Three Years Later: WeddingFic (1/2)
Title: Three Years Later: WeddingFic (1/2)
Author: kanedax
Spoilers: Deathly Hallows, previous chapters
Characters/Pairings: H/G, R/Hr, Neville, Luna, and too many others to mention
Rating: PG-13 for language and crude behavior
Summary: Didn’t you read the title?
Notes: Three Years Later is going to be a two-parter (edit: three- or four-parter), but nicely separate. WeddingFic now, ReceptionFic later. Shout out to
lawsoprano! Heheheh I own Hermione’s family; the rest belong to JK Rowling.
Thirty Months Later: Thestral / Previous Chapters / Three Years Later: WeddingFic (2/2)
Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Weasley
And
Mr. and Mrs. Daniel Granger
request the honour of your presence
at the marriage of their daughters
Ginevra Molly Weasley
to
Harry James Potter
and
Hermione Jean Granger
to
Ronald Bilius Weasley
On Saturday the fifteenth of July
At the Weasleys’ home
Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon
(Address, driving directions,
train and Portkey schedules
available on the next page)
“You have to be effing kidding me,” Vernon Dursley groaned. “They’re going to kill us all.”
“Dad, please,” his son, Dudley sighed as they, along with Petunia Dursley, parked their car, driven for the first time in over three years, along with a dozen or so others in a clearing near the Burrow.
“It’s a madhouse, that’s what it is,” Vernon continued, large jowls wobbling as he slammed the door. “A bleeding insane asylum, built by the inmates. I mean, look at it!”
Petunia couldn’t help but agree with her husband. As they approached the oddly-built house, with its five chimneys, three or four floors hastily built on top of each other, tilted in all sorts of odd directions, she felt slightly ill at ease.
“You mark my words,” Vernon continued as they approached the gate, adjusting his tie around his large neck he walked. “One call to Building Regulations and this place would be shut down before they pop the cork on the champagne.”
“We’ll be fine,” Dudley said. “Harry’s spent summers and holidays here for years, and he came out of it alright. It’s probably being held up by magic. Besides, we’re not even going in, see the tents?”
Dudley motioned with his large arm (less fat and more muscle by the year, Petunia noted with some pride) toward the massive front yard of the house, where there were at least a half dozen tents surrounding rows and rows of white wooden chairs. On the outer edges were even more tarps, wrapped neatly around their posts. As they approached, more and more of the chairs were being filled by the wedding guests, with even more waiting outside the gate to be seated by what Petunia counted as four ushers.
“Like that makes any difference,” Vernon retorted. “They’re still built by the same freaks and madmen that built the house. Out of the frying pan, into the fire, that’s what I say.”
“Dad, could you please, please stop calling them freaks and madmen? Just for one day?”
“Don’t you talk back to me, boy,” Vernon said, pointing a piggy finger at Dudley’s face, which was a good six inches above his own. “I could still put you over me knee, you know.”
“I just thought you could give them some consideration,” said Dudley. “We’re their guests, after all. And they did save our lives.”
“They’re turning you, that’s what it is,” grumbled Vernon. “Spend a year with those loonies and my son learns to disrespect his elders.”
“Dad, I’m not disrespecting…”
Petunia watched this argument silently, as she had watched all of their arguments in the nine months since Harry Potter, along with his friend whose name she couldn’t remember (it was on the invitation somewhere, but Vernon had it in his pocket) had visited their apartment in Milwaukee. It had been a brief visit and, with Vernon out of the house at the drill factory and Dudley at the construction site, it was just the three of them and a couple cups of Starbucks.
Conversation was tensely polite. They asked Petunia about Lily. Asked her about her wedding with the Potter boy all those years ago. Apparently the girl (not the one that Harry was marrying; this one was marrying his future wife’s brother) was born to normal parents, just as Lily and Petunia had been, and she asked Petunia about who had attended, how much had her family known about Lily and her kind, and so on and so on and so on.
And they exchanged a few more forced pleasantries, and they were on their way. But not before leaving behind a golden envelope that contained a wedding invitation. Petunia had considered opening it. Considered taking the box of matches and burning it in the kitchen sink. In the end she left it sitting on the kitchen table, allowing the others to make the decision for her own torn mind.
The truth of the matter was that, for all of the horrible things that Harry had done to their family over the years, part of her wanted to be here. Speaking to the Headmaster of Harry’s school seemed to change her mind about the situation surrounding their nephew and his situation.
