in between them and Harry soon turned around to scan the crowd. Both the bride's side of the aisle and the groom's were packed with relatives, friends and well-wishers. Between the invited guests, the swarm of reporters and about a dozen Aurors that had set themselves up around the perimeter of the Burrow, there was barely room enough for anyone to breathe. Harry kept trying to find where Hermione was sitting, but didn't see her anywhere along the groom's side of the aisle.

'Why are there so many Aurors here?' Harry wondered to himself. Did Arthur Weasley call in some favors, just so the families wouldn't have to spend any money on security for the wedding? Or were they only here because 'the Chosen One' was, perhaps expecting another Death Eater attack like the one at the Quibbler? As much as he hated it, Harry was now the most high profile target for Lord Voldemort, which meant that every time he went out somewhere, he put others in danger.

"Look lively, Harry," Wood said to him in a whisper. "Here come the bridesmaids." Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell and Ginny Weasley made their way slowly down the aisle, eventually standing directly across from the four groomsmen. Angelina and Alicia made a show of avoiding the eyes of the Weasley twins, while Oliver Wood just seemed to be admiring the view. Harry, meanwhile, continued to search for Hermione. "Ginny Weasley sure grew up nicely, didn't she?" Oliver noted with raised eyebrows. "I wonder if she's seeing anyone."

"I doubt it," Harry answered him in a noncommittal voice. "She was my girlfriend, but we broke up a few months ago. I reckon she's expecting we'll get back together after the war, though." Harry, however, wasn't so sure.

"Oh," Wood replied in a chastened tone. Hoping to change the subject, Oliver pointed to another girl in the crowd, sitting on the bride's side. "Isn't that Hermione Granger over there?" Harry craned his neck to look where Wood was pointing. It was her. Why wasn't she sitting on the groom's side? "She didn't turn out too badly, either. Looks like she's got a bloke with her, though. That Bulgarian seeker…I can't remember the name…"

"Viktor Krum," Harry supplied coolly. Hermione was indeed sitting next to Krum, who seemed enthralled by whatever she was saying to him. "What's he doing here?" Harry demanded aloud.

"Fleur probably invited him," Oliver Wood suggested nonchalantly. "They were contestants in the Triwizard Tournament together a few years back, you know." Wood looked thoughtful. "I guess you would, wouldn't you? Since you were in the tournament, too."

As Harry watched Hermione laugh at something Viktor said, he felt a strange cold sensation run through him, as though a sheet of ice was spreading all the way from his throat down to the pit of his stomach. "Weren't they dating a while back?" Oliver asked him curiously.

"Yeah, but…" Harry started in protest. "They haven't…not for years and now she's with Ron…but he's in a coma." Wood stared at him in confusion. "She's my date," he added softly.

"Well, that clears things up," Oliver Wood said drolly as he gave Harry a manly slap on the back. "Say, Harry, you've never dated Katie Bell, have you?"

"No," Harry answered Wood, although he couldn't stop staring at Hermione and Krum.

"Good," Oliver replied cheerfully. "I wonder if she'd go for an older guy…" Further conversation was cut off by the sound of blowing cornacens and what was most likely the official bridal procession music of the wizarding world, as all eyes turned to look at the bride. And, given that the bride was part-veela, they stayed fixed on the bride for quite some time. Her gown was made of white French lace interspersed with seed pearls, although the train for the dress was a shade of aquamarine that didn't quite match her eyes. It did, however, match the hat she was wearing.

Fleur's robin's egg blue hat was so large that it nearly spanned the width of the aisle. Its brim was curled up as though it had warped in the heat and a three-foot-long red feather stuck prominently out of the hatband, just to complete the ridiculous image. It would have made any other bride look like a fashion disaster area, but Harry suspected that Fleur Delacour could walk down the aisle wearing nothing but a burlap sack and nobody would so much as bat an eye. Bill beamed at her as she stood beside him, taking his hand in her own triumphantly. When she whispered something into his ear, his smile grew wider and he planted a chaste kiss on her lips.

The cornacens sounded again and everyone turned to face the altar. "I've never been to a wedding in the wizarding world before," Harry confided to Oliver Wood in a whisper. "What happens now?"

"The Minister's about to make a speech," Oliver replied quietly.

Harry looked puzzled as some of the crowd began to applaud for no reason he could see. "Really? Is that what usually happens at a wedding?"

Wood shook his head. "No, Harry," he said, his face grim. "It isn't."

Harry watched in fascination as a leonine figure in bright red and gold dress robes rose imperiously in front of Bill and Fleur, looking very pleased with himself. "Scrimgeour?" Harry asked in confusion, although he was quickly shushed by a pair of old ladies standing behind him. A team of Aurors flanked the Minister of Magic on every side, providing him with protection that he likely wouldn't need in this crowd.

"Thank you," Rufus Scrimgeour called to the people as he motioned with his hands for them to stop clapping. "You're too kind. Thank you." Neither Bill nor Fleur looked happy to be upstaged at their own wedding, but they did not seem surprised either. 'They knew about this,' Harry groused to himself. 'Just like Bill knew that he was setting me up to be ambushed by Rita Skeeter when he asked me to be a groomsman. What exactly is going on here?'

