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Wedding Crasher Mei Queen
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Authoress' Note: Damnit damnit damnit I told myself this would be a one-shot. I was positive. But then I got to the end and realised that the story I had set was pretty inconceivable to find a plausible end for in one chapter. DAMNIT! I'm going to continue berating myself until I get reviews. Stupid stupid self…
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Disclaimer: Not mine =JKR's. Don't sue.
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Chapter 1: Setting the Stage
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I swivelled from the gifts table, surveying the turnout. Lots of people are here, I noted with satisfaction. At least I won't have to spend that much time with Phlegm. If she straightens my bloody dress one more time, I swear, this silver dinette set from great-aunt Mildred is getting pitched at her head…
Phlegm is, of course, my future sister-in-law, Fleur Delacour. She will become my sister-in-law in about ten minutes time, actually, as the wedding for her and my oldest brother, Bill, is about to begin. Much to my annoyance, I could hear my mother's high-pitched shrieks of irritation already.
"Ginevra Molly Weasley! Get in here this instant!"
Sighing, I brushed my long scarlet curls over my shoulder, striding slowly and purposefully back up to the house. It was slow going because I was simultaneously lifting my lavender satin dress (that was distinctly uncomfortable, mind you) out of the dirt, making polite small talk with the guests (most of whom I didn't even recognise), and trying to watch where I was going.
I opened the door to the Burrow, only to find the house in an absolute flurry of activity. Fleur was in the kitchen with my mother, trying to get our family's antique tiara to fasten properly to her ethereal silvery blonde hair.
"It izz not a big deeal, Molly!" the girl protested, putting her hands on her bony hips, which by some freakish fluke of nature were absolutely unrecognizable underneath that huge cloud of taffeta she called a wedding dress.
Giggling, I closed the door behind me.
My mother fixed me with a stern and harried expression. "Ginevra, this is not funny. This will be you someday. Except hopefully at your wedding, you won't have an inconsiderate bridesmaid delaying the whole ceremony."
I shook my head, staring at my clasped hands. The woman has a gift for putting me in my place, I mentally quipped. "Sorry, Mum."
To my great surprise, Fleur's eyes met mine from across the room. She looked apologetic. I smiled, pointing to my mum and signifying that she told me off nearly every day, it had nothing to do with Bill and Fleur's wedding. Fleur giggled, getting the gist of my grin.
"What are you girls giggling about?" my mother interrupted sternly, looking from Fleur to me rapidly.
Grinning, I shook my head. "Nothing, mum. Anything I can do to help?"
"Round up the boys, if you would, Ginny," my mother requested with a sigh, without even looking up from the tiara she was still trying to pin. "I need to make sure I've got straight ties all around."
Fleur turned to me. "Ginny, pleazze find Gabrielle. I vant to see her beefore…"
Nodding with a smile, I exited the kitchen, on a new mission: to round up all of my brothers (and Harry Potter, who was basically family for all intents and purposes, we just didn't share DNA and didn't find kissing each other incestuous), Gabrielle (Fleur's little sister), and my father. Quite the task, indeed.
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"So… are you ready for this?" I asked my oldest brother Bill with a grin, carefully straightening his bow tie. I had rounded up everybody (it turned out to be a simple undertaking, actually…mostly everyone had congregated in one big huddle upstairs), so now Fleur was off somewhere having a private moment with Gabrielle, and mum and I were fixing ties like there was no tomorrow.
"As ready as it gets, Gin," he replied with a smile, gently ruffling my hair with his hand.
"Careful," I warned irritably, "you'll mess it up, then Phle- I mean…um…Fleur will have a total fit."
His expression turned serious immediately. "You need to stop calling her that."
"I know," I moaned. "I'm really trying. We're even sort of getting along, Bill! We were actually giggling at mum together in the kitchen not a few minutes ago."
"Well," he replied, obviously surprised. "I'm really happy to hear you're making an effort, though I'm sure mum would disapprove of how you're starting to get along with your future sister-in-law."
"But at least it's something," I said with a proud grin. "She's not so bad, once you get past the fact that she's perfect."
Bill chuckled out loud, shaking his head. "You think she's perfect? You really haven't seen some of her math skills, then, because she actually thinks that all of the shopping she believes she needs to do just magically fits in to our budget."
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"Bill Weasley, do you take Miss Fleur Delacour to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, as long as you both shall live?"