But mostly it was Little Duddikins, and his reaction to Harry before their departure from Little Whinging, that made her realize that she still felt some sort of obligation towards the boy. He was Lily’s son, after all, and for all that had happened between them after Lily found out who she really was, Petunia felt like she owed it to her sister to be here.
So she felt a secret relief that Dudley had come home first that afternoon. He really had changed, just as Vernon said. Not just in the time since they left Surrey, but in the time since he had been attacked by the Dementors before his fifth year of school. It was amazing to realize that this boy was the same one she had raised, the one who had followed his parents’ line regarding Harry. Dudley was the first to see the invitation. And he asked her if they could go back to England for the wedding.
“It’s a couple weeks before we’re moving back, anyway,” he had said as she gave him a neutral glare. “Might save us on some airfare to get the paperwork out of the way on the same trip.”
Vernon, who would have torn up the invitation and probably eaten it if he hadn’t been afraid it would do something horrible to his intestines, was vehemently against it. The two Dursley men argued for months before finally turning to Petunia, each begging for her to make the dissenting opinion in their favor.
“Whatever Dudders wants,” she sighed. “We do need to go back, anyway, Vernon.”
“But, Petunia…” Vernon said, his face slack with sorrow.
“He’s going to go with or without us,” she said, and that was true. Dudley had on more than one occasion said that he had enough saved up in the three years since they moved to America, especially while still living under their roof. He could easily afford airfare and hotel for the weekend. “If they’re such a danger, do you want him to go alone?”
In the end, Vernon grudgingly relented, using the excuse that he “needed to check the house, anyway, to make sure that the freaks hadn’t done anything horrible to it” while they were away.
The two continued to argue as they reached the end of the line into the wedding. They continued to argue as the line eventually thinned, leading them to the front gate and a tall, skinny black boy.
“Weasley, Granger, or friend?” he asked them.
“None of the above,” Vernon muttered.
“Potter,” said Dudley to the boy, who appeared to be about the same age as himself. Petunia guessed that this must be one of Harry’s classmates.
“Potter?” he repeated. “You mean, like, a friend of Potter?”
“No, we’re relatives,” sniffed Petunia, marveling at the presumption of the boy, who stared blankly back at them before his eyes widened.
“Relatives?” he gasped. “Like… you’re the Dursleys?”
“Oh, good, he’s heard of us,” said Vernon sarcastically.
“Wow, um,” the boy stammered, obviously thrown off. “Could I… umm… could I see your invitation please?”
“You don’t believe us?” asked Vernon, and Petunia could see that his face was getting red.
“No, I do,” the boy said quickly. “It’s just procedure for Muggles. We need to make sure the invitations don’t slip out into the wrong hands. Statute of Secrecy, you know?”
“Statute of what?” Vernon blared, but Dudley quickly grabbed the invitation from his father’s hand and handed it over to the boy, who read it carefully.
“Bloody hell,” he breathed, and cleared his throat nervously before turning around and calling, “Seamus! Get over here!”
“What is all this?” Vernon said as a second boy ran up to the first, and they exchanged a few words as two girls walked up and escorted the parties behind them to their seats. “Why are we being treated like criminals?”
“Well, if Harry’s busy, go get George,” he heard the black boy whisper to the other. “He’s met them before.”
“Why does that name sound familiar?” Vernon asked Petunia as the second boy ran off toward one of the two smaller tents behind the rows of chairs.
“Sorry about all this,” said the boy. “In all honesty, we weren’t expecting you to come. We’re just making sure that you are who you are, and not… umm… imposters.”
“Imposters?” Vernon bellowed. “The nerve of you people.”
But he cut himself off quickly as he saw the second boy return with another in tow, a shorter redheaded boy with an odd button on his lapel.
“You…” Vernon roared as the redhead looked them up and down with great distaste.
“They look like them, yeah,” he said to the two others.
“You’re the freak that turned Dudley’s tongue into a…!”
“That freak was my twin brother,” the redhead (George, Petunia recalled) said flatly, and she noticed for the first time that he was missing his left ear. “And he’s no longer with us, so watch your mouth about him.”
“Blah!” the large button on his lapel yelled, “I vant to suck your bloooood!” Petunia saw that there was a picture of a small boy in a vampire costume on it, opening and closing his fanged mouth.
“That them?” the first boy asked.
“Yeah, that’s them,” George replied. “You can come on in, I’ll go warn Harry that you’re here.”
“I like your button,” Dudley said as George turned away.
“Don’t encourage him,” Vernon whispered under his breath, but George replied,
“Thanks.”
“That your brother?”
“That’s Fred, yeah,” George replied. “He was a vampire that year, and I was a spatula.”