"Before I begin, I would like to offer my heartfelt congratulations to the happy couple once more. Don't they look wonderful together?" Scrimgeour made a show of shaking Bill Weasley's hand as the crowd applauded politely. "This wedding is a symbol," the Minister began again, his pomposity seemingly knowing no bounds. "A symbol of hope for the future. A future free from fear; a future in which our enemies, now bent on destroying the order of our world, have given up on their nightmarish vision of brutality, murder and enslavement. A future where He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will only be a distant memory, a figure driven into oblivion by the vagaries of time. By naming me Minister of Magic, the Wizengamot has asked me to ensure that future. It is a laborious task, but one that can be achieved, as long as we stand together.

"We face a dedicated and ruthless foe, one that will stop at nothing to destroy everything we hold dear, so long as it gives them a single day's victory. I will not be the first to acknowledge that this government has faced serious setbacks in its efforts to combat this growing menace. But today, I make a solemn vow: my government will not rest until every Death Eater is rotting away in Azkaban nor will I relent until their ignominious leader is six feet underground." Here the people applauded once again, although Harry only put his hands together soundlessly out of politeness. Scrimgeour talked a good game, but where were the results? From what Tonks had told him, the war hadn't been going well for the Ministry. "Our recent capture of Severus Snape is only the beginning of what will be a large scale offensive against this nation's enemies."

"Your capture of Snape?" Harry questioned incredulously. "He's taking credit for something that was an accident." Again, the old women behind him shushed him down.

"We will neither be cowed nor humbled nor broken as we stand up against this evil threat. Our nation's indefatigable spirit can be seen in the busy shops at Diagon Alley, in celebrations of love and family like the wedding about to take place today and in the academic pride and joy of our nation, Hogwarts. Therefore, it is with great and sincere pleasure that I announce the official re-opening of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"After consulting with the board of governors, we have agreed that, given the extraordinary circumstances behind its closing, and with a new set of security precautions in place, Hogwarts will open its doors exactly on schedule, bright and early on September the first."

"That's in two days!" a young girl's distraught voice called out from behind Harry.

"First years have already received their official invitation by owl post," Scrimgeour continued, ignoring the excited buzz among the crowd. "Students will find their textbooks waiting for them upon arrival, courtesy of the funds allotted to the school by the Wizengamot's recently passed Emergency Education Act." The Minister adjusted his glasses on his face as his tone became harder. "We do, of course, expect every student who attended Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry last year who did not graduate to return. I have asked the Wizengamot to make an amendment to the Emergency Education Act which would toughen the penalties for truancy. The proper place for our children is a school, not a battlefield. As much as we do not want the Draco Malfoys of the world prematurely joining up with the Death Eaters, we also want to strongly discourage would-be heroes from aiding vigilante groups not sanctioned by the Ministry who take the conduct of the war into their own hands."

'I guess that would be the Order of the Phoenix,' Harry thought bitterly to himself. 'Too bad Scrimgeour's not as concerned with actually catching Malfoy as he is with punishing him for not attending school.'

"I would like to personally assure every parent who is anxious about sending their child back to Hogwarts that the new security measures we've put in place will guarantee their safety. Dozens of portkeys will be installed inside the school, so that in the unlikely case of a repeat of last year's attack, a method of easy escape will be readily available to all students. Also, a team of Aurors will be stationed on Hogwarts grounds year round to provide the school with an atmosphere of safety and security.

"Normally," Scrimgeour added with a sly smile, "I would not announce the names of the new additions to the teaching staff in such a public venue. However, given the need to assure wizarding England that Hogwarts is indeed a safe place to send their children and given the fact that all four of my appointees are here with us today, I believe it is only fitting that I do so. First off, I'm pleased to announce that Professor Minerva McGonagall has agreed to accept the position of Hogwarts Headmistress. Stand up and take a bow, Minerva." McGonagall stood politely, but anyone who had ever seen the Transfiguration professor angry knew that she was not entirely pleased with Scrimgeour at the moment. "As for the…rather troublesome…position of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, I have asked my own Deputy Minister for Internal Security, Commodus Brinecove, to take the position and he has graciously accepted. Commodus, thank you and best of luck to you." A tall, thin middle-aged man with black hair peppered with streaks of gray stood and waved with a wide, toothy smile.

"At least he doesn't look like a toad," Harry overheard Fred say to George.

"To replace Minerva as Hogwarts' Transfiguration professor, the board of governors has agreed to accept Special Advisor to the Ministry for Educational Affairs Leon Chambers in that position." Chambers, who was short, stocky and bald, stood and took a bow. Harry was sure the name was familiar to him, but he didn't know how or why. "Unfortunately, Horace Slughorn's unexpected departure from the country necessitates the appointment of a new Potions Master as well. I'm sure those in attendance today will be pleasantly surprised to hear that I have asked the brother of the groom himself, Percival Weasley, to fill that vacancy."

