"I know I can treat you better than he can, and any girl like you deserves a gentleman. So tell me why we're wasting time on all your wasted crying when you could be with me instead?" - Shawn Mendes, Treat You Better
Three o'clock the following afternoon and I find myself finishing off my makeup with Hermione, as the wedding guests begin to trickle in. Harry and I have now taken large doses of Polyjuice Potion: he is now the double of a redheaded boy while I have taken the form of a tall, blonde girl, both Muggles from the local village, Ottery St. Catchpole, from whom Fred has 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, while I am posing as "Violet", one of Fleur's Veela friends from Beuaxbatons: there are plenty of real blonde-haired Veelas present today that I'm sure nobody will even take notice of me.
The Muggle girl whom I am impersonating is much taller and slender than I, so I've borrowed a dress from Fleur which is massively out of my comfort zone: ("It may be out of 'Aylee's comfort zone, but you are not 'Aylee anymore!") It's gold and flowy, with a scooping low back which hangs loosely on my body, something I could normally never pull off. It cascades to the ground in a high-low fashion, appearing to be floor length from the back, but actually cutting off well before my knee in the front (to which Fleur says, "Violet 'as ze legs to pull it off!"). All in all, it is the complete opposite of my usual style, but I suppose that's the entire idea of Polyjuice Potion.
I finish off my makeup with a sigh, and, despite my utter frustration with it, slip Dumbledore's locket over my neck, allowing it to hang low over the top of my dress.
"You look pretty," Hermione smiles, as we set off outside together.
"Let's just get this over with. The sooner this is over, the sooner we can leave."
Ron appears to be speechless as we approach, his eyes absolutely glued to Hermione, who is wearing a floaty, lilac-coloured dress with matching heels, her hair sleek and shiny.
"Wow," he says breathlessly, blinking rather rapidly as we come hurrying towards them. "You look great! Both of you," he adds quickly, sending a small glance at me.
"Always the tone of surprise," says Hermione, smiling. "Your Great-Aunt Muriel doesn't agree, we just met her upstairs while she was giving Fleur the tiara. She said, 'Oh dear, is this the Muggle-born?' and then, 'Bad posture and skinny ankles.'"
"Don't take it personally, she's rude to everyone," says Ron.
"She didn't say a word to me," I say with a laugh. "Probably didn't think I could speak English, I overheard her cursing out some French girls earlier."
"Talking about Muriel?" George inquires, emerging from the marquee with Fred. "Yeah, she just told me my ears are lopsided. Old bat."
I snort into my hand. "Looking good, Violet," he adds with a wink. "I wish old Uncle Bilius was still with us, though; he was a right laugh at weddings."
"Wasn't he the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-four hours later?" Hermione asks.
"Well, yeah, he went a bit odd toward the end," George concedes.
"But before he went loopy he was the life and soul of the party," says Fred. "He used to down an entire bottle of firewhiskey, then run onto the dance floor, hoist up his robes, and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his --"
"Yes, he sounds like a real charmer," says Hermione, while Harry and I roar with laughter.
"Never married for some reason," says Ron.
"You amaze me," says Hermione.
We're all laughing so much that none of us notices the latecomer, a dark-haired young man with a large, curved nose and thick black eyebrows until he holds out an invitation to Ron and says, with his eyes on Hermione, "You look vunderful."
"Viktor!" she shrieks and drops her small beaded bag, which makes a loud thump quite disproportionate to its size. As she scrambles, blushing, to pick it up, she says, "I didn't know you were -- goodness -- it's lovely to see you -- how are you?"
Ron's ears have turned bright red again. After glancing at Krum's invitation as if he does not believe it a word of it, he says, much too loudly, "How come you're here?"
"Fleur invited me," says Krum, eyebrows raised.
Harry and I, who have no grudge against Krum, greet him. He shakes Harry's hand and kisses mine, and asks for our names: I'm still getting used to the idea that we are not Harry and Haylee more, and we have to pretend to have only just met. Meanwhile, I can sense Ron getting angrier and angrier. Thankfully, Harry offers to remove Krum from Ron's presence, an act which I'm sure will save us a lot of strife.
We quickly follow suit and make out way down the aisle, still accompanied by the twins. "Time to sit down," Fred says once we reach Harry, "or we're going to get run over by the bride."
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I file into the row behind Fred and George, and beside Dad and Sirius. Dad turns and smiles when he sees me, outstretching his hand, "I'm James."
I shake his hand, trying to stop myself from laughing. "Hi James, I'm your daughter."
He looks taken aback for a moment, but then remembers, causing him and Sirius to burst into silent laughter. "If there was ever any doubt that she was yours," Sirius says, "I think that cleared it up."