“It suits him,” Dudley replied.
“Yeah,” George said, snorting a sad laugh. “I’d give my left ear to have him back, too. Enjoy yourselves; make sure he doesn’t make too many snide remarks. Auntie Muriel’s gonna give enough for everyone.” At this, he pointed at Vernon and walked away.
“You can sit wherever,” the black boy said to them. “Weasleys are mostly on this side,” he pointed to his left. “And the other side is Grangers and friends of the family. Anything that’s not roped off is open season.”
“Thank you, um…” Petunia paused.
“Dean,” the boy said. “Dean Thomas.”
“Thomas,” said Vernon. “Finally, a good English name around here. You’re one of the normals, right, boy?”
“No, I’m a wizard,” Dean replied.
“Oh,” Vernon said as though he had just eaten something nasty, and walked down the aisle without another word. Dudley gave Dean an apologetic shrug before following his parents.
“We’re surrounded by them,” Vernon said conspiratorially. “Magic people everywhere. They could do anything they wanted to us.”
“We’re not the only Muggles, Dad,” Dudley said. “The Granger girl’s family is, too, remember?”
“Well, they gave birth to one of them,” Vernon retorted. “So they have to be somewhat abnormal.”
Petunia, who always insulted Lily for being a witch, but never blamed her parents, bit back a sharp reply, knowing that it would only cause a scene that she didn’t feel like causing. Before she could go on, she saw two small children run by them.
“Teddy!” a woman yelled as Vernon nearly tripped over the boy (who Petunia saw had his hair dyed purple), “’Ermione! Stop running and sit down!”
“I got ‘em, Fleur,” came a booming voice from behind them. “C’mere, ye little rascals!”
The two children, who appeared to be not much older than three, giggled as the creature that had haunted the Dursleys’ nightmares for years picked them up, one on each arm.
“Good Lord,” Vernon breathed as the blond girl tugged on the giant’s beard. “He’s going to eat them…”
Even Dudley, whose last experience with this thing finished with him growing a tail, turned a pale shade and took an involuntary step backward, nearly running into the beautiful blond woman coming up behind them. The creature looked down at the family, and his eyes narrowed.
“Dursley,” it said, nodding its head briefly. Vernon’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.
“Excuse me,” the blonde said quickly to the Dursleys as she passed them “Zank you, ‘Agrid. Zese two, zey are a ‘andful.”
“It’s not a problem, Fleur,” said Hagrid, bouncing the two up and down. “I know how kids can get. Weren’t Andromeda watchin’ ‘em, too? And Bill?”
“Andromeda needed a break, I gave her a break,” Fleur shrugged. “And Bill is too busy keeping Victoire from crawling away to watch zem.”
“Where’s Mummy?” the young girl asked.
“Mummy’s in the tent,” said Hagrid, and Petunia was shocked to hear the giant’s voice grow gentle and soothing in contrast to his body. “She’s getting your sister ready for the wedding, but she’ll be out soon.” He turned back to Fleur. “D’you want me to watch ‘em for a bit?”
“Zat would be lovely,” Fleur sighed. “Do you want to stay wit ‘Agrid, Teddy? ‘Ermione?”
Both of the children nodded vigorously. Petunia did a double take at the boy. “Wasn’t his hair just purple?” she asked, pointing to the now blazing red head.
“Prob’ly, yeah,” said Hagrid, as though this were a normal occurrence. “Glad you lot could make it.”
“Petunia!” called a voice from the right side. “Dudley! There’s chairs over here!” Petunia turned to see a hand sticking out from a throng of people. Eventually the body it belonged to worked its way forward, and Petunia recognized her.
“There’s Hestia,” she said, seeing Dedalus Diggle was sitting next to her, looking uncomfortable around the small group that was circling a chair on Hestia Jones’s other side. Realizing that this was probably the closest they were going to get to sitting by people they knew, Petunia and Dudley started moving down the aisle, Vernon giving Hagrid a nervous glance as he followed them.
“Did you see that?” he whispered to Dudley. “Did you see the look in that monster’s eyes? He wanted to kill me!”
“Well, you did stick a shotgun in his face.”
“Before he bent it in half!” Vernon hissed. “Didn’t I tell you this was dangerous?”
“Give it a rest, Dad,” Dudley said. “Hey, Mr. Diggle.”
“Hello, Dudley,” Dedalus muttered. It had taken a little time, and a few close brushes with death, before the Dursleys (well, Petunia and Dudley, anyway) became friendly with their protectors, Dedalus Diggle and Hestia Jones. Petunia could tell that Diggle’s half-hearted response was less to their presence than it was to the crowd at his side.
