Harry woke early, with the confused thought that chickens were in the house and in distress, and then realised it was Fleur squawking. Ron mumbled something about Phlegm and hid his face under the pillow.
Harry stayed on the camp bed beside Ron’s. Last night they’d had words, and Harry wanted to make sure things were all right. Ron was entitled to be tired after sleeping in the open in Godric’s Hollow, night after night. Harry couldn’t blame him for being irritable.
Though the news that Draco Malfoy had the Dark Mark could have been greeted with more than Ron’s weary, ‘You said you were napping, Harry.’ Still, it was Ron’s brother’s wedding day. Harry had promised himself that they would all have this one day, and not even Malfoy could spoil it.
He shook Ron’s shoulder. “Wake up,” he said. “Bet you thought this day would never come, but it’s time to start thinking of Fleur Delacour as your sister.”
They went downstairs together and found that everyone else was up and in the kitchen. Harry looked at Malfoy, sure he would look guiltily conscious that Harry knew his secret, but Malfoy seemed occupied assuring Fleur that her wedding dress really did not make her look fat.
Mrs Weasley seemed in a state of generalised panic.
“Arthur, are you sure you locked the shed? Araminta Prewett will have hysterics if she sees her children playing with Muggle things. Harry, dear, let me try to do something with your hair. Fleur, Bill and I were talking, I never knew you meant to keep your last name!”
“I am not sure I look like a Fleur Weasley,” Fleur said, studying the dress over her arm with very little attention to spare for anything else. “In fact, I ‘ope I do not,” she added.
Thankfully, Mrs Weasley had moved onto another problem. “Draco, you cannot let the guests see you wearing those dreadful clothes.”
Malfoy looked over at her, and smirked at Harry having his hair finger-combed. Harry glared back at him.
“I can stay upstairs,” Malfoy offered.
“No, no, of course not. We want you at the wedding,” said Mrs Weasley, flying in the face of all the evidence. “Let me see…”
“He can borrow a set of my robes,” Harry said, taking a certain satisfaction in the fact that Malfoy would have to be beholden to him, would have to take his charity and wear it next to his skin. He curled his lip as Malfoy glared. “‘Course,” he added, “I’ll have to burn them afterwards.”
“I won’t wear his stuff,” Malfoy snarled. “I’d rather—”
“You can have a spare set of my robes,” Bill interrupted. “It’s no problem. And let’s all behave today, shall we?”
On that cue, the door of the Burrow swung open and outlined against the morning sunlight stood the twins.
“Now,” said Fred Weasley, “where would be the fun in that?”
Fred and George came in, grinning, to a chorus of welcome, and then they stopped. Harry was glad to see that there would be no inexplicable softening towards Malfoy from these Weasleys.
“George, am I hallucinating or is there a Malfoy in our house?”
Malfoy stood staring at them, his eyes narrowed and his face very pale.
“I see him too, Fred,” George said in awestruck tones. “Maybe it’s a judgement on us. Perhaps we shouldn’t have held Bill’s stag party all by ourselves.”
“You did what?” yelped Bill.
Fred waved a dismissive hand. “Your invitation was probably lost in the mail. What’s this little git doing here?”
They kept moving as they spoke, every step a step closer to Malfoy. Malfoy got tenser as they came, and Harry moved forward too and put his hand on Fred’s arm. It was stupid, the way Malfoy looked: the twins weren’t going to do anything to him.
“I brought him,” said Harry. “Someone gave him to me. I’m putting up with him because I have to.”
The other Weasleys knew about Horcruxes. He had told the Order of the Phoenix, and of course once he had done that he’d told Ginny, but—it had never come up with the twins. He trusted Fred and George, but it might be safest if as few people knew as possible. He didn’t even know how Malfoy had found out. He’d have to get him alone later and ask him that.
Harry shot a glare over his shoulder and found Malfoy already scowling at him.
“Nobody gave me to you,” Malfoy snapped. “I’m not your puppy.”
“I’d have you put down if you were, Malfoy—”
“Let me clarify!” Bill shouted. “When I said behave, I meant like decent, normal human beings. Fred and George, try and grasp the concept, I know it’s hard for you. Harry, maybe it’s best if you just don’t talk to Draco. Draco, likewise. Fleur, go put on your dress, Draco, come on and I’ll find you some dress robes. This is going to be a beautiful, special day, full of love and laughter, and if anyone ruins it I will have their head on a plate. Thank you.”
Fred and George made a great show of wiping away tears.
“That was beautiful,” George said earnestly. “You’ve touched us, Bill. We’re reformed men. We’ll be the best best men you ever imagined.”
Bill went almost as pale as Malfoy. “No. No, anything but that.”
Fred looked angelic. “Accept it, Bill. It is fate.”
“Charlie’s coming!” Bill almost shouted.
The twins shook their heads in tandem. “Don’t fight it, Bill,” George advised. “Think about how very special we can make your special day.”
“It’s all I can think about,” Bill told them. “C’mon, Draco, let’s find you something to wear.”
Malfoy shoved past Harry and practically ran to Bill. There was no need to shove and correct him and act like people were plotting against him. Harry’d even stood between him and the twins, it wouldn’t kill Malfoy to acknowledge it.
“We’ll attend to him later,” murmured Fred. “First, boys, let us tell you about the Norwegian witch called Inga we met at the fifth pub on Bill’s stag night—”
After the twins told them the very implausible story about Inga, Ginny—with what seemed to Harry criminal foolishness—asked them to come out and help her put the finishing touches on decorations. Harry, Ron and Hermione went upstairs to get themselves ready for church.
“I started with Sleekeazy’s Potion last night,” Hermione said. She patted her hair, which seemed to have hillocks in it. “I thought it would be quicker, but—I think it might have turned out a little strange—”
“No, Hermione, you look—you look nice,” said Ron, and then went as scarlet as if he had accidentally propositioned her.
“Er. About Sleekeazy’s Potion,” said Harry. “Er. Ron, I’ll kill you if you laugh. Hermione, do you think I should try it?”
Ron had to sit down on the camp bed, he was laughing so hard. Hermione pressed her lips together very hard on a smile and went to fetch the Potion, and then she helped him put some on.