A sense of jittery anticipation has filled the warm tent, the general murmuring broken by occasional spurts of excited laughter. Mr and Mrs Weasley stroll down the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives: Mrs Weasley is wearing a brand-new set of amethyst-coloured robes with a matching hat.
A moment later Bill and Charlie stand up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with large white roses in their buttonholes; Fred wolf-whistles and there is an outbreak of giggling from the veela cousins. Then we all fall silent as the music swells from what seems to be the golden balloons.
"Ooooh!" says Hermione, as we swivel in our seats to look.
A great collective sigh issues from the assembled witches and wizards as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur come walking up the aisle, Fleur gliding, Monsieur Delacour bounding and beaming. Fleur is wearing a very simple white dress and seems to be emitting a strong, silvery glow. While her radiance usually dims everyone else, by comparison, today it beautifies everybody it falls upon. Ginny and Fleur, both wearing golden dresses, look even prettier than usual, and once Fleur has reached him, Bill does not look as though he has ever met Fenrir Greyback.
"Ladies and gentleman," says a slightly singsong voice, and with a slight shock, I see the same, small, tufty-haired wizard who had presided at Dumbledore's funeral, now standing in front of Bill and Fleur. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls."
"Yes, my tiara sets off the whole thing nicely, says Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. "But I must say, Ginevra's dress is far too low cut."
"Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle...?"
In the front row, Mrs Weasley and Madame Delacour are both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace. Trumpetlike sounds from the back of the marquee tells us all that Hagrid has taken out his own tablecloth-sized handkerchief. Hermione turns and beams at me; her eyes too are full of tears.
"...then I declare you bonded for life."
The tufty-haired wizard waves his wand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and a shower of silver stars fall upon them, spiralling around their now entwined figures. As Fred and George lead a round of applause, the golden balloons overheard burst: Birds of paradise and tiny golden bells fly and float out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din.
"Ladies and gentleman!" calls the tufty-haired wizard. "If you would please stand up!"
We all do so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly; he waves his wand again. The seats on which we were sitting rise gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanish so that we're standing beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold spreads from the centre of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs group themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all float gracefully back to earth around it, and the golden-jacketed band troop towards a podium.
"Smooth," says Ron approvingly as the waiters pop up on all sides, some bearing silver trays of pumpkin juice, butterbeer, and firewhiskey, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches.
"We should go and congratulate them!" says Hermione, standing on tiptoe to see the place where Bill and Fleur have vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers.
"We'll have time later," Ron shrugs, snatching four butterbeers from a passing tray and handing one to Harry and I. "Hermione, come on, let's grab a table....Not there! Nowhere near Auntie Muriel --"
Ron leads the way across the empty dance floor, glancing left and right as he goes: I'm certain that he's keeping an eye out for Krum. By tht time we reach the other side of the marquee, most of the tables are occupied: the emptiest is the one where Luna sits alone.
"All right if we join you?" asks Ron.
"Oh yes," she says happily. "Hello, Haylee, nice to you see, again."
I choke on my butterbeer. "But -- how did you know?"
"It's just your expression," she says, unphased, before continuing her prior train of thought. "Daddy's just gone to give Bill and Fleur our present."
"What is it, a lifetime's supply of Gurdyroots?" Ron asks.
Hermione aims a kick at him under the table but catches Dad instead. Laughing into my hand as his eyes water with pain, I lose track of the conversation for a few moments.
The band has begun to play. Bill and Fleur take to the dance floor first, to great applause; after a while, Mr Weasley leads Madame Delacour onto the floor, followed by Mrs Weasley and Fleur's father.
"I like this song," says Luna, swaying in tome to the waltz-like tune, and a few seconds later she stands up and glides onto the dancefloor, where she revolves on the spot, quite alone, eyes closed and waving her arms.
"She's great, isn't she?" Ron says admiringly. "Always good value."
"We're gonna go and find Moony," Sirius says, as he and Dad stand up, "see if we can get him drunk, just like the good old days."
"Don't you drink too much!" Dad says through laughter, pointing at Harry and me.
Sirius shrugs from behind him and winks. "But what we don't know won't hurt us, will it?"
We all laugh as they disappear, but the smile quickly vanishes from Ron's face at once: Viktor Krum has dropped into Dad's vacant seat. Hermione looks pleasurably flustered, but this time Krum has not come to compliment her. With a scowl on his face, he says, "Who is that man in the yellow?"
"That's Xenophilius Lovegood, he's the father of a friend of ours," says Ron. His pugnacious tone indicates that we are not about to laugh at Xenophilius, despite the clear provocation. "Come and dance," he adds to abruptly to Hermione.
She looks taken aback but pleased too, and they get up. They vanish together into the growing throng on the dance floor.