As Percy stood, Harry's jaw dropped. "That lousy berk!" Fred cried out, although his exclamation was drowned out by the applause.

"He didn't come here for the wedding!" George yelled angrily. "He came so he could preen around and gloat about the Minister giving him a job at Hogwarts!"

"Unbelievable," Harry muttered under his breath.

***
After Scrimgeour's speech, the rest of the wedding ceremony was a bit anticlimactic. Bill and Fleur had both written their own vows, delivered them tearfully, said 'I do' in the proper places and kissed passionately once they were named wizard and wife. Slowly but surely, the wedding party began to move to a large cleared area in front of the Burrow where the reception was being held.

Harry's thoughts were no longer on the wedding, however. 'Why did Scrimgeour make a huge political speech right before the ceremony?' he wondered. 'Why not wait until the reception? For that matter, why did Scrimgeour wait until two days before September 1st to announce Hogwarts' re-opening? Why did Witch Weekly agree to pay so much money for the wedding? Was it just so that they could set up an interview with "England's most eligible young bachelors" or was there some other reason?' And, perhaps most importantly in Harry's mind, 'What was Hermione doing with Viktor Krum?'

There was really only one person with whom he wanted to discuss these things. Unfortunately, Hermione herself was nowhere to be seen. Unwanted images of Krum stealing Hermione away for a quick snog in the Weasleys' broom closet filled Harry's mind. 'Hermione wouldn't do that,' Harry thought indignantly as he attempted to rid himself of the mental picture. 'She's dating Ron. She wouldn't cheat on him.' That thought was considerably less comforting than Harry had hoped, however, and the idea that he was only concerned about Krum's intentions on Ron's behalf was ringing a bit hollow, even in his own mind. Only one thing was certain: he needed to find Hermione.

Of course, this was much easier said than done. It would be hard to find an acromantula in this crowd, much less a somewhat short young woman, even if her black dress would likely make her stand out among all the other pretty girls here. As Harry dodged and pushed his way through the mob of Weasley relatives and friends, he heard the harried voice of Professor McGonagall call out to him. "Mr. Potter," she began urgently. "I'd like a word with you, please. In private."

Harry nodded and followed after her, although he hoped she wasn't going to talk to him about going back to Hogwarts. Despite Scrimgeour's posturing, he hadn't changed his mind about returning to the wizarding school. He couldn't abandon the horcrux hunt now; not with Moorefield still in possession of Ravenclaw's quill. Besides, without Dumbledore there, the old castle would not seem like his home anymore. It would only be a cold and empty monument to a life that once was; a life lost forever to Harry on the night Severus Snape murdered his mentor and friend.

Professor McGonagall led Harry to a secluded spot underneath an unusually large elm tree. "Has anyone told you what Albus left for you at Gringott's?" she asked, her voice almost a whisper.

Harry shook his head. "No, but if it's more money, I don't need it. Donate it to the Order of the Phoenix or something…"

McGonagall shushed him emphatically. "Not so loud, Potter. If someone from the Ministry overhears…" She beckoned him closer. "Dumbledore left you a pensieve will. They're extremely rare and usually used only in cases involving state secrets. Only a person designated by the deceased can access a pensieve will; not even the goblins themselves can view it." The new Hogwarts Headmistress looked thoughtful. "Incidentally, Albus did leave you quite an impressive pile of galleons, as well. I'd suggest you take stock of your vault the next time you visit the wizard's bank. You're likely the wealthiest wizard in England."

"I suppose it would be a bit cliché to say that I'd rather have him back as have his gold," Harry commented meekly.

"As would I," McGonagall admitted. "Although I would hate for him to see what Scrimgeour's done to Hogwarts," she added bitterly.

Harry smiled. "Yeah, I don't expect he would be happy to see Percy back. Considering that the last time he was at Hogwarts, Dumbledore was placed under arrest."

Professor McGonagall arched an eyebrow. "Believe me, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley's appointment is by far the least objectionable of the three." An amused twinkle that reminded Harry slightly of Dumbledore shone in McGonagall's eye. "At least I know he'll use cauldrons of the proper thickness." The Headmistress shook her head as Harry looked confused. "As for the others, I find it impossible to stomach that charlatan having my old teaching position…Albus' old position…"

"Chambers, you mean?" Harry asked with a frown.

"Yes, Chambers. That…that quack is every bit as ill-equipped to teach transfiguration as he is to teach occlumency." Harry suddenly remembered where he had heard of Chambers before. It was his 'mental correspondence school' that had taught Hermione legilimency. Harry thought it imprudent to mention this fact to McGonagall when she was in high dudgeon, however. "The nerve of Scrimgeour, giving Chambers Transfiguration and then making Commodus Brinecove the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher! Albus swore that that man would never teach at Hogwarts as long as he was Headmaster."

"What?" Harry questioned in surprise. "Why?"