Once it was done, Harry regarded himself dubiously in the mirror. He had pictured his hair looking—well, sleek, instead of like a hedgehog that had been run over.
“Never mind,” he mumbled. “I think I’ll comb it out.”
Hermione looked at him and did not argue. Ron lifted his face long enough to tell Harry that his mother always said primping only made pretty girls look cheap, and then resumed howling into the pillow.
The corridor was filling with real sunlight, the morning properly upon them. Harry met Malfoy coming out of the bathroom, dressed in Bill’s second-best robes and towelling his wet hair.
They stopped and looked at each other. Malfoy’s mouth curved upwards.
“Potter,” he said, obviously swallowing a laugh, “what happened to you?”
“Oh, shut up, Malfoy.” Harry caught the scent of flowers and sniffed the air. “You can’t talk, anyway. You just used Ginny’s shampoo.”
“It’s the kind I always use!”
“Sorry,” said Harry, “how does that make things better?”
He smirked, but Malfoy had his head bowed and was drying his hair again, and he did not see. Harry looked at the exposed nape of his neck, and the thin gold chain of the locket that encircled it. He could even see the clasp: it should have been so easy to reach out, draw the necklace off Malfoy’s damp neck and have it for himself.
Malfoy glanced up at him through his own wet hair, and smirked as if he had caught the expression as it slipped off Harry’s face.
“Look,” he said. “You’re going to put Bill’s guests off their wedding cake, Potter. For God’s sake take it: you need it more than I do.”
He handed Harry a comb and passed on. He was just in time: Fred and George emerged from below, carrying trays of refreshments to be kept out of the way until they were required.
“He sleeps in our room?” George asked, making a face.
“‘Fraid so,” Harry said, looking at the comb.
“Something must be done,” Fred murmured. “But first we must find Bill. Someone’s got to hunt the bridegroom down and force him to the church, and we’re the best men for the job.”
Harry spared a moment of pity for Bill, and then he tried to do something about his hair. It still ended up sticking out worse than usual, with the residue of the potion clinging to it. He felt vaguely as if he had dipped it in treacle and swirled it about, but he’d made an effort, anyway. He went out into the corridor and waited at the top of the stairs, watching the sunlight come out stronger and stronger, filling the Burrow from edge to edge. It struck off mirrors and the polished comb Harry turned over in his hands.
There was a hum of activity from below stairs, but it did not sound as if there were any horrible disasters like Mr Weasley getting at the cake. Ron and Hermione were coming out to him soon, and even though Malfoy was here, Harry had promised himself this day, this one single sunlit day. Maybe Malfoy’d meant the comb as some sort of first move towards an apology.
Ron and Hermione came out of Ron’s room with their hands brushing together at the same time that Ginny came charging up the stairs.
“Harry, everyone, come and see, the Veela have arrived! Gabrielle’s really nice,” she added. Harry looked at her hair, shining red against the gold of her dress.
“I should wait for Malfoy.”
She frowned at him, puzzled. “Harry, he’s already down there. The Veela are all over him—because of his hair, you know. They think he must be part Veela.”
“What?” exclaimed Harry, letting her seize his sleeve and drag him downstairs. Ron and Hermione followed, their hands still half an inch apart, apparently not caring about this ridiculous news. “Part Veela? Draco Malfoy? That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!”
He peered indignantly down at the hall, where there were several Veela in variously coloured robes, like a swarm of extremely curvaceous butterflies. He heard Ron choke behind him but he didn’t turn around, he looked carefully at every blond head and spotted Malfoy at last. Two women stood beside him, one so young she must be Gabrielle Delacour and the other an older, more beautiful version of Fleur. She must be Mrs Delacour.
She was caressing Malfoy’s sleeve. “You must sit with us at church,” she said throatily, her English as perfect as the rest of her.
“I’d love to,” Malfoy told her dreamily, as if she had made an entirely different offer.
Mrs Delacour looked approving and then lifted her hand to Malfoy’s hair. Harry did not see why women had to be constantly at Malfoy’s hair. “Give me a moment, dear boy, I am sure I can place you.”
“I know!” Gabrielle said brightly. “I theenk he must be Aunt Claudette’s son. Did we not ‘ear, muzzer, that she went to foreign parts and ‘ad a son who was deformed in the face?”
There was a pause in which Mrs Delacour looked embarrassed to be Gabrielle’s mother, and the full glory of what Gabrielle had meant dawned on Harry.
”… Excuse me?” Malfoy said faintly. He looked like he might cry.
“Pay no attention to my daughter,” Mrs Delacour said. “It’s not your fault, my dear boy, and you hardly notice it.”
“Notice what, exactly?” Malfoy asked in a thin voice. Mrs Delacour gave a last commiserating stroke to his hair.
Harry thought he might choke on his own glee. At that point, Gabrielle’s big blue eyes swung in the direction of the stairs and lit up.
“‘Arry Potter!” she squealed rapturously, and abandoned Malfoy forthwith.
Malfoy looked trapped and wretched. Mrs Delacour looked like she was putting another sympathetic question to him. Ginny was laughing beside him, and Ron and Hermione behind him.
It looked like being a beautiful day.
The church was quite near the Burrow, and on a day like today nobody even wanted to Apparate. They went streaming over the fields, yellow grass tilted towards the sun, and met the other guests on their way. The sunlight poured steadily over them all, catching on bright things like Malfoy’s hair and Ginny and Gabrielle’s dresses.
“He’s really marrying her,” Ginny remarked.
“At this stage, probably, yeah,” said Harry.
She grinned at him, her hand hooked on his elbow as if things were as they had been. Harry supposed he wasn’t the only one who wanted one last day of sunlit normality.
“Well… I guess I should go meet her in the chapel,” she told him.
From a little way up ahead, Harry heard a Veela say to Malfoy: “Were you in some sort of horrible accident?” and smiled. Ginny’s grin turned into a smile too, bright and private.
“I—” she started. Then a shadow blotted out the sun.