“No more autographs, please!” a woman’s voice yelled from the middle of the circle. “I’m here for a wedding, not a publicity shoot!”
“One more, Miss Jones, please?” a small redheaded girl asked, holding a scrap of tissue out to the woman as the Dursleys sat down beside Dedalus.
The woman sighed. “Fine, fine, give,” she held her hands out, and the girl jumped up and down with glee.
“Petunia, Dudley,” Hestia said, pointedly ignoring Vernon, who was doing his best to ignore them in return, “I’d like to introduce you to my sister, Gwenog.”
“Pleasure,” Gwenog Jones replied, not looking up from the tissue she was scribbling on. “You’re Potter’s relatives, aren’t you? The Muggles?”
“I’m his mother’s sister,” Petunia replied, not sure if she liked this woman’s brusque attitude.
“Surprised you all made it,” Gwenog said, handing the paper back to the girl as the crowd dispersed. “From everything I heard from Hessie, sounded like you were ready to write him off.”
“Some of us were,” Vernon grumbled just loud enough to be heard.
“He’s a good kid, Potter,” Gwenog continued. “Met him a few times after Ginny made the club.”
“The club?” asked Dudley. “You play that broomstick game, then? The… Qualnut?”
“Quidditch,” Gwenog replied. “I’m the Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies. Weasel’s on our reserve squad, but she’s an injury away from becoming one of our starting Chasers. Maybe less than an injury, if Upjohn keeps playing the way she’s been.”
“Weasel’s their nickname for Ginny,” Hestia muttered to Petunia. “I really don’t think it fits a girl like her, but what are you going to do? It’s an athlete thing.”
“Ginny’s the Ginevra that Harry’s marrying?” Petunia asked, trying to keep the names straight.
“The same,” Hestia nodded. “You haven’t met her?”
“Only the other one,” said Petunia. “The brunette.”
“Hermione, right,” Hestia nodded.
“So that’s how you pronounce that name,” Dudley said, chuckling. “I thought it was Her-mee-own.”
“It’s tricky,” said Dedalus.
“Anyway, yeah,” Gwenog continued unabated, “Weasel’s a great girl from a great family. Harry couldn’t have picked a better one. You’ll be glad to have her around.”
Petunia looked over at Vernon, who was staring whey-faced at what looked like a centaur. Are we going to have her around? she thought, shocked at herself that the half-man-half-horse wasn’t causing her more discomfort.
Petunia Dursley had assumed coming in that Harry’s wedding would be the last act the Dursleys would play in this story, both with the Potters and with the wizarding world. That they would go back to their lives in the real world and forget the last twenty years as some sordid nightmare. But now, looking at Dudley take such an avid interest in the people here, in the opinions and feelings of Harry’s friends, as well as in Harry himself, she wasn’t so sure…
“Is that everyone?” Elizabeth asked as she walked back up the aisle.
“Looks like,” her cousin, Theresa Granger, replied, taking one last quick glance around the outside of the fence. “Dean and Seamus already sat down, we should probably be finding our seats.”
“Uncle Gavin saved you a spot?”
“Yeah, the whole fam’s staying together. I think your Mum and Dad are with them. Grandma Granger, too.”
“Is Geoffrey over there?” Elizabeth asked, referring to Geoffrey Banks, Aunt Charlotte’s father, Hermione’s grandfather.
“I think so,” said Theresa. “Since Uncle Danny and Aunt Charlotte are both busy, he hasn’t had anyone else to hang out with besides us.”
“Alright,” Elizabeth said, looking around the spot where the four ushers had been positioned for the past hour, making sure everything was in order.
“Okay, maybe not everyone’s seated yet.”
Theresa was looking over the field where, about thirty feet away, a lone figure stood watching the proceedings.
“Good Lord, it’s like he appeared out of thin air.” Theresa said.
“I’m never going to get used to that teleportation thing.”
“I think they call it Appartution, or something,” Theresa corrected.
“Whatever, he’s kind of cute,” Elizabeth said to her older cousin. “I’ll seat him, you go get with the others.”
“Are you sure?” Theresa asked with an arched eyebrow, “He’s a bit old for you, isn’t he?”
“Shut up, I’m sixteen,” Elizabeth replied crossly. “Even if he’s the same age as Hermione, that’s, what, five or six years? That’s nothing.”
“Whatever,” Theresa rolled her eyes. “Make it quick, though, the ceremony’s starting in a few minutes.”