"It's a long story," McGonagall replied tersely. When Harry's curiosity didn't seem to dim, she elaborated. "Brinecove attended Hogwarts around the same time that your parents did. These were the darkest days of the first war against You-Know-Who; Slytherin House had become a viper's nest, turning out future Death Eaters like Lucius Malfoy, Bellatrix Lestrange and Severus Snape." McGonagall nearly spat Snape's name, as disgust dripped from her voice. "Commodus Brinecove was a Slytherin of a different stripe, or so it seemed. He followed Albus around like a lost little puppy, always volunteering to take on extra assignments or perform special services for the school. He was almost sycophantic. A bit like Peter Pettigrew now that I think of it.

"Before Snape supposedly defected to our side, the Order had no spy in the Death Eater camp; no way of knowing what the enemy was up to. Since Commodus had always been like Dumbledore's shadow, when he entered his seventh year, Albus asked him to infiltrate You-Know-Who's inner circle and to serve as a double agent for the Order of the Phoenix."

"And he said no?" Harry guessed.

"Quite the contrary," McGonagall said with a brittle laugh, "Brinecove jumped at the chance. He spent months making friends with several young Death Eaters, all the while taking occlumency lessons from Dumbledore. He seemed a natural at both. When the time came for him to be recruited, however, Brinecove choked. He later claimed that You-Know-Who had somehow gotten past his mental defenses and discovered his true intentions before he could take the Mark." She looked at Harry with a sour expression on her face. "Albus always believed that Commodus was lying to him, and that he was hiding something crucial. He suspected that Brinecove had somehow become a Death Eater without taking the Dark Mark, perhaps agreeing to become a spy for their side.

"In any event, Commodus Brinecove has spent the last ten years applying for every teaching position that has come open at Hogwarts. Care of Magical Creatures, Arithmancy and every other subject you could name. Of course he's applied for the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher many times, but…"

"Dumbledore never trusted him enough to give him the job," Harry finished. The late Headmaster had actually passed over Brinecove to allow the likes of Umbridge and Snape to teach Defense. Harry felt a small shudder run through him at the thought.

"I would recommend that you prepare yourself for a tumultuous year of study in your Defense Against the Dark Arts class," McGonagall said primly. "But then again, I suppose you're rather used to that by now."

Harry took a deep breath and decided to bite the bullet, as the muggle phrase went. "Actually, Professor, I won't be attending Hogwarts this year."

Harry had expected Professor McGonagall to blow her top at that announcement, but she merely smiled knowingly. "Planning on becoming a vigilante, are you, Potter?"

"I hadn't even thought of it that way before I heard Scrimgeour's speech," Harry responded honestly. "But yeah, I guess I am."

McGonagall shook her head slightly. "I suppose it would be redundant for me to caution you to be careful, given that Miss Granger will no doubt be accompanying you. But I would like to offer my assistance, if you ever find yourself in need of it."

A thought struck Harry suddenly. "Actually, there is something you could help me with." He hadn't had the chance to discuss it with Hermione, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. "I'd like to visit Godric's Hollow, but I don't have the slightest idea how to get there."

"Do me a favor, Potter," McGonagall said conspiratorially. "Hagrid's gone on a mission for the Order in Eastern Europe. If you can, wait for him to return before you go. I know he would be thrilled to take you there and he's been feeling terribly depressed ever since Albus died." A wave of sadness passed over her face. "Then again, I suppose we all have." For some reason, Harry could not meet her gaze. "Oh look, there's Alastor," McGonagall added hastily. "I have to go. Important Order business, you know." Her voice choked a bit on those words and Harry watched her leave without saying another word, deliberately looking away as she wiped tears from her eyes.

'It can't be easy for her,' Harry thought sadly. 'Trying to replace Dumbledore when she knows that no one really can.' Leaving the shade of the elm tree to walk back into the crowd, Harry let out a deep sigh. 'I know it isn't easy for me.'

Harry was so lost in his own thoughts that he nearly missed the sound of Hermione's voice only a few meters away. She was talking to the Patil twins about something that must have been fairly amusing, as Padma wore a wide grin on her face and Parvati was laughing hysterically. Brushing past the wedding planner and an exasperated-looking Charlie Weasley, Harry was stopped dead in his tracks by a hand on his shoulder.

"There you are," Ginny's sweet voice called out to him. "Here, I saved you some punch." Ginny thrust a cup into Harry's hand and then moved to stand across from Remus Lupin, who was looking more disheveled than usual. "I was just telling Professor Lupin that I think it's a shame that he isn't coming back to Hogwarts as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, instead of that moron from the Ministry. Don't you agree, Harry?"

"Of course," Harry said flatly, as though Ginny had just suggested that treacle tart was somewhat better than Hagrid's rock cakes.

"You needn't be upset on my behalf," Remus replied with a genuine grin. "My duties in the Order are more than enough to keep me busy."

"Really?" Ginny questioned playfully. "What kind of duties? Searching for Death Eater hideouts? Guarding high value targets? Snogging Tonks?"

"A little of all three, actually," Lupin admitted with a slight smirk. "I'm afraid I can't say much more about it than that. Not here at least." Ginny looked as though she might have said something else to her former teacher, but Remus turned to face Harry. "Are you alright, Harry? You look…distracted."