The fields were plunged in blackness and a scream came up from the guests. Harry grabbed Ginny and threw her down before he looked up, and saw the underbelly of a beast, so close above him that he wanted to throw himself on the ground as well. He stayed up, checked behind him to see that Ron and Hermione were discreetly down, and then lunged forward in the darkness to grab the chain around Malfoy’s neck and use it to haul him back and hurl him down.
Then he drew his wand.
“Wait,” said Bill, and the sun came out again.
Harry blinked in the suddenly painful light, staring around. Ron, who was crawling determinedly towards him despite Hermione’s restraining hand on his neck, sat up and looked at the church.
There on the church, green and gleaming and almost as big as the building, twined around the slanted roof with its neck resting on the belfry, was an enormous dragon. Impossibly small against its bulk was a saddle, and on that was a person who beside the dragon looked like a tiny doll.
“Oh my God,” said Bill, with dawning joy. He cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted to all the prone and gibbering guests: “It’s all right! It’s not You-Know-Who. It’s my best man!”
The Veela were very unhappy about their grass-stained robes. One of them asked Ron piteously if she still looked nice, and when Ron started gobbling Harry was a bit afraid that Hermione was going to hurt him.
The Weasleys had charged for the church en masse. Ginny picked up her golden skirts and took the lead. Only Fred and George stayed behind, looking distinctly displeased.
“Showing up out of the blue, stealing our thunder,” George said. “Charlie was always a very unkind brother. Hard, some might say. Cruel.”
“We had plans for this best man thing,” Fred agreed broodingly. “Plans. Maybe we could bribe Charlie.”
“Maybe,” George said in speculative tones, “he needs help getting off that roof. Accidents happen, you know.”
A demonic light appeared in their eyes and, grinning at Harry, they moved forward. Harry thought that dragons might’ve seemed a soft option to Charlie after growing up with Fred and George.
“That,” rasped Malfoy, “was so cool.”
Harry looked round and saw that he was helping up another Veela, who smiled prettily up at him. Amazing how Malfoy was failing to help up people who were not supernaturally beautiful.
Malfoy saw him looking and scowled. “Less of the grabbing and pushing, Potter,” he snapped, pulling at the locket with his free hand. Harry saw a red mark around his neck and hesitated, when Malfoy added: “I said I wasn’t your bloody puppy.”
“No?” said Harry. “Then why are you wearing a choke chain?”
“Tell me,” said the Veela to Malfoy, “I can see you’re one of our party by the hair, but… has your face looked like that your whole life?”
Harry snickered and left Malfoy in her clutches, going forward to join the Weasleys in their crowd around Charlie. Arriving on a dragon, after all, was seriously cool.
Bill was almost weeping on Charlie’s neck. “I thought you weren’t coming. I thought I was going to have to have Fred and George!”
“There, there,” said Charlie. “Charlie’s here now. Everything’s OK.”
“Charlie, dear,” Mrs Weasley asked, “Was it absolutely necessary to come on a dragon?”
“Why wouldn’t you let us help you down?” Fred demanded. “Brothers should trust each other!”
“Shouldn’t we get to the church?” Ginny put in.
Charlie, who was grinning around at everyone and had not changed in three years except to gain even more muscles and freckles, began to count off on his fingers.
“Ginny, we’ll go to the church in a minute. Fred and George, I’m not stupid. Mum, of course I had to bring Bessie.” The look in Charlie’s eyes reminded Harry briefly of Hagrid. “I thought people would like to see her,” he added in plaintive tones. “Consider her my date.”
Bill sighed. “Charlie, if we’ve said it once we’ve said it a thousand times. Dragons are not people. And… we need to go to the church now, because—I’m getting married.” He paused. “I’m really getting married. Right now.”
The twins brightened up. “Got those wedding jitters?” George inquired brightly. He began to fish around inside his dress robes. “Just take our completely free, practically tried and tested—”
“Is it Bessie’s feeding time already?” Charlie said, checking his watch.
The twins went very quiet.
“I’m so glad you’re here, Charlie,” Bill said pathetically. He turned and walked into the dragon’s tail, which was hanging like a bizarre drape across the church door.
Charlie put large, scarred hands on his brother’s shoulders and steered him tactfully around the tail. “Glad to be here. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
Fred and George stared after them, looking betrayed by a cold, uncaring world.
All the guests eventually came inside, though Charlie had to come back, lift the tail and wave in some of the more nervous girls. He stopped and shook Percy’s hand when Percy came in, but for all that Percy went to sit away from the other Weasleys at the back of the church. One Veela stopped and ran her hand suggestively over the scar on Charlie’s arm, and Harry saw Fred cover his eyes, whisper “That could’ve been us” and break down.
“Don’t mind them,” Ron said earnestly to a Veela who was looking at the twins’ bowed heads in concern. “They always cry at weddings.”
He and Harry exchanged grins. Mrs Weasley was actually howling in the row up ahead, and Harry was fairly sure Hermione was sniffing. Several Veela had delicate lace handkerchiefs on the go.
Mrs Delacour seemed quite cheerful. She was chatting away to Malfoy, who was slumped on a pew and looked as if he had lost all will to live.
“What’s that you have around your neck?” she asked, and Harry stiffened. “A necklace, how pretty,” she went on with hardly a glance at it. “What a good idea, to distract attention from your poor face.”
Malfoy caught Harry’s eye and Harry mouthed “Your poor face” cheerfully at him. Malfoy made an obscene gesture across the aisle.
On one side the church was covered with blond heads, pearly under the stained glass, and on the other was a sea of flaming red. Harry felt his hair might actually be more conspicuous than his scar for a change, but it made a nice picture to look at. Bill and Charlie were standing at the altar, Charlie’s shoulder solidly behind Bill. Bill seemed to be twitching a bit, which was not all that romantic.
Until the church doors opened, and Bill stood up straight. He looked so happy that even his scars did not seem to matter.
Fleur stood in the doorway, her silvery hair streaming over a silver-embroidered white dress that poured down her body, the silver tracing her curves and the white lace creating the effect of a woman wrapped in a waterfall. Her face was half-hidden by the veil, her eyes and lips gleaming through it like a dream woman seen through mist, and all that you could tell was that she was beautiful and that she was smiling.
