Chapter Three

For Better and For Worse
Part One

“Harry! Hermione!” Ginny squealed with delight, pelting out the door and sailing neatly into Harry’s arms.

Ron’s poked his head out the door and flushed red beneath his smattering of freckles. “You’re here early!” he exclaimed, catching Hermione in a one-armed embrace and clapping Harry on the back.

“Oooh, you are ‘ere! You ‘ave come!” Fleur kissed Harry on the forehead, smiling radiantly.

“How’s Bill?”

Fleur smiled bravely, “’E eez doing as well as can be ‘expected.”

Fleur’s little sister, Gabrielle, waltzed across the front yard and hugged Harry tightly around the middle. Then, with Ginny clasping one arm and Gabrielle tugging on his other, Harry was half-led, half-dragged towards the house.

A quick tour revealed the Burrow to be much changed. The old Wellington boots had been bundled away and the discarded cauldrons were brimming with flowers. Inside, the clutter had been cleared away and the house was festooned with baubles and bouquets. Ron led Harry up to the attic to see the family ghoul – decked in tinsel and looking absolutely livid.  

* * * * *

Downstairs, the kitchen was bustling with activity. Mrs. Weasley was standing over the stove stirring a large pot of stewed turnips, her face shining red. When she spotted Harry, she shrieked and tossed the ladle aside in her haste to reach him.

“Harry, oh Harry!” she sobbed, enveloping him in a bone-crushing hug. “We’ve been so worried!”

“Lay off him, Mum,” Fred said, prying Mrs. Weasley off of Harry. Harry stepped back, massaging his aching sides.

“Yeah, Mum, he’s just been at Privet Drive…hasn’t done anything too dangerous yet, eh?” George cuffed Harry around the back the head.

“I know, I know,” Molly dabbed her eyes, only to burst into tears again at the sight of Hermione.
“Meezus Weasley?” A coldly imperious voice interrupted them.

Molly pulled a face then turned to face a tall, blonde woman who was surveying the crowded kitchen with great distaste.

“You must be ‘Arry Potter,” she said coolly, extending a bejeweled hand to Harry. He shook it, but had an odd feeling that he ought to have kissed her hand instead.  

“Meezus Weasley, as I waz saying, how do we expect to ‘ave ze wedding ‘ere of all places? No room for ze guests!”

Mrs. Weasley ignored this comment and returned to the stove, where she spent several moments beheading radishes into the boiling kettle. “That woman!” she hissed, “Thinks she owns the place – bossing me around in my own home…if it wasn’t for Bill, why, I’d have the lot of them thrown out!”

The last time Harry had seen Mrs. Weasley this angry was when she discovered Fred and George had restarted Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes right under her nose. The rest of the Weasleys were rather downtrodden as well; Charlie, back from dragon-taming in Romania, looked as though he was ready to breathe fire himself. Fred confided in Harry that Monsieur Delacour had called Arthur Weasley’s obsession with plugs “stupide.”

Meanwhile Ginny spent her spare moments miming Madame Delacour’s heavy French accent - “Een France, we would ‘ave none of zis!” she said in mock outrage when Mrs. Weasley ordered her to shell a cauldron full of sweet peas. 

Clearly, any animosity the Weasleys had felt towards Fleur had vanished and been redirected at the hated Madame and Monsieur Delacour.

* * * * *

The morning of the wedding dawned clear and calm. Over breakfast, the Weasleys and the Delacours were making a concerted effort to be kinder to each other. Mrs. Weasley kindly asked Madame Delacour to pass the sugar and cream, and Madame Delacour politely accepted a plate of kippers and sausage instead of her favored crepes Suzette. Monsieur Delacour complimented Mr. Weasley on a handsome set of two-way radios, and, by the time Mr. Weasley unfurled his copy of The Daily Prophet, he was positively beaming.

“Any news, Dad?” Fred asked airily.

“None at all,” he said happily and passed the prime sections of The Prophet to Monsieur Delacour.