I looked proudly over Fleur's shoulder at my brother, who looked to be fighting tears. I never thought I'd see Mr. 'Check Out My Cool Fang Earring' ever cry, I thought with a wry grin. Fleur, meanwhile, had burst into waterworks about ten seconds in to the ceremony. Gabrielle met my eyes and we shared a brief giggle at her extremely emotional older sister. Looking out on to the crowd, I caught the eye of an older gentleman I didn't recognise. His grey hair didn't look combed, but his clothes were of impressive finery. Both of his frail hands were clutching a cane, and his mind seemed elsewhere. Actually, that was probably what had drawn my eyes to him in the first place- he was the only member of the audience not paying attention to the adoring couple.
Suddenly, his steely grey gaze turned from the sky to me. He had caught me staring.
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I don't know what Fleur and Bill were thinking when they did the seating chart, but apparently they had decided to throw all normal tradition out the window. They were seated at the high table with their parents and lucky Gabrielle (apparently there wasn't enough room for all of the Weasley children, or even this Weasley bridesmaid, up there). The rest of us, meanwhile, had ended up scattered randomly throughout the guests, regardless of whether we were members of the wedding party or not.
Scowling as I looked at the seating chart, I noted that I was sandwiched between people I didn't even know. Tom Sedgwick and Norma Lane…Merlin, even their names sound boring, I thought to myself with extreme annoyance, moving a spare bit of red fringe out of my eyes.
You can imagine my irritation when, when I finally got to the table, I realised that out of the close to two hundred men that were present at the wedding, I was sitting next to the frightening old man who had met my eyes during the ceremony.
Not wanting to be rude, I promptly turned to him and stuck out my hand, saying, "I'm Ginny Weasley, sister of the groom. And you are?"
"Tom," he replied simply, ignoring my outstretched hand.
Okay, I thought to myself with irritation, bringing my hand back to sit at my side. "How do you know Bill and Fleur?"
He turned to me slowly, his left arm propped up on his cane. "I'm…Bill's great-uncle."
"Really? Mildred's husband?" I asked in surprise. "I've never met you, but I know your wife really well. She likes to leave very long kisses on cheeks in lipstick that's near impossible to rub off."
He chuckled softly.
Well, at least that's something. Maybe he won't be too horrible to sit by, apparently he does know how to laugh, I thought to myself happily. My eyes roving across the tables, I saw Harry Potter seated nearly all the way across the room. He met my eyes and gave a weak wave. We hadn't talked too much since school let out and we…broke up.
I didn't like to say it. It made it too real. He was with us right now, and I was trying not to let my mind stray to when he would leave to scour the countryside for whatever it was he needed (he didn't really tell me that part, just that he needed something to defeat Voldemort, and it would require not going back to school in order to find it).
I missed him, though. Even though I could talk to him as much I liked, I still missed having someone to hug and kiss me and make me feel like, at the end of the day, everything was going to be all right, and that the war couldn't and wouldn't take anyone that I loved.
Mind coming back to the present, I realised that the old man had asked me a question. "-at?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
He sighed, starting over. "I was just wondering what you were staring at."
"Oh, nothing," I muttered. "Just an ex-boyfriend, I guess."
"You and Potter broke up?"
I looked at him in shock. How did he know I had dated Harry? Why did he refer to Harry by his surname? My questions were answered a moment later when I noticed something else, on his left hand, the one clutching the cane. It was a ring. Ignoring his protests, I yanked the hand closer to my eyes. On the ring, clear as day, was the Malfoy crest.
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When I regained my speaking abilities, my voice came out as a deadly whisper, but I knew he heard it, regardless.
"What are you doing here?"
His grey eyes clouded over somewhat. "Couldn't let Saint Potter have an entire summer of peace, you know."
I shook my head. "I'm sorry. Even you have more of a life than to crash my brother's wedding to bug Harry. Real story. Now."
Malfoy sighed, reaching in to his pants pocket to pull out a flask. Careful that nobody but me saw, he took a swig.
"Polyjuice?"
He nodded slowly, smirking. "As to why I'm here, I don't have to explain myself to you, Weasel."
"Oh, wow," I muttered in feigned amazement. "I just can't get over the originality of that insult. Please, Lord Malfoy, hit me again with another of your bouts of divine genius!"
Thinking I was serious, he cocked his head to the side to think. "I could think of a few. But I must say, Lord Malfoy has a certain ring to it. Call me that in the future, Weasel, it's a good exercise in properly recognising your betters."
Looking around the table, I noticed that most of the seats at ours were still empty. Everyone was mingling or trying to find a butterbeer, probably. All the better, I thought in satisfaction, lowering my voice. "Fuck off, ferret. I'll ask you one more time before I fink. Why. Are. You. Here?"