Gabrielle and Ginny, glittering in gold, followed her smiling as well. Gabrielle was a shining younger version of her sister, her eyes very blue against the gold dress, and Ginny with gold light in her red curls was beautiful—by far the least beautiful, but she was vivid and smiling and the only girl he would’ve wanted to sit with at the reception. It didn’t matter.
She caught Harry’s eye and winked. He winked back and Gabrielle saw it. She looked hugely delighted and winked at him in return.
Harry was a bit glad once the bridesmaids had moved on.
By the time Fleur reached Bill and put her hand in his Mrs Weasley was crying too loudly for Harry to make out the words. The ceremony seemed shorter than it was for Muggles, and involved Fleur and Bill giving their wands to each other, and the officiator lifting his own wand for a mutual Unbreakable Vow.
Hermione leaned over to Harry and Ron and whispered: “The Unbreakable Vow used to be all of the marriage ceremony—being faithful to each other and the woman bearing children, but a lot of people ended up dying. So now it’s quite simple—”
Harry made out Bill’s words, because he said them so strongly.
He said: “I chose you out of all the world, and I will do my best to make you happy.”
“There, there, Molly,” Mr Weasley whispered. “Don’t carry on like this. I thought you quite liked Fleur now.”
“D’you want my hanky, Hermione?” Ron said solicitously.
“No! I’m not crying,” Hermione sniffed. “It’s just the flowers in this silly church.”
Fleur put back her veil, her face blazing with tears and ardent beauty. Mrs Delacour let out a choked sound. Bill leaned forward, and in all the colours cast by the stained glass window the congregation saw his red head bow to her golden one.
They kissed. Some things were the same in the Muggle and magical worlds.
And they were married.
The wedding reception was held in the garden of the Burrow, with the lace-trimmed trees, tents that Harry recognised from the Quidditch World Cup and sunlight shimmering on everything, turning white a dazzling and red a richer colour, bringing everything into sharper focus.
Most of the first hour was spent trying to keep Mr and Mrs Delacour apart. It had apparently been an acrimonious divorce.
Harry was on the team to keep Mrs Delacour off. She grasped his arms and said loudly: “It wasn’t my fault that Eduardo was not man enough for me! I am a woman! I have needs!”
“Um, I’m sure you do.”
She peered into Harry’s face. “Harry Potter, isn’t it?” she said slowly. “They say you’re a very… powerful young wizard. We all have needs, Harry.”
“I need to go,” Harry said faintly.
As he escaped, he heard Ginny saying desperately to Mr Delacour: “I wouldn’t call her a… what you said… in the actual speech, sir. I really wouldn’t.”
Fleur and Bill, holding hands as if they would never let go, approached him next. “Thank you, ‘Arry,” Fleur said quietly. “My parents ‘ave always been a little… well, my mother far too like a Veela, and my father all too human. That’s why I wanted the wedding ‘ere, with a—a real family. Because I am going to be a real wife.”
Harry would have told her she was welcome, but when Bill pounced and kissed Fleur for an increasingly prolonged moment he thought perhaps that he was not entirely welcome at this stage. He went to find Ron, who was standing outside a tent staring moodily at the band which had struck up inside.
“How’re you holding up, mate?”
“Fine,” Ron said in a dazed way. “OK. Only… there are so many Veela!” He looked suspiciously at Harry. “You always get through it all right.”
“You can’t blame yourself for being affected so badly,” Harry told him sympathetically. “It’s not your fault. It’s probably just because you’re shallow.”
“Could be,” Ron agreed. He looked deep in thought about something, and while he was mulling Harry looked at one of the nearby lacy trees and saw Malfoy underneath it, hunched up and obviously sulking. He seemed kind of small, his head bowed, his hair hanging in his face.
“Look at Malfoy,” he said.
“Do I have to?”
“He doesn’t seem much affected by the Veela, either. I think it’s all the stuff they’ve been saying about him. Figures that Malfoy loves himself so much even Veela charm can’t break through.”
“OK, you see, I don’t care,” said Ron. “D’you think that Hermione would like to dance?”
“Probably. I’ll ask her, shall I?” Harry laughed when he saw Ron’s expression. “Yes, I’m sure she would! Go on, then, ask her before Oliver Wood does.”
“Wha—do you think—what is with Hermione and Quidditch players?” Ron demanded. “Is it some sort of fetish? Is there something wrong with her?”
Harry felt a bit guilty when Ron shot Wood a ferocious glare. As far as he knew, Wood was only talking to Hermione about gum-shield charms, which he hoped was not Oliver’s version of a chat-up line.
He wasn’t quite sure, of course. All Wood had said to him today was that he should not let this You-Know-Who business interfere with his Quidditch.
“Go on,” he urged Ron. “I’ll be along in a minute. I just want to tell that vain bastard Malfoy that a Veela asked me whether he’d been dropped on his face as a child.”
“You have fun, Harry,” Ron said sceptically.
“I hope you two are having fun,” Charlie said, emerging from the tent. “Since you’re being such layabouts. D’you realise that the twins are handing out refreshments, Hermione organised the band and Ginny has taken and eaten Mr Delacour’s speech?” He grinned at them. “And what are you doing? Chatting while some unfortunate French boy sits under the trees all alone.”
He hit Ron affectionately on the back of the head, and then returned to squinting in Malfoy’s direction. “The poor little scrap. I always said Bill and I should have beaten more manners into you before we left. I’ll go talk to him: you two stay here and think about what you’ve done.”
“Malfoy’s not French,” Harry said to Charlie’s retreating back.
Charlie didn’t seem to hear him. Anxious that this confusion about Malfoy’s piteous Frenchness should be cleared up, he grabbed Ron’s elbow and moved towards them.
“Er,” Charlie said hopefully, “parlez-vous English? Or Roumanian?”
Malfoy lifted his head from his knees, and Harry saw Charlie’s open smile falter a moment. He realised that Charlie had been thinking of Malfoy as a lot younger than he was.
“Hullo,” drawled Malfoy, who looked unspeakably relieved that Charlie wasn’t a Veela. “It’s Charles, isn’t it? I saw your big entrance. Very impressive.”