Feeling thoroughly uncomfortable, I too stand up, "I'm going to grab another drink," I tell them, ignoring the look in Harry's eyes which begs me to stay. I cross the floor, collect a glass of firewhiskey, and find Riley on the outskirts of the dancefloor, who, much like Dad, does not recognize me at first.
"How're you feeling?" I ask above the increasingly upbeat music. He appears to be quite tipsy already, and though he clutches his glass tight, I can see that his hand is shaking.
"D'you miss him, Haylee?"
"Miss who?"
"Draco." He glances down at my wrist, where his bracelet still sits, the tiny lightning bolt charm moving gracefully in the wind. "You still wear that, even when you're not really you, even after everything that happened between the two of you.."
"Yes," I say truthfully, without a second thought. "Three years of love doesn't just go away in a few weeks, contrary to what Harry and Ron seem to think. I still think about him, God, I'm constantly worried about him...But still, I can't help but resent him for what happened." My voice catches in my throat for a moment and I struggle for a few moments to stop tears. "I still love him, but I don't see him in my future anymore." I watch Bill and Fleur dancing for a moment, and my heartaches. "I don't see this ending for us."
"Who do you see in your future, then?" he asks tentatively, as if, just like Tessa, I can see my future laid out in front of me, every step of the way.
"All I can see is Voldemort." I take a swig of my drink, and my insides burn, reminding me of the numbness of Moody's death. I keep expecting to see him limp past rambling about constant vigilance, or to see Taylor spinning erratically with Fred on the dancefloor like they had the night of the Yule Ball all those years ago. I keep expecting for Draco to come and ask for a dance, for all the warmness, affection, and love of our night in the Room of Requirement to come rushing back to me, but it does not. "So long as he's out there, nothing else matters."
"You can't have just forgotten him," Riley presses on, his quiet voice now barely audible above the euphoria of the room. "I know I'll never forget Tessa."
I take another drink, liquid confidence bursting through my veins. "I haven't forgotten. One day I'll remember. Remember everything that's happened. The good, the bad. Those who survived, and those who did not." I pause once more, images of Cedric motionless on the grass, of blood pouring from Taylor's throat, and of Dumbledore falling in slow motion rushing through my mind, like a movie at a cinema. "But for now, I simply have to keep fighting. I can't dwell on what was."
He chuckles into his drink and shakes his head, and I screw up my nose in confusion. "You're stronger than I am, Haylee, leaving it all behind you like that."
"Why d'you say that?"
"Because I've finally figured out what I want to do," he says firmly, a sense of sobriety returning to him. "Going back to Hogwarts will kill me as surely as Voldemort would, and hunting the" -- he mouthes the word Horcruxes -- "is your destiny, not mine. I'm going to find Tessa, even if it kills me, I'm going to find her and bring her back to the light because I know that the girl I love is still out there. I can feel it in my bones."
I stare at him for a few seconds, at his sudden sense of unwavering strength. "I'm so proud of you, Ri."
He smiles and takes another sip. Before I can speak another word, his eyes focus on something behind me, but only for a moment before he suddenly says, "I'm going to go dance."
"You're -- what?"
"With Luna, I'm going to dance with Luna. I'll catch you later, all right?"
As he disappears into the fray, leaving me alone on the outskirts of the party, utterly confused.
I've never been to a wedding before, so I cannot judge how Wizarding celebrations differ from Muggles ones, though I'm pretty sure that the latter would not involve a wedding cake topped with two model phoenixes that take flight when the cake is cut, or bottles of champagne that float unsupported through the crowd. As evening draws in, and moths begin to swoop under the canopy, not lit with floating golden lanterns, the revelry becomes more and more uncontained. Fred has long since disappeared into the darkness with one of Fleur's cousins; Charlie, Sirius, Dad, and Hagrid are singing "Odo the Hero" in the corner.
Wandering through the crowd so as to escape a drunken cousin of Ron who is trying to flirt with me, I catch sight of George alone in the crowd, who beams when he catches sight of me. He has a glass of firewhiskey in his hand, which I would guess is far from his first.
When he reaches me, he reaches down silently and kisses my hand, "Good evening, ma Cherie."
I roll my eyes. "George, I'm Haylee, remember?"
He feigns a look of offence, pulling his hand away dramatically. "I know! I remembered your dress, though you do look like every other veela cousin here. Prettier though, of course."
I laugh. "Sure. Are you looking for Fred? I think I saw him disappear with one of Fleur's cousins about twenty minutes ago..."
"Yeah, I know," he says, turning to face an incoming waiter and grabbing two fresh glasses. "I wanted to talk to you." He trades my freshly emptied glass for a full one with a grin. "Cheers."
I take a sip. "Are you trying to get me drunk?"
"Me? Never. I'm holy, remember," he adds with a booming laugh. I watch him for a moment as he takes another swig, the sight of his missing ear making the hair stand up all over my body. He lowers his glass and returns my stare, arching an eyebrow, "What? Is there something wrong with my ear?"