"I'm fine," Harry said cryptically. "I just really need to talk to Hermione about something."

"She's not still on about that dress, is she?" Ginny asked with a dramatic roll of her eyes. "She looks fine. Great, even. Although the concealer she's using doesn't quite hide those dark circles under her eyes."

"She hasn't been sleeping well," Harry replied, a bit irritated on Hermione's behalf. "The stress of the… of what we're doing is getting to her, I think." Harry caught himself just before he said the dreaded 'h' word. "She spent most of last night tossing and turning."

"Really, Harry, you make it sound as though you're sleeping with her," Ginny said with a forced laugh.

Harry winced. "Actually, I am sleeping with her…er, sort of."

Ginny nearly dropped the cup of punch from her hand, spilling it on her dress in the process. "You're WHAT?" she exclaimed.

"It's not what you think," Harry replied in a deliberately calm, rational voice. "There's nothing funny going on. She's just helping me with my occlumency lessons."

"Occlumency lessons?" Lupin exclaimed inquisitively. "Didn't Dumbledore teach you occlumency last year?"

"No, he didn't," Harry answered simply.

"That's strange," Remus said as he scratched his chin. "When I complained to Albus about Snape discontinuing your occlumency lessons, he swore to me that he'd take care of the problem." Lupin seemed to shake the idea off. "Oh, well. As long as you're concentrating on it now, I suppose it's not important what happened in the past. Has You-Know-Who been able to get inside of your mind again?" he asked in a hushed voice.

"Yeah," Harry answered, drawing a brief look of concern from Ginny. "I've been having these weird dreams. Memories of things Voldemort did years ago. Hermione and I have been trying to stop them from happening, but we haven't had any luck so far."

"Occlumency lessons," Ginny said with a mischievous look on her face. "Now why didn't I think of that?" She looked down at herself in disgust. "I'm going to have to go change out of this dress, Harry. 'Scourgify' just isn't working. I'll see you later?"

"Sure," Harry agreed unenthusiastically, although he smiled at her as she departed.

"Harry," Lupin began with a suspicious look on his face. "I wasn't aware that Hermione was a trained legilimens."

"She's not really 'trained', as such," Harry admitted as he scratched the back of his neck. "Her parents signed her up for Leon Chambers' 'Mental Correspondence School' last year."

Lupin scowled. "If Hermione learned anything of legilimency from that con artist, it's a testament to her studious nature, not Chambers' teaching ability." Remus leaned closer to Harry, so that there was no chance he could be overheard. "It's very important that you continue your occlumency lessons, Harry. But, if you want a little free advice, make sure that's all you do with Hermione after the lights go out."

Harry felt the heat rise in his cheeks. "There's nothing to be embarrassed about," Remus said in a soothing voice. "I'm sure that what's going on between you two is all completely innocent. Just try and keep it that way."

"Harry," Hermione called to him excitedly from behind Lupin. "There you are! I've been looking all over for you." Seeing her again in that maddeningly beautiful black dress made his heart race. She smiled widely at him, making him smile back almost against his will. "Don't you know that it's not gentlemanly to leave your date unescorted at a wedding?" she teased him.

Remus shot Harry a look that said 'See? This is the sort of thing I'm talking about.' "Excuse us for a minute, Remus," Harry told Lupin politely. As he pulled Hermione away, Harry whispered in her ear. "You seemed pretty well 'escorted' to me."

Hermione knitted her brow together. "What?" Once she realized what he was talking about, she let out a small laugh. "Oh, you mean Viktor?"

"Yeah," Harry said in an attempt to sound casual, although it came out sounding more sullen than anything else. "You were sitting next to him during the wedding, weren't you?"

"Well, yes, but…" Hermione seemed flustered as she tried to explain herself. "His date couldn't make it. The Floo Network was temporarily shut down in Bulgaria and…" She examined Harry's face anxiously. "You're not mad, are you?"

"No," Harry assured both Hermione and himself. Why should he be mad? It wasn't as though he and Hermione were actually dating. They had only gone to the wedding together as friends. Of course, the course their friendship had taken now had the two of them both living and sleeping together, but that was neither here nor there. "So, how is Viktor?" he asked, hoping to derail that train of thought.

"He's fine," Hermione replied evenly. "He's becoming an Auror." She let out a soft chuckle. "Isn't it funny? Especially after all the fuss Ron made about him being 'the enemy'."

"I think he was just jealous," Harry answered softly. 'Like you are now,' a cynical voice inside him added.

"Yes," Hermione answered, although her voice seemed far away. "I thought so, too, at the time." A pleasant smile crossed her lips. "Oh, but Harry, you should have heard what Viktor said about the Minister's speech. He really can be very funny when he wants to be."

"Don't you think it's a little strange?" Harry asked in what was only partially an attempt to get her to stop talking about Viktor Krum. "The Minister of Magic interrupting a wedding to make a speech like that? Why here, why now?"

"Because this wedding is the only place he knew you were going to be this summer," Hermione answered. Her demeanor had changed entirely in only a moment. She was now looking at Harry with a mixture of worry and pride in her eyes.