“Right,” Elizabeth said, and waved Theresa quickly down the aisle as the man approached the gate.
God, he is cute, Elizabeth thought. He did look to be about Hermione’s age. Tall, pale, with almost white-blond hair, the man had a black trench coat in the July sun and a serious look on his face. Kind of a Jude Law type. Or maybe Heath Ledger.
“Hello,” Elizabeth said brightly, adjusting her hair and straightening her flowery skirt.
“Hello,” the man said.
“Bride or groom?” Elizabeth asked, “Or… um… bride or… groom?”
“Neither,” the man said, and Elizabeth could see that he looked uncomfortable. Nervous, even.
“Oh, so you’re a friend?” Elizabeth breathed a mental sigh of relief (Thank God, not related.).
“Probably about as far from friends as you could get,” the man said. As he said it, his face turned slightly red, and Elizabeth could see pale scars sticking out on his cheek. So many of Hermione’s friends seemed to have scars of some sort. Elizabeth didn’t know much about Hermione’s life as a witch, had only learned that she was a witch six or seven months ago. But there were some indications that all of the wounds these people were carrying (Ron’s brother was missing an ear, for God’s sake, and another of his brothers actually died) had something to do with Uncle Danny and Aunt Charlotte disappearing for a year, coming back from wherever with Elizabeth’s newest cousin.
Why they named her Hermione again is beyond me, Elizabeth thought for not the first time. But I suppose some people have their quirks. “Do you have an invitation?”
“No, I don’t,” the man continued, reaching into his pocket. “I’m actually just dropping off a gift.”
“Oh,” Elizabeth said, trying her best to mask the disappointment in her voice.
The man paused, his hand still in the pocket of his coat. “You’re not a Weasley,” he said, looking at her brown hair.
“Nope.”
“So you’re a Granger?”
“Wainwright, actually,” Elizabeth said. “My Mum is Hermione’s Dad’s sister. And my sister Gretchen is Hermione’s bridesmaid. We’re Moogles.”
“Muggles...”
“Something like that,” Elizabeth said, briefly flashing her glittering braces (courtesy of Daniel Granger, DDS). “I don’t like that name, anyway. Sounds like a swear word, you know?”
The man shrugged, and pulled two envelopes out of his pocket, handing them to Elizabeth. “Put these in the stack with the others, would you?”
“Sure, no problem,” Elizabeth said. Ron & Hermione on one, Harry & Ginny on the other, Elizabeth was surprised that they had some small weight to them. She felt along the edge. “Are there keys in here? Did you buy them new cars?”
“No, they’re for some vaults,” the man said. “Created by me, under their names. My father would Crucio me if he knew I was giving part of the family fortune to the Weasleys. But they could probably use some extra spending money. Wedding like this had to cost them quite a bit. Potter, too.”
“Okay…” Elizabeth said slowly, wondering why the man didn’t just write them a check. “Are you sure you don’t want to come in?”
“I don’t have an invitation,” the man repeated.
“Well,” Elizabeth shrugged, astonished with herself at her brazenness, “They didn’t let us Moogles bring any guests, since they didn’t want anyone finding out about them. But I’m sure if I had a wizard date it would be alright.”
The man cracked a small smile, causing Elizabeth to blush furiously. “I don’t think it would be a good idea,” he said. “Potter and I have never gotten along. These keys call us even, but I don’t think my presence would be the best thing for his wedding.”
“You’d be surprised,” Elizabeth insisted. “Dean and Seamus said that Harry’s aunt and uncle are here. From the way they were talking, I guess there’s a bit of bad blood involved. You probably couldn’t make it any worse.”
The man shook his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I should go.” And he turned and began to walk away.
Elizabeth, realizing it was her last chance, jumped the cliff. “Wait!” she yelled. “Umm… What’s your name?”
The man turned around. “Draco,” he said.
Draco? Elizabeth thought. Weird name. Like a supervillain or something.
Oh, God, do they have supervillains in this world? Big, powerful supervillains like that guy from that X-Men movie? Is this Hermione’s supervillain?
Oh, whatever…
“Could I have your phone number?”
“I don’t have a phone.”
“E-mail address?” Elizabeth pressed on, “ICQ number?”
Draco shook his head. “Wainwright…”
“Elizabeth…”
“You don’t want to ask out someone like me. I promise.”
And he spun on his heel and disappeared into thin air, leaving Elizabeth Wainwright alone with two envelopes in her hand and the processional music beginning behind her.
Thirty Months Later: Thestral / Previous Chapters / Three Years Later: WeddingFic (2/2)