The Girl Who Hid | ✓

|118| Weasley Wedding

At three o'clock on the following afternoon, Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and I were standing outside the freak white marquee in the orchard, awaiting the arrival of the wedding guests. Harry had taken a large dose of Polyjuice Potion and was now the double of a redheaded Muggle boy from the local village, Ottery St. Catchpole while I wore a large hat and fake glasses to cover my identity since I already blended into the Weasley family with my own red hair.

All five of us were clutching seating plans, so that they could help show people to the right seats. My job was to walk the guests to their tables, if needed, while the four boys only stood at the entrance, and keep them on task. The supporting poles were entwined with white and gold flowers. Fred and George had fastened an enormous bunch of golden balloons over the exact point where Bill and Fleur would shortly become husband and wife. Outside, butterflies and bees were hovering lazily over the grass and hedgerow.

"When I get married," said 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 all over."

Fred gave me a sideways glance and a wink, causing me to shake my head. Marriage.

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

Brightly colored figures were appearing, one by one, out of nowhere at the distant boundary of the yard. Within minutes a procession had formed, which began to snake its way up through the garden toward the marquee. Exotic flowers and bewitched birds fluttered on the witches' hats, while precious gems glittered from many of the wizards' cravats; a hum of excited chatter grew louder and louder, drowning the sound of the bees as the crowd approached the tent.

"Excellent, I think I see a few veela cousins," said George, craning his neck for a better look. "They'll need help understanding our English customs, I'll look after them..."

"Not so fast, Your Holeyness," said Fred. "Mousey, how do you say 'you look beautiful' in french?"

I looked up to him, narrowing my eyes under the ugly glasses, and said, "Tu ressembles à une vache."

"Music to my ears," Fred sighed dreamily and darted past the gaggle of middle-aged witches heading the procession, he said, "Here— tu ressembles à une vache." to a pair of pretty French girls, who squealed and hit him upside the head with their clutches.

Harry, Ron, and George laughed at Fred as he ran back over to us, rubbing the back of his head.

"What happened?" Fred groaned.

"Next time, try not to call a girl a cow if you want her to fancy you," I huffed and marched away to go meet up with the girls inside.

Per usual, I helped Hermione get ready for the wedding. For the last two parties, Hermione and I have been to, we both have helped each other get ready. Hermione was wearing a floaty, lilac-colored dress with matching high heels; her hair was sleek and shiny. On the other hand, I wore a thin-strapped soft yellow sundress, much to Fleur's delight, and cut my hair again so it barely brushed my shoulders. The glasses were large and square while the sunhat matched the pale yellow of my dress.

Much to my dismay, I had the pleasure of meeting the Weasleys' Great-Aunt Muriel. Dreadful woman, told me short hair didn't suit me and I was too skinny for my own good.

Running down to the wedding tables, we met up with Harry (Barny) and Ron, who were both talking in hushed voices.

"Wow," Ron said. "Hermione, you look great."