"You're saying that the only reason Scrimgeour made his big 're-opening of Hogwarts' speech at Bill and Fleur's wedding was because…" Harry began with a confused look on his face.

"He wanted to make sure that you were there to hear it. He wants to upstage you, Harry, because he feels that you overshadow him," Hermione explained. A warmth glowed in her eyes and Harry felt himself grow a bit weak in the knees. "You still don't understand how important you are to everyone, do you?" Harry turned away from her abruptly, nearly tangling himself up in hanging paper hearts in the process. "The wizarding world expects you to defeat Voldemort, Harry. Not the MLE, not the Minister of Magic, you. And since you didn't go along with his plan and become the symbol of the government's war effort, Scrimgeour has to try and trivialize your role in the war by reminding everyone that you're not even out of school yet, all so that he can take the credit for the victory."

"But there isn't a victory!" Harry exclaimed, running his fingers through his raven hair in frustration. "No one's won anything! Voldemort's still alive and killing people and I haven't the foggiest notion how to beat him!"

"Neither does Scrimgeour," Hermione noted sourly.

"So why worry about who gets the credit for victory in a war that hasn't been won yet?" Harry demanded.

Hermione shrugged. "I never said that there was rational thought behind it, Harry. It's just politics."

Harry kicked a pebble and watched it fly a few meters to hit an oak tree standing alone near the winding path leading up to the Burrow. "Well if you ask me, politics is a load of rubbish." He turned back around to face Hermione, who still wore a deeply concerned expression. "I suppose it didn't matter much that I didn't send my invitation back after all, did it? The press came anyway, to cover the Minister's speech." Harry let a bitter half-smile cross his lips. "Well, except for Rita Skeeter. She was only here to ogle the good looking blokes." Rita stood a short distance away from them, visibly frustrated in her attempts to interview Fred and George. Harry took a few moments to relate to Hermione what had happened between Skeeter, the four groomsmen and Arthur Weasley.

"You know, Harry," Hermione remarked thoughtfully, "it wouldn't surprise me at all if the Ministry funneled that money through Witch Weekly, just to make sure that the wedding went off without a hitch. All of those delays had to have been expensive and you know the Weasleys, well, aren't exactly rich."

Harry frowned. "I thought the family of the bride usually paid for the wedding."

"Thankfully," Hermione replied in a morally righteous voice, "the wizarding world did away with that barbaric and sexist tradition long ago. Now if only muggles would do the same."

"Sadly for you, Miss Granger," a cheery baritone voice said from behind them, "I think you'll find that the muggle world cherishes its barbaric and sexist traditions most of all." The drawn, clean-shaven face of Commodus Brinecove winked at her playfully. "Lucky for us, you've chosen to live in the magical world. I've heard you're the brightest witch of your age."

"She is," Harry replied shortly, causing a flush of embarrassment in Hermione's cheeks where Brinecove's compliment had not. "The things I've heard about you, though, aren't worth repeating."

Brinecove barked self-deprecating laughter. "No, I would imagine not. The Department of Internal Security is not well loved by most of wizarding society. That's why I've been anxious to get into teaching. It's so much more rewarding to help young minds develop than watching them corrupt themselves with dark magic once they've grown up." The man with graying hair extended his hand to Harry. "I suppose I should formally introduce myself. Commodus Brinecove, your new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. I'm very pleased to finally meet you, Mr. Potter." As they shook hands, Brinecove got a glassy look in his eyes reminiscent of Luna Lovegood.

"And you, Miss Granger," he continued, shaking her hand as well. Professor Brinecove gave Hermione an oddly appraising look, as though he was only now really seeing her for the first time. It made Harry extremely uncomfortable. "I'm looking forward to having both of you in my class. You will be returning to Hogwarts on Monday, won't you?"

"Of course," Hermione lied convincingly. It was then that a horrifying thought entered Harry's mind. What if Hermione wasn't lying? What if she wanted to go back to Hogwarts? Harry could not imagine continuing the horcrux hunt without her. In fact, he could now no longer imagine his life without her.

"Excellent," Brinecove replied gleefully. "I think you'll find my curriculum a bit more…exciting…than what you're used to. The Ministry's Educational Review Board almost didn't approve it, but luckily I have some sway with Minister Scrimgeour…"

"Do you really think that it's wise, letting the government decide who teaches at Hogwarts and who doesn't, instead of the school administrators?" Hermione asked with a curious expression.

Brinecove shrugged. "Normally, I'd say no. But these are not normal times, Miss Granger. Take my position, for example. Two of the last three Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers at Hogwarts have been Death Eaters. If the Ministry had only been allowed to do some routine surveillance and a few background checks, they never would have stepped through the front door."

"Yeah," Harry remarked sarcastically. "It's really too bad the Ministry hasn't been picking our teachers before now. Because they did such a brilliant job with Dolores Umbridge."