“It’s Charlie,” Charlie said, offering him a hand. Malfoy looked at him cautiously, and then accepted it. Charlie helped him to his feet.
“I’m Draco,” Malfoy said slowly.
Charlie beamed at him. “That,” he announced with conviction, “is the coolest name I have ever heard. D’you want a drink?”
Harry turned crossly to Ron. “Why do your older brothers all want to adopt Malfoy?” he demanded. “Besides, Charlie didn’t understand, he didn’t have to do anything. I was going over to talk to him.”
Ron did ask Hermione to dance, but before the dancing began they had to accomplish the speeches. Mr Delacour gave a confused apology for somehow losing his speech and hoped that his daughter would never sue for alimony. Mrs Weasley was crying too hard to say anything intelligible. At last, Bill himself got to his feet, and stood with light flooding through the thin white tent material, exposing every furrowed line of his scars. He was smiling from ear to ear.
“Thanks very much for coming, all of you. I’m glad you could all come and see me getting married, and… well. I’ve only got this to say.” Bill lifted his glass to Fleur. “I always dreamed I’d marry someone who was brave, clever and good. Someone who I could love for the rest of my life. You’re all looking at the woman of my dreams.” He paused. “Looks would’ve been nice too, but I suppose you can’t have everything.”
Bill’s speech was interrupted at that point by Fleur laughing and crying and throwing herself into his arms. Everyone clapped, Mr and Mrs Delacour glaring at each other and apparently entering into an applause competition. Even Malfoy took time off from his horrible little suck-up routine to clap enthusiastically, his face flushed, almost as if Slytherin had won the House Cup.
Then, of course, he returned to his mission of getting around Charlie. He probably wanted another ally now Bill was going on his honeymoon, and Charlie was easy meat.
Charlie was not putting up any sort of fight. He was sitting beside Malfoy, his back turned on his other neighbour, and while Malfoy chattered and gestured Charlie appeared to be laughing himself sick.
The older Weasleys clearly should have gone to school with Malfoy. It was apparently like getting your shots: you needed to see him at mealtimes and Quidditch so you didn’t get blindsided by an attack of him at a later age and become fevered enough to think you liked it.
Ron did not seem overly impressed with this theory, but then he and Hermione had started arguing again.
“It’s not that I care what you think, Ron,” Hermione said, putting her elbows combatively on the table. “It’s just that you have no manners. I only pointed out that Oliver Wood said that Ginny was the best-looking human girl in the place, and you had to go and say that it was probably Fleur’s friend Berenice!”
“Well, I don’t see why you’re so upset, it’s not like I called Ginny ugly,” Ron protested. “It’s just that she’s my sister, and—”
“I don’t know why you ever say anything at all!” Hermione exclaimed dangerously.
“I think I will… go help Mrs Weasley with the food,” Harry said tactfully. As Ron and Hermione’s voices rose, other people seemed to think it would be a nice idea to go out in the sunshine. Harry saw Malfoy dash into the Burrow, and followed him as far as the kitchen when Mrs Weasley stopped him and asked him to add ice to some glasses.
“Those Veela eat like horses,” Mrs Weasley told him in a tone reminiscent of Hermione’s. “I hear they can just eat, and eat, and never put on a pound. Thank goodness the twins have decided to be helpful for a change, and Ginny has that dreadful Mr. Delacour in hand—I do hope we won’t have to have him for Christmas dinner—and… hello, Draco.”
Malfoy was back in that stupid shirt and jeans. “Can’t stop,” he said. “Beautiful ceremony. Charles is organising a game.”
“How nice,” Mrs Weasley said as Malfoy ran out the door. “I think you added a little too much ice to that one, Harry.”
Harry looked at the glass, out of which all the liquid had spilled. “Sorry.”
Outside Gabrielle Delacour and a few of her Veela cousins had joined Charlie. Malfoy ran up to them and after a few moments’ conversation, they formed a rough sort of ring and began to toss an enormous ball around.
“Charlie was always the kind one,” Mrs Weasley said. “It makes me worry about him, messing about with all those nasty big animals. He could have got a steady job and found a nice girl, like Bill.”
“Mm,” said Harry, filling more glasses with ice. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear Charlie’s praises sung, since Charlie’s areas of interest so far seemed to include dirty great dragons and Malfoys.
The ball they were throwing in the garden stretched out like a squirrel leaping between the trees, something with a bird’s beak and little wings flapping frantically. It caught Malfoy full in the chest. Harry squinted—was it a baby dragon in a dress?
Mrs Weasley was doing the washing up, occupied with flicking her wand at the dishes. “I’m glad he’s including poor Draco,” she said comfortably. “I know you younger ones aren’t fond of him and I don’t blame you. His father is one of the most evil men I know, but… after all, he has lovely manners, and he must be lonely here. And I do wish those silly Veela would stop saying all those things to him. It must make Draco feel so terribly self-conscious. He can’t help it if he’s not very good-looking.”
Harry almost dropped a glass. “What?”
“That’s why this strict pureblood business is ridiculous. It means that you keep inbreeding. Of course, Arthur and I aren’t related, and the children are very strong, but the Black family haven’t been right for generations. The strain gets weakened,” explained Mrs Weasley, amateur wizard breeder.
“Right,” said Harry. “But you were saying about Malfoy—”
“Yes, exactly. Look at poor Draco. His parents are possibly the most unpleasant people in the world, but they are both very good-looking, and yet they have a child who is pinched-looking and colourless. I expect he catches cold easily, too. It’s not healthy.”
“Probably not,” Harry said, turning over ‘pinched-looking and colourless’ in his head and giving a silent cackle. “Um… Go on.”
“It’s a shame he got Mr Malfoy’s eyes with Narcissa’s colouring,” Mrs Weasley said. “I remember Narcissa Black from school. She was younger than me, of course, but she was beautiful. Everyone noticed her, she had hair that looked silver and the bluest eyes you ever saw. Well, I’m sure we shouldn’t judge on appearances.” She paused. “Fleur really looked lovely today, though. And you look so handsome and grown-up in your dress robes,” she added fondly, and rumpled Harry’s hair.
Then she looked at her hand, clearly puzzled by the Potions residue. Harry avoided her eyes and looked out the window.