I force a smile, but a sick feeling re-emerges in the pit of my stomach. It's my fault. I had once promised myself I wouldn't let anyone stand between me and Voldemort, but now George has taken the fall, the last person I would have ever imagined to suffer because of me.
He edges forward and nudges my shoulder with his. "Lighten up, Haylee. I know what you're thinking, and it wasn't your fault." His voice is serious, but his signature grin is nevertheless plastered on his face.
"It is." His grin disappears immediately and is replaced by a sense of seriousness and urgency I've never seen in him before. "I never should have agreed to that plan - "
"- if I remember correctly, we didn't give you much of a choice," he interrupts smartly. "We all know what we were getting ourselves into, and -- Haylee, look at me -- I'd jump in front of a thousand curses if it meant keeping you safe." He clears his throat awkwardly. "The both of you, that is. You and Harry."
I feel colour rising to my cheeks, and I take another sip of my drink, hoping to disguise my blush with intoxication. "Riley told us that didn't do it for me -- us, I mean," I say slowly. He casts a glare across the tent at Riley, who is now dancing with Luna.
"I have a lot of reasons to fight," he says simply. "You're one of them, and not just because you and Harry are the Chosen Ones, or whatever, but because you're my friends."
A comfortable silence settles between us, in which I notice my heart beginning to flutter in my chest, and the pit of doom in my stomach is replaced by butterflies. Suddenly I feel like I'm fourteen again, hiding my collection of love letters from Taylor, completely unaware of how my love would transpire.
"In any case, there is an obvious bright side," he says, returning to his usual jokey tone, "you can tell Fred and me apart now."
I chuckle. "I've always been able to tell you apart."
This seems to strike him for a moment, but he quickly covers it up with a grin. "Right, because of how devilishly handsome I am?"
"Sure, that's it." I laugh again, and watch him, bopping his head slightly to the music. I try my hardest to envision Draco in his place, laughing with Harry, singing drinking songs with Dad and Sirius, but all I can see the Dark Mark burned into his skin forever. Is he safe? What else will Voldemort make him do to get to me?
"Why're you staring at me?"
I come to my senses and shake my head, making George laugh, "I must have zoned out." Be it liquid confidence or the impending doom of the war, my next words slip from my mouth before I can really consider the consequences. "Are you really flirting with me right now? Or are you just drunk and forgetting that I don't actually look like this?"
He makes a face, glances around as if to check that nobody is watching, and then grabs my hand, "come with me."
He pulls me out from underneath the canopy and out into the garden, away from the music and chatter of the wedding festivities. He reaches into the pocket of his dress robes and then grabs my hands, pushing something small and fragile into my palm. "I want you to have this, I think it'll answer your question."
He releases my hands, and I raise my palm to see an immaculate red rose in the centre, untouched by time or nature.
"I picked it at Hogwarts after Dumbledore's funeral, right by the lake," he says quietly. "I remember wondering how something so beautiful could exist in such a sad and ugly world. I probably should have just left it alone, but I couldn't, I knew that one day the Death Eaters would come and just...destroy it. So I've had it ever since, and we enchanted it so it wouldn't wilt. Yeah, I thought that I might give it to you: it reminded me of you, actually."
"That's a lovely sentiment," I say quietly, unable to think of how else to express what I'm thinking.
He clears his throat awkwardly. "I just thought...you've just gone through this horrible break up, among everything else you and Harry are dealing with, and...and I just thought I could say something, tell you what a rare and wonderful thing you are to find in such dark times."
I take a few deep breaths, my cheeks surely bright red by now. "I don't know what to say."
"The-Girl-Who-Lived rendered speechless? I never thought I'd see the day."
And suddenly he's kissing me, one hand around my waist and the other in my hair, pulling me closer, the taste of firewhiskey lingering on his lips. And everything else seems to melt away -- the war, the wedding -- and that is left is us, alone in the garden, not even the cool evening breeze enough to diminish the heat rising between us. When we pull away he smiles goofily, and presses a kiss to my neck, before whispering, "should we go somewhere more private?"
My heart is beating so fast I fear it might burst through my chest, but hidden deep within the butterflies fluttering in my stomach there is doubt. With Draco, I didn't have to think twice, and yet --
I open my mouth to reply, but the words turn to ashes in my mouth. "What's that?"
Something large and silver comes falling through the canopy over the dance floor. And just as quickly as we came together, we're bounding across the garden again, bursting back into the canopy just in time to see a lynx land in the middle of the astonished dancers, graceful and gleaming. Still breathless, we watch in horror as heads turn, those nearest it freezing absurdly in mid-dance. Then, the Patronus' mouth opens wide and it speaks in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.
"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."