For the first time, Commodus Brinecove lost his smile. "Better Umbridge than Snape, Mr. Potter." Brinecove then quickly turned away from Harry to focus his attention on Hermione. "Miss Granger, didn't I see you with Viktor Krum earlier?"

Hermione blushed deeply. "Um, yes, you did," she answered meekly. "We're old friends."

The wide grin was back. "Would you mind introducing the two of us? I'm a big fan."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He's hardly inaccessible. You could just walk right up to him yourself." When Brinecove insisted, she gave in and marched off to find Krum.

Harry glowered at Professor Brinecove. If there had been any chance at all that he would warm to the former Slytherin, sending Hermione after Viktor Krum had destroyed it. "I wouldn't let that one get away if I were you," Brinecove said to Harry in a stage whisper.

"What?" Harry replied sharply, befuddled by Brinecove's sudden change in tone. "What are you talking about?"

"Miss Granger, of course," the new DADA teacher said with a sly look in his eyes. "Girls like that don't come along very often, you know. Best to snatch her up before someone else does."

Harry felt a wave of anger sweep over him, although he wasn't sure if it was because Brinecove was misreading his intentions toward Hermione or because he was actually reading them perfectly. "Someone already has. She's dating my best friend, Ron Weasley. Hermione and I are just friends."

"Oh." Brinecove appeared crestfallen. "I must apologize. I had no idea that you two were only friends. To look at you, anyone would think…" He stopped himself short of saying something he would likely regret. "No matter. My mistake." Brinecove seemed anxious all of a sudden. "Nice meeting you again, Mr. Potter." He then beat a hasty retreat to the refreshment table, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

'"To look at us, anyone would think…" what?' Harry wondered. 'That we're dating? That we fancy each other?' He spun around to watch Hermione grab Viktor Krum's arm and then promptly turned away again, his chest tight and his breathing ragged. 'Well, do you fancy her?' came a voice from somewhere inside his brain.

He didn't have to consider the question for very long before the answer became obvious. 'Of course I fancy her,' he thought to himself ruefully. 'Everyone can see it. Lupin. Brinecove. Even that one-eyed bloke at the Od's Blood tavern. I'm crazy about her.' His feelings had changed slowly over time, so slowly that he had hardly realized it was happening. Now that he had, though, what was he going to do about it?

Harry felt like kicking himself. He couldn't start a romance with Hermione now, couldn't ask her to be his girlfriend, couldn't take her to Hogsmeade or for a casual stroll down by the lake. Their world was at war. There was no time for holding hands or snogging or anything else romantic. That was why he had broken up with Ginny, wasn't it? Besides, Hermione was Ron's girlfriend. Even though their attempt at a romantic relationship had been problematic (some might even say doomed), Harry couldn't risk their friendship by moving in on his best mate's girl.

'Is there something wrong with me?' Harry asked himself bitterly. 'Is there a reason that I only fancy girls who I can't have? Girls that are hung up on other blokes, girls that are off limits, girls who already have a boyfriend?'

"Ladies and gentlemen," the Sonorus-enhanced voice of Arthur Weasley began. "May I have your attention, please?" He held a glass of red wine high above his head dramatically. "I'd like to offer a toast to the bride and groom. May the love that you feel for each other at this moment last until the end of time."

Harry raised his cup of punch dispiritedly. As he did so, he felt a slip of paper slide down the right sleeve of his dress robes. Curious, Harry placed the cup on the ground and let the piece of parchment fall from his arm. Unfolding it quickly, he read the words written there in cursive aloud, not caring who overheard. "Someone is trying to kill you," it said. The writing quickly disappeared as soon as Harry read it.

"Yeah," Harry replied as he crumpled the paper in his hand. "His name's Lord Voldemort. Maybe you've heard of him…" Harry chucked the bit of parchment in a nearby rubbish bin without giving it another thought. It was probably just one of Fred and George's jokes.

As Mr. Weasley stammered his way through his prepared speech that Harry was only half-listening to, he heard something in the distance that sounded like a loud clap of thunder. 'That's odd,' he thought, looking up at the sky suspiciously. 'The weather's been clear. Why would it suddenly start to…?'

The 'thunder' soon became a long, resounding boom. Glasses shattered in people's hands, the ground shook violently for a moment and a mob of wedding guests began running frantically away from the explosion. Harry's reaction was instinctive, as from the sound of it, the blast had occurred not far from where he had last seen Hermione. 'Please let her be alright,' Harry begged. 'I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to her.'

His ears ringing painfully, Harry scrambled across the front lawn of the Burrow, eyes darting around in every direction, searching for some sign of Hermione. "Everyone remain calm," he heard Scrimgeour announce pointlessly as panic overtook the crowd. "Stay where you are. Let the professionals do their jobs."

Completely ignoring the Minister of Magic, Harry made his way to the adjoining tables which held the wedding gifts, near the apparent epicenter of the blast. Before he even knew what was happening, a slight figure in black threw herself into his arms. "Oh Harry," she wailed in a voice that was instantly recognizable as Hermione's. "I'm so glad you're OK. I was worried you might have come looking for me and gotten hurt."

