------CHAPTER THREE--------
The Wedding
The excitement of the situation grew and spiraled until it was out of control; a beast with no sense of direction or purpose. The atmosphere was so palpable that one could almost taste it on the air, a unique blend of giddiness, nervousness and fervently praying that nothing would go wrong to spoil such a wonderful day. The latter was almost laughable, knowing that this was a wedding of a half werewolf (of sorts) and a part Veela. If the wedding did go perfectly on technical terms, then they would eat their own hat.
The mood of anticipation had gotten to Harry at least, who was anxiously glancing over at the direction of the Burrow, where Hermione had dashed off to help Ron’s with final preparations for catering and seating. Ron and Harry had been sneaking secret dips into the post-wedding snacks, but were chased off by a rather flustered McGonagall brandishing her wand and threatening to turn them both into snowshoe hares.
All in all, Harry was rather confident that it would be a good wedding, calamities aside. The chairs had been arranged and bewitched by Flitwick to resemble a row of church pews, which was quite fitting for the occasion. Bright, twinkling rays of pure magical energy, for decorations, created quite a stunning spectacle for even the most mediocre onlooker. They comforted Harry in an odd way, and he was staring at them play around the area as if they were live spirits for a while until Ron broke the spell. “Normally experienced wizards don’t like to be flashy unless it’s a very special occasion.” He said, chuckling.
“And?” Harry said, taking his eyes off the nearest one, which was doing backflips in mid air.
“Whoever did this wasn’t experienced, and this is most definitely a special occasion.”
“No argument here.” Harry said.
Ron seemed about to say something else when his mother called out at them both from the Burrow some distance away. “RONALD! HARRY! DRESS ROBES!” Her voice sounded as if it had been magically amplified.
Both of them cringed inwardly, as everyone who was watching ceased what they were doing and stared at them momentarily. Some smothered giggles, vaguely identifiable as Fred and George, came from behind one of the hedges.
“I take my leave.” Ron said mock regally to them, then added to Harry in a lower tone. “Harry, don’t suppose you’re carrying a Decoy Detonator on you?”
Harry eyed him in despair. “No. Too much of a waste anyways.”
As they stood up to go change back in the Burrow, Ron nudged Harry and indicated something that looked remarkably like a very ugly statue not far off.
“Is that –“ began a incredulous Harry.
“Grawp.” Ron said, chuckling nervously. “Hope he doesn’t get peeved and decide to rip a sapling up and toss it at Bill and Fleur when they’re saying their vows.”
“Now that you bring it up, it’s quite possible.” Harry said mildly. Ron groaned.
“What possessed Hagrid to bring a giant to a wedding?”
Harry laughed, not remotely worried. There was plenty of able-bodied wizards able to suppress Grawp if a tantrum or other violent behavior indeed show up. Besides, Grawp trusted Hagrid, from what Harry had witnessed in his fifth year, and would very likely back down if Hagrid got upset.
“Knowing Hagrid, he’d probably say that the emotion and civility of a wedding will do him good.” He said thoughtfully. Having known Hagrid over six years, Harry had gotten to know his way of thinking.
“Civility, my foot!” Ron snorted. “The day he gets Grawp to sit down peacefully and have a pleasant afternoon tea, I’ll eat an Acid Pop.”
“You’ll eventually remember saying that, Ron.” Harry smiled slightly. “I think we both will.”
“You’d better hurry up,” Mrs. Weasley urged them as they neared the front door. “Fluer’s already changing into her wedding robes and Bill’s’ already changed, now get a move on! Quickly!”
“How’s he look?” Ron said, rushed.
“Brilliant, brilliant.” Said Mrs. Weasley impatiently. “Hurry along, now.”
Harry and Ron took the steps two at a time to their room, but before Harry could step in, Ron held out an arm and held him back. “Wait a minute. You can’t go in there.”
Harry stared at him, not comprehending. Ron, not offering an explanation, instead closed his eyes and raised his wand, which erupted a peculiar yellow aura. The aura instantly swept the breadth of the room and returned with a hovering Dungbomb, obviously armed. Ron disarmed it and carelessly tossed it aside.
”Trap Charm.” Ron said, grinning. “Hermione taught it to me a while ago.
“Handy.” Harry said, impressed.
They changed into their dress robes quickly, Ron shifting uncomfortably in his.
“Fred and George spent 5 galleons and three sickles on this, and yet it rides down a bit low where it shouldn’t.”
“Tell me about it.” Harry sighed, forcing his legs through. “This set is getting awfully tight around the waist.”
They quickly struggled into their robes as best as they could, Harry frantically running a comb through his hair to no effect as they ran out. In fact, they were so unconsciously possessed with the desire not to be the ones to hold the wedding up that they ran slap bang into Hermione and Ginny on the second landing on their way out, almost causing a mad, out of control scramble.
“RON!” Ginny screamed.
“OUCH!” Ron yelled in reply, clutching his nose.
Harry picked himself off the floor, brushing his dress robes off carefully. He had avoided the worst of it, but Ron was sporting a minor bruise and Ginny had torn the sleeve of her deep violet dress robes.
“Who punched me?” growled Ron.
“Sorry!” Hermione said, mortified. “I was trying to grab a handrail and I guess, well…your face got in the way.” She quickly tapped his nose with her wand and the bruising disappeared.
Harry checked the time. “We’re late, let’s go.”
As they rose to their feet, Harry added to Ginny, whispering in her ear. “You look great.”
She grinned happily, very pleased. Recalling formal protocol, he offered his arm to her like a gentleman, which she took. Ron did likewise with Hermione.
”Well, what’s this?” Hermione said, bemused but not displeased.
Harry shrugged. “We’re going to be last anyways. I say we arrive in style.”
And arrive in style they apparently did, because as they walked between the rows of pews to take their seats, there was a round of scattered applause.
“Classic chivalry isn’t dead in the magical world, is it?” Harry asked Hermione.
She smiled and shrugged. “It doesn’t seem dead to me.”