Gabrielle was throwing the winged thing at Malfoy. Malfoy laughed and leaped for it, grabbing it out of the air. His hair was wild, hanging in his glittering eyes, and his face was flushed.
The bird-headed little thing had blond hair as well as a dress on, Harry noticed, at the same time Mrs Weasley dropped her wand.
“Oh my God, is that a baby Veela?” she cried. “Is Charlie insane?”
Mrs Weasley went running out and caught the baby in midair. Through the open door Harry heard Charlie defending himself.
“Mum, there’re loads of Veela in Roumania, I know them. The kids love it. They do, Mum, look, you catch her…”
“Charlie Weasley, I will not do any such thing. Babies are not Frisbees!”
Harry kept virtuously adding ice to the glasses. He’d be done soon, and then he could go back outside and tell Malfoy about how pinched and colourless he was.
He found Malfoy inside the tent again. Charlie’d had the good sense to abandon him at last—Harry saw Charlie with Ginny, talking in heated whispers—and Malfoy sat alone at a table. There were several glasses in front of him and he was slouching in his chair, looking extremely relaxed except for whenever a Veela approached, at which point he glared ferociously until she backed away.
Harry leaned against the chair beside Malfoy’s. “Hello.”
Malfoy closed his eyes and said: “Go away. I don’t even speak French.”
They’d gone to school together six years and Malfoy didn’t know his voice? Harry rolled his eyes. “Actually, Malfoy, I knew that.”
Malfoy opened his eyes again and for an amused moment Harry saw that even he was apparently preferable to a Veela. “Oh,” Malfoy said. “It’s you. This is my best day ever.”
“I was just having a chat with Mrs Weasley,” Harry told him conversationally.
“Gosh, Potter, you grab all the hot girls.”
“She’s worried about your health,” Harry went on. “Seeing that you’re so, hmm, how did she put it, pinched looking and—”
Malfoy cut him off with a short laugh and a lunge towards another tray full of glasses. Then he relaxed back with his new drink and looked at Harry with enormous disdain.
“Potter,” he said. “Sorry, I’m trying to work something out… Do you think that anything anyone ever says about my looks will ever affect me again? I have spent all day with people asking me whether my whole body or just my face was disfigured in the accident, and I was already fully aware of the fact that I’m not exactly Blaise Zabini. However, I’m not actually scarred in the face, so why don’t you—”
“D’you think Blaise Zabini is good-looking?” Harry asked, startled.
Malfoy put a hand to his forehead as if he suddenly had a very bad headache. “Is this the kind of conversation you and Weasley generally have up in Gryffindor Tower?” he asked in a pained way. “Who is the cutest boy in Hogwarts, and gosh, will he ask you to the Yule Ball?”
“I don’t—”
“Hi, Draco,” Charlie said, coming up with Ginny trailing reluctantly behind him. “Hi, Harry. I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”
“Please interrupt,” Malfoy urged. “I beg you.”
“Well, there’s probably something more interesting you could be doing,” Charlie conceded. “You did say you liked dancing.”
Harry’s head snapped up. Then he saw that Ginny looked as if she had put something horrible in her mouth.
“Malfoy,” she said, as if Malfoy’s name was a lemon, “do you… do you want to dance?”
Charlie gave her a pleased smile. Malfoy looked vaguely startled.
“Ah—no,” he said. “Don’t strain yourself, Weasley.”
Ginny folded her arms over her chest. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you implying that I’m not a good dancer?”
“No,” Malfoy answered, after a moment. “I saw you at the Yule Ball, anyone who escapes permanent crippling by Longbottom has to be doing something right. It’s just that not every boy at Hogwarts dreamed of dancing the night away with your ginger sauciness.”
“I don’t believe I asked you to dance the night away with me, Malfoy,” Ginny said. “Honestly, I’m not sure I could bear one dance.”
“You probably could,” Malfoy said. “I’m not a bad dancer. We wouldn’t have to do anything inappropriate like talking.”
“Sorry, are you saying yes now?” Ginny asked. She made a face at him and held out her hand.
“Oh, all right,” Malfoy replied, screwing up his face in his nastiest way. He took Ginny’s hand.
Harry stared at Charlie and decided that he had found his least favourite Weasley. The man had been back from Roumania less than a day and he already had Harry’s best girl out on the dance floor with Draco Malfoy.
Charlie smiled at him brightly.
The music started up and Harry recognised the opening bars of ‘A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love.’ Mrs Weasley fell on Fleur with shrieks and kisses and on the dance floor, Harry saw Malfoy smile and say something to Ginny. Ginny looked surprised.
“So,” Charlie said, leaning forward, “what’s Draco’s story?”
Malfoy had his hand on Ginny’s waist, pale against the gleam of her dress. They started to move. On a dance floor full of the Veela, they would both have had to start removing garments to get noticed, but… so they weren’t bad dancers. They didn’t look… bad together.
Harry suspected they were both on their mettle after the conversation about bad dancing. Ginny was used to being good at things, and nobody knew better than Harry how much it burned Malfoy to be outdone. They were watching each other closely and moving fast.
Harry disliked Charlie a lot.
“His story? Well, he was born, and shortly afterwards he achieved the title of most annoying person in the world. He’s managed to hang onto that title to this day.”
“Girls, stir your cauldrons! Are you doing it right?”
Ginny shook her curls back to a silent laugh from Malfoy, teeth flashing behind curled lips. She stepped away from him and Malfoy caught her hand with his free one, and spun her out and then back in, and dipped her down. Harry leaned forward and Malfoy was leaning over her, grinning a bit at her surprise. Harry saw licks of blond hair touching Ginny’s forehead, and her startled laugh, her lips mirroring Malfoy’s smile.
Malfoy let her up after a minute and she turned around again slowly under his arm. She still looked mostly bent on proving something to Malfoy, but smiles tugged at both their mouths as Ginny moved. Malfoy’s hand was back on her waist, and Ginny didn’t seem to notice as one delicate sleeve fell a little way down the pale, freckled skin of her shoulder. Malfoy’s eyes followed the sleeve: he had noticed, all right.
Charlie coughed. “You don’t like him, then?”