As she pulled away from him slowly, Harry took in her appearance with a sense of wonder. Her hair, which had been straightened and pulled into a ponytail through the liberal use of Sleekeasy's, was now frazzled and bushy again. Her face had been blackened slightly by soot and running mascara. She was not smiling, but the relief and happiness she felt at seeing Harry was obvious in her expression.

Harry wiped a black smudge from her face with his fingers, running his hand softly along her cheek. Somehow, despite everything he'd just described, at that moment she was the most beautiful woman that he had ever seen. It wasn't just a black dress or a new hairstyle that made her beautiful. It was just her, the way that she looked at him, the way that she smiled, the way that she cared so much about everything.

As his hand lingered on her face, he resisted the urge to kiss her only through a tremendous display of will power. "Are you OK?" he managed to say breathily.

"I'm fine, Harry," Hermione assured him with a cough. "But there were others…hurt…I tried to help…" Harry shot her an inquisitive look. "The wedding planner, Rita Skeeter... and George."

"How's George?" Harry asked with concern evident in his voice.

"It looked like there were a few burns along the right side of his face," Hermione reported sadly. "Nothing too serious, but he should probably be examined by a professional healer."

Harry pulled Hermione aside and gave her an inquiring look. "What happened?"

"One of the wedding gifts exploded," Hermione reported incredulously. "There was nothing anyone could do…"

"Alright, everyone," Scrimgeour's voice bellowed. "Everything is completely under control. Our nation's finest Aurors are investigating the matter and, although it's probably just a practical joke executed in incredibly poor taste, we will have to take a statement from each of you before you leave." Anxious murmuring was the only response to the Minister's announcement. "That doesn't mean that you can't enjoy yourselves. This is a wedding, for pity's sake."

Fleur Weasley appeared to agree and ordered the band to play a jaunty French tune as a few people around the bride began to dance. A sense of uneasiness remained, however, and many of the wedding guests began eyeing each other warily. The mix of joy, paranoia and fear made their surroundings all the more surreal.

Still, there was music playing and a pretty girl was in his arms. "Would you like to dance?" Harry said, hoping she would say yes to him rather than go looking for Viktor Krum, who, Harry recalled ruefully, was a much better dancer.

Hermione nodded and the two of them moved closer to where the band was playing, swaying slowly as Harry wrapped one arm around her waist and took the other in his hand. "I hope you'll remember that I'm not very good at this," Harry warned with a laugh.

"I remember," Hermione replied with a comforting smile. As they danced, Harry could not stop staring at her, taking in the way the fading daylight was reflected in her brown eyes with a delirious grin on his face. "I know I must look terrible," Hermione admitted shyly.

"You look like a woman who rushed in and did something to help others, without thinking about what the consequences might be for your hair," Harry said with a laugh. "I think I've been a bad influence on you."

Hermione chuckled a bit herself. "Maybe just a little bit."

"Hermione…" he said, his voice becoming very low all of a sudden. "Do you want to go back to Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Hermione answered instantly. Harry's heart sank. "But I'm not going to."

"You're…you're not?" Harry asked in confusion, his insides suddenly more buoyant.

"Of course not," Hermione retorted matter-of-factly. "Just because I want to go back to Hogwarts doesn't make it the right thing to do. Finding and destroying the horcruxes is much more important than returning to school right now," she declared with conviction in her voice. "Besides, you told me you needed me. Of course, if you've changed your mind…"

"I haven't," Harry assured her, his relief at her answer palpable. "I need you more than you'll ever know."

Hermione blushed and looked away from Harry after he said this, and he felt foolish for opening his heart to her that way. 'You're going to have to do a better job of hiding your feelings, Potter,' he thought to himself. 'She doesn't feel that way about you. There's some other bloke she's in love with, although you don't have any clue as to who it might be.'

Wait a minute. He did have an idea as to who this guy was. In fact, it was perfectly obvious. How could he have been so blind?

It was Viktor Krum. Hermione's first boyfriend. The boy who had swept her off of her feet at a time when everyone, including Harry himself, considered her to be nothing more than a brainy plain Jane. Which left only one question to be answered.

"That bloke that you fell in love with," Harry began tentatively. "The one you were talking about that night before we found Ravenclaw's quill, when you were telling me what it was like to fall in love. Are you…are you still in love with him?"

Hermione stayed perfectly still for a moment, quietly examining Harry's tie for a reason Harry himself couldn't fathom. "Yes," she finally admitted.

Well, that was that then. Hermione was in love with Viktor Krum. Instead of feeling jealousy or betrayal, however, Harry remembered a promise that he had made to himself several weeks ago. He would do whatever he could to make sure that Hermione was happy and if that meant seeing her with someone else, even Viktor Krum, then that's what he would do. His resolve was unbreakable.

For Harry had come to realize, as he danced with Hermione, her hand intertwined lightly with his own, that he didn't just fancy her. He loved her.

Well, that was the wedding. The next chapter is "Where There's a Quill, There's a Quay", which features actual occlumency lessons, a visit to Ron and more horcruxy goodness.

ITL

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