Harry Potter - Fanfiction

Year 7 - The Wedding

Two thirty the following afternoon I make my way downstairs, wearing a simple silky emerald green dress. George and Fred waiting for me at the foot of the steps.

"Wow," they chorus as their eyes land on me; each of them holding a bouquet of flowers.

"I was joking about the flowers," I giggle softly as I approach them, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

"Great, cause we borrowed them from the wedding," jokes Fred.

George fashions one big vase on the Kitchen table with his wand, and they place their bouquet of flowers in them before each giving me a hug and kiss on the cheek.

They stand on either side of me, each offering me their arm. Linking my arms through theirs, we take a slow walk out the Kitchen door and towards the large marquee which has been erected in the back yard.

"We need to help Ron and Harry usher people to their seats," begins Fred.

"So, you'll have to be seated inside for a while before we join," says George.

"Can't I stand outside with you guys, please," I plead with them, as the Weasley family is overwhelming large.

"I'm sure Mum won't mind too much," says George.

"We hope."

At three o'clock we stand outside the great white marquee, with Harry and Ron, in the orchard awaiting the arrival of the wedding guests. Harry had taken a large dose of Polyjuice Potion and is now the double of a redheaded Muggle boy from the local village, Ottery St. Catchpole, from whom Fred had stolen hairs using a Summoning Charm. The plan is to introduce Harry as "Cousin Barny" and trust to the great number of Weasley relatives to camouflage him.

All four of the boys are clutching seating plans, so they can help show people to the right seats. A host of white-robed waiters have arrived an hour earlier, along with a golden-jacketed band, and all of these wizards are currently sitting a short distance away under a tree.

Behind us is the entrance to the marquee which reveals rows and rows of fragile golden chairs set on either side of a long purple carpet. The supporting poles are entwined with white and gold flowers. Fred and George have fastened an enormous bunch of golden balloons over the exact point where Bill and Fleur will shortly become husband and wife. Outside, butterflies and bees are hovering lazily over the grass and hedge grow.

"When I get married," says Fred, tugging at the collar of his own robes, "I won't be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I'll put a full Body-Bind Curse on Mum until it's over."

"She wasn't too bad this morning, considering," says George. "Cried a bit about Percy not being here, but who wants him? Oh blimey, brace yourselves – here they come, look."

Brightly coloured figures are appearing one by one, out of nowhere at the distant boundary of the yard. Within minutes a procession has formed, which begins to snake its way up through the garden toward the marquee. Exotic flowers and bewitched birds flutter on the witches hats, while precious gems glitter from many of the wizards cravats; a hum of excited chatter grows louder and louder, drowning the sound of the bees as the crowd approaches the tent.

"I think my wedding I just want to keep it small and simple, less people to deal with," I say quietly.

Among the new arrivals you can easily pick out Fleur's family, and I'm sure there are some Veela's amongst them.

George confirms my suspicions, "excellent, I think I see a few veela cousins." He cranes his neck for a better look. "They'll need help understanding our English customs, I'll look after them..."