“Boys, stir your cauldrons! Are you doing it right?”
Malfoy moved away, beckoning to Ginny with both hands. There was a sly smile on his pale face that personally made Harry want to punch him, and his head was tilted, his eyes half closed. She moved towards him. They were both doing some kind of shimmying thing.
“Not really,” Harry said between his teeth.
Ginny, after a moment, put her hands on Malfoy’s hips as he did the shimmying thing. They were really dancing together in rhythm now. The muscles in Ginny’s back were moving, Malfoy’s long fingers had a firm clasp on her waist, and when her curls went static and flew into Malfoy’s face he had to put his hand up to his mouth and brush them off his lips.
For some reason Charlie was persisting with his Malfoy Questionnaire. “How old is he?”
Ginny grabbed hold of the locket suddenly and Malfoy let her, following her as she tugged at it. She had the gleaming thread wrapped around her fingers and Malfoy still had his eyes half shut. He was trying for a hooded gaze, Harry was pretty sure.
This song was never going to end. “He’s seventeen,” Harry informed Charlie, and added: “He’s younger than Ron.”
“Oh,” said Charlie.
“Oh, I’ll keep you warm tonight.”
As the song finally concluded Malfoy bent Ginny backwards over his arm again. They had moved quite close to the table now and Harry saw that Ginny was actually relaxed, actually trusting Malfoy to keep her up. Her eyes were shut and his hair was in her face again, gleaming strands brushing her forehead. Malfoy’s upper lip was glistening with a thin line of sweat.
They came back to the table, a little pink and breathing a little hard.
Ginny pushed her hair out of her face as she leaned against Harry’s face. “I’ve had better,” she told Malfoy with a half smile.
“Well, you’ve had so many,” Malfoy shot back.
“I’m gone hardly any time and Ginny’s turned into a heartbreaker, has she?” Charlie looked hugely amused. “Can you do an impression of her?”
He turned to Harry and Ginny. “He’s really good at impressions,” he told them. “He does a brilliant McGonagall. I love this kid.”
“Take him back to Roumania with you, please,” Harry said in an undertone. Charlie didn’t catch it, but Malfoy did.
Malfoy’s eyes gleamed and he leaned forward and slid his hand over Charlie’s. He used his free hand to push back curls he didn’t have, in a movement that was characteristic of Ginny.
“Oh, Harry Potter,” he said with a laughing inflection like hers in his deeper voice. “You’re the only boy for me, and once I find the… oh, three… maybe four… boys who will work in shifts to satisfy me while you’re saving the world, we should look into making this permanent.”
“Oi,” Charlie said lightheartedly, taking his hand from under Malfoy’s and then hitting Malfoy’s head with it. “Don’t imply shocking things about my little sister. She can’t help it that she inherited the famous Weasley charm.”
Ginny grabbed Harry’s hand. “You’re hopeless,” she told Malfoy in a hard voice. “C’mon, Harry.”
As Harry followed her, he heard Charlie say: “Go on, do Peeves.”
They sat out under the lace-trimmed tree where Charlie had found Malfoy. Ginny tipped her head back against the tree trunk.
“God, what a day,” she said. “I think Mr Delacour was hitting on me. He told me I looked very human and he liked that in a girl.”
“I’ll beat him up for you somewhere private,” Harry promised. “You looked like you were having fun with Malfoy,” he added.
“Yeah,” Ginny answered. “He told me he’d always loved red hair and asked me to run away with him to Bali. D’you think I should go?” She laughed at Harry’s expression. “It was all right. He’s not a bad dancer, for a complete pillock.”
“That particular pillock moment… just now,” Harry admitted. “I might’ve slightly provoked him. The other seventeen years of pillock moments were all Malfoy, though.”
“Well, you’re a complete pillock too,” Ginny informed him, punching him in the arm. “Lucky for you I like you better.”
“I can’t dance, though.”
Ginny frowned and shut her eyes. “Oh well. Then it’s off with Malfoy to Bali, I suppose.”
She did look tired, and the sun was hot. She started dozing as Harry talked, reminding him of May days with her murmuring commonplaces between kisses. Closest to normal he’d ever been.
He tried not to disturb her, and let her rest her weight against him. The sun was lower on the skyline now, the air around them warm and the colour of honey. The music drifting from the tent was slow and sweet, and more and more people came out to bask. The only cloud to be seen was the cloud of Fleur’s dress as she and Bill moved across the dance floor. They, and Ron and Hermione, were the only couples left dancing. Harry thought it might’ve taken Ron and Hermione all this time to get around to their first dance, but they looked happy.
He was watching for Malfoy, who came and lay down on the grass with the Veela girl they’d been playing catch with earlier. She was tiny and ridiculously pretty now, all thought of beak or wings banished by her melting blue eyes.
Malfoy actually looked happy enough to have her. Clearly he was not vain enough to resist Veela enchantment after all, since Harry’d never thought of him as a baby person.
The little Veela sat on Malfoy’s chest and regarded him critically. “You have a funny face,” she told him eventually.
Malfoy laughed and rubbed his sharp nose against her golden hair. “You Veela are all the same.”
Charlie came out to him and offered a glass over Malfoy’s shoulder. “Thanks,” Malfoy murmured, turning his face towards Charlie and accepting it. “Now please take the Veela away. I’m an only child and I am going to damage it.”
“She likes you,” said Charlie, and threw himself down on the grass beside Malfoy. “Never argue with a Veela.”
Malfoy made a face and then began to drink his drink. It was odd, seeing him relaxed and apparently well-disposed towards normal things like sunlight and babies.
Harry was distracted at that point by Ginny stirring against him. He shifted in case she was uncomfortable, and then realised that wasn’t it at all when she got in under his arm. He felt the press of her body soft against his side, and looked down at her face. It was sweet and sleepy under the pattern of light and shadow cast by the lace-twined leaves. Her hazel eyes were anxious and hopeful, and burning with that eager light he had never been able to believe was directed at him.
Her trembling lips were two inches from his.
“No,” Harry said violently. “No. Look, Ginny, I thought you understood!”