* * * * *

As the day wore on, legions of witches and wizards dropped in to offer their regards. The wedding itself was to be a small family affair, but the Wizarding community at large wanted a chance to express their good wishes to the bride- and groom-to-be.

Members of the Order arrived around lunchtime and set about “securing the premises” – as Mad-Eye Moody put it. Even he had dressed up for the occasion, donning a ratted brown tailcoat and a hat that obscured his electric blue eye. Nymphadora Tonks, escorted by Remus Lupin, arrived wearing a set of shocking pink dress robes that clashed horribly with her spiked hair.

“Major security hazard – a wedding like this,” Mad-Eye mused, scratching his marred chin thoughtfully. “Dark wizards would want to be all over an event like this…jam-packed with Order members, it is…”

“Our Mad-Eye, ever the pessimist,” Lupin said with an amused smile.

“Oh, Mad-Eye, do shut up!” Tonks chimed in, elbowing him in the stomach.

An elderly man Apparted a few feet away. For a moment, Harry’s heart soared, for he thought he was seeing Albus Dumbledore again - but he quickly realized that the man was none other than Dumbledore’s brother, Aberforth, the barkeeper at the Hog’s Head.

“Mr. Potter,” he said gruffly. “Wonder if I might have a word?”

Harry nodded and the two strolled off towards the garden.

“We haven’t been properly introduced…Aberforth Dumbledore. I know who you are, of course. My brother spoke highly of you, young man.” Aberforth’s eyes twinkled, reminiscent of the late Albus Dumbledore.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’ve a difficult task ahead of you, Mr. Potter,” Aberforth observed, cursing a garden gnome that dawdled across their path.

Harry could think of no reply.

“You remember me, Mr. Potter. I’m no match for my brother, but I’ve seen a fair share of life myself…147 years tends to do that to you.” He smiled again, then left Harry standing in the garden, alone with his thoughts.

* * * * *

Ludo Bagman dropped in at three o’ clock, just as Mrs. Weasley was passing out cucumber sandwiches.

“Ludo!” Mr. Weasley clapped him on the back, “Haven’t seen you around in awhile! How’re things?”

“Fine, just fine,” Ludo Bagman flashed a smile at the rest of the wedding party, though he balked somewhat at the furious expressions on Fred and George’s faces. Clearly, they had not forgotten Bagman’s shady dealings at the Quidditch World Cup.

“Anything to eat, Mr. Bagman?” Mrs. Weasley asked politely, gesturing at a platter of tea biscuits.

“No, no, Molly – I couldn’t possibly. Just stopping by, want to offer my congratulations –” Bagman bounced up and down on the balls of his feet, peering over the redheaded Weasleys and blond-tressed Delacours, for a glimpse of Fleur Delacour. Harry remembered Bagman’s fondness for Fleur from the Triwizard Tournament.

“If you’re looking for Fleur, she’s upstairs with Gabrielle,” Harry said blithely.

“Aha!” Bagman nodded and bounded up the stairs with ill-disguised enthusiasm.

HERMIONE

By six o’ clock, the entire household was in a state of wild excitement. Hermione and Ginny were outside, stringing garlands of honeysuckle and mistletoe across the doorways and sloping eaves, when a terrible shriek echoed from the upstairs bedroom.

Hermione and Ginny pelted up the stairs to see Gabrielle and the bride-to-be locked in fierce combat. Madame Delacour stood frozen in the doorway, unable to intercede.

“Gabrielle, no!” Fleur screamed and Gabrielle seized a fistful of Fleur’s long silky hair. Hermione and Ginny scrambled to break up the fight. Even as Ginny dragged Gabrielle away, the little girl was still struggling and gnashing her teeth.

Fleur sunk onto the bed sobbing. “I don’t know what ‘as gotten into ‘er!” she exclaimed tearfully.

“Ze is jealous, mon cherie,” Madame Delacour wrapped her arms around her eldest daughter.

Hermione bent down and scooped a beautiful diamond tiara off of the floor.