I thought I detected a faint blush on his cheeks before he replied. Grudgingly, he whispered, "Hungry. I knew the wedding was going on, I saw it advertised in the Daily Prophet. I knew that Mildred's husband was practically a hermit, so it seemed like the perfect cover for catching a decent meal."
I looked at him in shock. "Mister 'Give Me a Third Helping of Crème Brulee' Malfoy is hungry? Excuse me?"
Raising an eyebrow in annoyance, he replied. "I don't even like crème brulee, Weasel. Besides, I don't see you trying to round up creatures with an impatient werewolf that only eats raw meats."
"You're in Greyback's party, then? I thought you all were stationed in Switzerland, trying to coax more giants down from the Alps."
His look of shock was enough of an answer.
Cheeks reddening, I muttered, "I might have overheard a few intelligence reports from the Order…"
"Overheard, eh?" he answered, smirking again. I must say, a smirk from a Malfoy loses something when said Malfoy is in the body of an 80-year-old man. "So, basically you and your little red-headed vermin family were eavesdropping, then?"
I almost lost it and slapped him. Almost. But the thought of what my mother would say to me for slapping old men was enough to make my hand lower slightly. "Where is my real great-uncle?" I asked fearfully. Just because I hadn't ever met the man didn't mean I wanted him dead, after all.
"He's fine, probably asleep in his hut," he replied, waving the question. "This isn't his actual body. This is some Muggle's body from the base of the Alps. Since nobody knows what your great-uncle looks like, anyway, he seemed as decent of a choice as any."
"Did you kill the Muggle?" I asked, tone just as fearful.
"Well," he muttered, "I didn't. He was alive when I left, but I don't know if Greyback has found him yet."
"Oh," I answered, voice just as quiet.
Malfoy turned to me in annoyance. "So?"
"'So' what?" I mimicked, matching his tone.
"Are you going to rat me out?"
I thought about it a moment, watching Draco hungrily eye the breadbasket sitting placidly in the centre of the table. "No, I suppose not. I probably should, as I don't like to associate with attempted murderers, but I guess I inherited my mother's inability to deny people food."
Looking over at my in surprise, his voice was nearly inaudible as he replied. "Thank you."
"Don't mention it. Oh, and if this is just an elaborate scheme to spy on the Order, then I'll castrate you at my earliest possible convenience. Just a warning."
He snorted. "Thankfully, it's not. I don't want your hands anywhere near my bits, thank you very much."
"I don't want them there either, believe me," I replied with a snort, throwing my hands up in the air rather ungracefully. "Also, a note for future moments of reconnoitre investigations, you might want to remember to take off the ring with your damn family crest on it."
"Like I'd ever take this off," he answered smugly, face contorting into another blasted smirk. "I'll have you know that this ring is worth more than your whole ugly home and the furnishings inside."
"What a surprise," I replied in feigned interest. "I've got the perfect place for you to keep it for safekeeping, you pompous-"
"Ginevra, darling, who is your friend?" my mother's high-pitched voice of warning cut into my statement.
Feeling my heart sink, I turned to face my livid mum, mumbling, "This is our…er…great-uncle, Tom."
"Mildred's husband?" she gasped in excitement, reaching over to shake his hand. "Pardon me for saying this, but I thought you never left the house? Mildred says you've been awfully ill."
I was amused to see Draco's old features flinch before gradually outstretching his own wrinkly hand to clasp around my mother's. "I needed some air," he managed weakly, smiling rather unconvincingly.
My mother didn't seem to notice. "Wonderful," she replied with a grin. "Ginny, darling, why don't you dance with your great-uncle? They're playing that lovely new ballad by Celestina Warbeck I know you love!"
Okay, now I'm officially humiliated.
As my mother turned to walk away, Malfoy leaned closer to me, whispering, "You actually like something by that banshee? I knew your taste was bound to be bad, Weaselette, but I wasn't expecting something this pathetic."
Looking back at him with obvious disgust etched on my features, I replied, "Pathetic? I know that concept all too well. You know why? I've been having to look at the prime example of bloody pathetic the whole reception."
"Ugh. I'd rather find a tall bridge and shallow body of water lying beneath it than to have to sit next to your bitchy arse for the rest of this reception," he muttered in annoyance, pulling a stray bit of grey hair behind his ear and taking another swig from his flask.
I narrowed my eyes in fury. Fucker. "Can I get that in writing?"
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