“I thought you were going off on some big quest!” Ginny said. “But you’re here, Harry, you’re in my house, and I thought just for today—”
No. Because he would go on a quest as soon as he had any leads to follow, and he did not want her to follow. She’d been brilliant at the Ministry of Magic but he didn’t want her with him, she hadn’t been there for years like Ron and Hermione, she would not know what to do. He was not normal, and it would be stupid to pretend.
Harry got to his feet.
“I’m sorry, Ginny,” he said, and knew he sounded harsh. “Not today. Not any day.”
He almost resented her for spoiling this sunny, happy moment. He kept hoarding the moments of this day and he didn’t need reminding that this was because it could be the last happy day.
He stamped away from her and the music of the tents, and walked into the kitchen again. There he found Malfoy hunched up on the kitchen surface with his head in his hands.
Harry stopped dead. Malfoy was obviously in the grip of strong emotion and Harry did not want things to get out of hand like last time.
On current evidence, maybe Malfoy frequently broke down in bathrooms and kitchens. Harry had been assuming that he’d been under extreme pressure, but perhaps Malfoy was just a crier.
“Er,” said Harry. “Is there someone I can get for you?”
“No,” Malfoy answered, his voice muffled and empty. “Who would come?”
He lifted his face and Harry saw with enormous relief that his eyes were dry, and then with less relief that he looked pale and haunted.
“I can’t bear myself,” he went on. “I can’t bear what I’ve done. And you must hate me.”
Surprise hollowed out Harry’s insides for a moment and then they came back in a warm rush to his chest. He took an uncertain step forward and bit his lip: Malfoy’s wide grey eyes were fixed on him. Malfoy looked desperately unaware that there was anyone else in the world.
“Oh—no,” Harry said awkwardly. “No. Malfoy. I don’t hate you.”
“You have to hate me,” Malfoy insisted, leaning forward. “All the things I’ve done, I—with Dumbledore, and to Ron Weasley, and… I always meant to hurt you, you know. I wanted to. You have to hate me.”
Harry took another step forward. “You wanted other things too. I saw you that night: you didn’t want to kill anyone. You wanted to protect your family, I can understand that, I would’ve been scared too if—if it had been my parents. I know that—that you weren’t going to do it. I might be the only one, but I do know it.”
“You are the only one,” Malfoy said, his eyes still intent, his voice raw.
“Well, I do know and I’m here now! I can—I told your mother I’d protect you. I’ll do my best.”
Malfoy got off the kitchen sides in one clean movement, which placed him a bit close to Harry, but Harry stayed where he was. They seemed to be having a breakthrough, after all.
“Thank you,” Malfoy said, his gaze open and unwavering. “But can you forgive me?”
Harry cleared his throat. “Yeah,” he answered. “I can.”
Malfoy moved forward another step, which since their chests brushed was a little bit too close. Harry moved backwards, but tried to make his voice as reassuring as he could.
“You’re with us now,” he continued. “Everything’s going to be all right.”
“I believe you,” Malfoy said simply.
This really was a breakthrough, and the only problem was Malfoy’s apparent lack of understanding that personal boundaries should be respected. He kept moving forward, and he was obviously looking for reassurance but actually he reminded Harry of a hunting cat.
Harry felt a slight jolt of unease in his chest when his back hit the sink, and he realised there was no place to go. Malfoy moved in and God, Harry wished Malfoy was still seeking comfort from ghosts because Malfoy would have gone right through Moaning Myrtle at this point.
He did not go through Harry, which meant Harry was pressed between the cold metal line of the sink and Malfoy’s body. Malfoy put his hands on the sink, on either side of Harry, and Harry was effectively trapped. He looked at Harry, head tilted almost playfully, and what was going on was starting to sink in.
Harry heard his voice, low as it was, crack alarmingly. “What are you doing, Malfoy?”
Why didn’t the Burrow have ghosts? Where were the departed souls to shout ‘Homosexual Assault In The Kitchen!’
Harry clung for dear life to the sink behind him. Malfoy moved in that unacceptable fraction closer.
His breath was hot against Harry’s cheek. “I think the question is… why aren’t you stopping me?”
He was already pressing against Harry, warm and inescapable, but now he pushed him hard against the sink and his mouth brushed Harry’s bottom lip.
Charlie erupted into the kitchen. “Draco, don’t!”
“Charlie!” Harry yelped. “This isn’t what you think! And also, help!”
“Draco,” Charlie said coaxingly, “why don’t you come over here?”
Malfoy had not moved. “I’m fine here,” he answered calmly, his lips far too close for Harry to be comfortable with them moving and his pale lashes showing a frightening tendency to lower. “Why don’t you leave?”
“Please don’t leave, Charlie!”
“Draco,” Charlie said, as one inspired. “Harry would really like you to come over here for just a minute.”
Malfoy hesitated. “Would you?” he asked softly.
“Yes!” Harry exclaimed. “Yes I would!”
Malfoy went, and left Harry still holding onto the sink. Harry was not planning to let go for a while. He felt like the sink was his only support in a world gone mad.
Charlie was watching Malfoy as if he was a dangerous animal, which in Harry’s opinion was exactly the right way to watch Malfoy when Malfoy was still looking at him as if he wanted to eat him whole.
“Draco,” Charlie said, laying down each of his syllables with great care. “Harry would love it if you would drink this.”
He offered Malfoy a phial and Malfoy accepted it, tilting his head inquiringly in Harry’s direction.
“Yes?” Harry croaked, and Malfoy shrugged and tossed it back.
Then he dropped the phial. It shattered on the floor and Malfoy’s head snapped back down. He stared at Harry with an altogether different expression in his narrowed eyes, his mouth twisting, his whole demeanour reminiscent of a cat who had just been drenched with cold water.
“Oh my God, how revolting,” he snarled. Then he broke and bolted upstairs.
“What just happened?” Harry shouted.
Charlie looked grim. “Fred and George think they are very funny people,” he said. “They think Love Potions are very funny things. They also think they are going to live to see tomorrow. I think I’m going to correct all those misapprehensions.”
He left, and left Harry staring at the kitchen wall where the Weasleys’ clock used to hang. The sun was going down.
And this was supposed to be his last glorious day.