“Great Auntie Muriel’s,” Ginny observed as she slipped back into the room. Her face was scratched and her hair mused from tussling with Fleur’s little sister. “I don’t reckon Auntie Muriel was too keen to part with this...even for just one evening.” Ginny winked and placed the tiara upon her own red hair. For Hermione’s amusement, she struck a few poses in front of the mirror and admired the effect of gold glinting upon red.

* * * * *

HARRY

As twilight descended upon the village of Ottery St. Catchpole, the Weasley and Delacour families and a handful of friends, filed into the backyard. They sat, chatting amicably, as they waited for the ceremony to begin.

Harry and Hermione found seats in the second row. It was very relaxing, Harry thought, watching as fairies buzzed low above the guests. The fairies’ colorful lanterns dazzled his tired eyes. He leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes. Just for a moment, he promised himself. One moment’s rest…

Warm dappled sunlight through green leaves, balmy air. Blue skies, too bright, his eyes hurt to look up. Happy nonetheless. Faraway singing. A voice, the sweetest voice he had ever heard, a gentle lullaby. Tender hand on his smooth cheek, a blurred face, a curtain of red hair, green eyes, as green as the leaves up above. He rolled over and trilled happily. Another small body beside him, sleeping soundly. A scent of mingled honeysuckle and crocus.

The memory turned smoothly into another - the sun fading rapidly, the sky becoming gray.

Rain patted down around him; he was cold and fussy, squirming and crying in his mother’s arms. Black all around. Black cloaks, black gloves, black skies. Strong arms lifted him from his mother’s grasp and lowered him to the wet grass. A spray of flowers - vibrant red against the black cloaks, the gray stone, the brown dirt, the green grass. Earthy smell.

“Say goodbye, Harry. Say goodbye.”

Muffled sobs, back to his mother’s arms, rain falling harder and harder.

“Harry.”

Rain, rain, go away.

“Harry,” a gentle yet insistent voice intruded on the rainy day playing in his head. His eyes fluttered open. The sky was dappled with stars. Laughter, music, and joyful babbling filtered out of the Burrow. “Harry,” Hermione came into view. “Come on, get up. It’s over.”

* * * * *

HERMIONE

Hermione studied Harry with concern; he was very pale and shaky, but he assured her that he was “just tired.”  She guided him carefully to the garden, where a lively wedding reception was underway. The beaming bride and groom were making their rounds, accepting gracious toasts from their guests. Harry, still out-of-sorts, stood rooted to the spot, fixated on Fleur’s tarnished golden tiara.

The Weasleys had enlisted an elf and selkie quartet to serenade the merrymakers. Savory aromas drifted across the backyard. Stomach grumbling hungrily, Hermione steered Harry towards the buffet - three tables stood end-to-end, heavy laden with Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour’s cooking. Hermione suppressed a smirk at the sight of decadent chocolate éclairs and escargot sitting alongside Mrs. Weasley’s simple English cooking.

“Aren’t you hungry, Harry?” she asked, helping herself to a jam tart.

“No, I’m not – “ Harry began. On the contrary, he looked as though he had just eaten a Puking Pastille.

“Harry, m’boy!”  A very tipsy Arthur Weasley slung an arm around Harry’s shoulders, knocking the wind out of him. “Have some nosh, Harry, Hermione!”

Mr. Weasley wasn’t the only one enjoying the “spirits” either. A drunken Dedalus Diggle kissed Hermione on the cheek, and Monsieur Delacour kept referring to Molly Weasley as une belle femme.

Fred and George roved around, passing out trick wands and demonstrating the effects of their famous Fainting Fancies and Nosebleed Nougats. Hermione noticed that their comical contraptions were drawing more laughs than usual, but given the state of their audience, that wasn’t too surprising.

Not everyone was joining in the merrymaking, however. In the far corner of the garden, Remus Lupin and Aberforth Dumbledore stood in a patch of moonlight, talking seriously. Hermione edged towards them, listening closely.

“— I went to school with Severus,” Lupin was saying in a hushed voice. “Unpleasant kid he was too. Always meddling in the Dark Arts – why, even as a first year he knew more jinxes than the average Hogwarts alumnus.”

“Yet my brother trusted him,” Aberforth stroked his beard. “Why? What did Albus know that we didn’t?”

Lupin shuffled his tatty shoes, “Severus was always very keen on Lily Potter…and he wasn’t the only one either…” Lupin added in an undertone.

Aberforth chuckled, “That Lily – quite the witch. Albus always hinted that Snape felt great remorse after what happened to the Potters…”

Hermione inched closer, her heart pounding very fast.

“— yes, yes…well, love can be a powerful motivator,” Lupin sighed. “Hatred can be too.”

“Her- *hic* -mione?” Mrs. Weasley’s voice carried across the yard.

“Yes, Mrs. Weasley?”

“Would you be a dear and *hic* help us clean up? I think we’re about *hic* through for the evening.”

“Of course,” Hermione said reluctantly. She set off for the house, leaving Harry standing by himself, looking quite forlorn.

* * * * *

HARRY

From inside the house, Harry heard a shrill scream and a crash of shattering porcelain. He jogged to the doorway and saw Mrs. Weasley standing by the window clutching her heart, while Hermione kneeled on the floor over the broken china holding a letter in her shaking hand.

 

“What happened?” he asked, squatting down beside a tearful Hermione.

Hermione wiped her eyes on the back of her hand. “It’s terrible…” she whispered, then read from what Harry now realized was a clipping from The Evening Prophet:

This evening, Azkaban suffered major break-out, the second mass escape within the last two years.

The island fortress, thought to be insecure since the departure of the Azkaban guards, was once considered inescapable. Barely four years ago, one Sirius Black, accused of murdering a street-full of Muggles and Peter Pettigrew escaped. (The Daily Prophet would like to note, for purposes of clarification only, that Black was posthumously found innocent on all counts.)

The Ministry of Magic declined to comment –

Hermione’s voice trembled as she read about the crimes the escapees were accused of - Muggle torture, murder, and acts of outright terrorism. Harry busied his hands picking up pieces of shattered cups and saucers, but did so so absentmindedly that he didn’t even notice when Arthur Weasley came inside and swept the broken china away with a flick of his wand.

Outside, Harry could hear the jovial conversations shifting to utterances of terror as the news spread. The Order members convened in a corner of the garden, then Disapparated without saying good-bye. Only one thought coursed through Harry’s mind – he needed to get out.

I’ll just slip out, Harry thought. No one will notice for hours, what with all this mayhem, and by then I’ll be far away… Harry left a sobbing Hermione in Mrs. Weasley’s care and hurtled up the stairs to fetch his wand and Invisibility Cloak.

“Harry?!”

Lost in his thoughts, Harry had walked straight into Ginny. She was sitting in the stairwell, still wearing her golden bridesmaid’s dress and a frown.

“I’ll be down in a bit, Ginny,” he said as casually as possible, trying to sidestep her

“Don’t be a fool, Harry! I know what you’re up to,” Ginny positioned herself squarely in front of him; at that moment, she reminded him strongly of Mrs. Weasley. “Running away again? Being noble again?”

“Ginny…”

“Don’t ‘Ginny…’ me!” she said, positively fuming.

“You don’t understand!”

“What isn’t to understand, Harry?!”

“Look – I’m not like everyone else. I’m a danger to you! Anywhere I go could become a – a target.”

Ginny glowered at him, “Don’t be stupid. We want you here.”

Harry sighed heavily and slumped against the wall. “I can’t stay here. And what do you mean ‘being noble again’?!”

“You know perfectly well what I mean!” And Harry was pretty sure he did know what she meant. “Why can’t we see each other anymore, Harry?”

“I told you in June, if Voldemort finds out, you’re – you’re doomed.” Harry’s voice broke.

“And, as I told you in June – what if I don’t care?”

“Ginny – listen to me – date Dean, date someone safe.”

“Do you want me to date Dean?” Ginny demanded.

“No,” Harry admitted ruefully.

“Then that’s settled.”

Ginny strode boldly to his side, hooked her arm through his, and marched him forcefully back into the kitchen, where the bad news was still breaking. 

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