Unlike a Sister (Harmione)

Chapter 50: Troth

They married in summer in a small village of no particular consequence called Godric's Hollow. In the heart of that village, there is a square with several shops, a post office, a pub, and a little church whose stained-glass windows glowed jewel-bright in the summer sun.

Around seventy people were inside the church. The people they most loved.

Their closest colleagues-Lakey and his family; Emi, Luke, and their children; Matt; Gwen and Phoebe; Maisie and Ollie; and "Backfire" Ben and his new fiancé.

Their dearest friends from Hogwarts-Hagrid, Professor McGonagall, Neville, Hannah, Luna, and Rolf.

Then there were her parents; Dudley and Shannon; and the band of non-magical people they considered indistinguishable from their family-Thomas and Elena; Daniel and Michael; Walter and Theresa; Jack Hewett and his wife; and then a rather inexplicable group that laughed and spoke quietly to one another, though they all shared a great gift for healing: Healer Dana Holbrooke, Dr. Alexander Peck, and Dr. Amar Srinivasan with their respective spouses. (Inviting the latter two had required a fair bit of explaining...).

And then there were their former in-laws-Mrs. Weasley; Bill and Fleur; Charlie; Percy and Audrey; George and Angelina; Ron and Maggie; and Noah and Ginny (who looked almost unconscionably stunning in a bright red dress).

Tied to these were their many nieces and nephews, some by former marriage, some by the necessity of shorthand.

And then, in the front row, their children. All six of them. Albus, Rose, Lily, Hugo, and James, who held a squirming Bridget on his lap. Their significant others were woven in between-Perdita, Scorpius, Duncan, and Pippa.

And at the very back were three people no one really knew: two women in homespun robes of undyed wool, one young and one very old; and a tall woman with a long streak of grey in her brown hair.

Harry smiled at this last guest and she smiled quietly back.

The music started and everyone stood.

And she was there.

She was there.

She wore a simple sheath dress of white lace with capped sleeves. Her curls were loose and free and there was no veil, only a flower crown of braided heather and white burnet roses on her head. A small sapphire necklace rested in the hollow of her throat.

He felt others turning in his direction, waiting for his reaction. But just like gazing at a single star in the night sky causes the others to fade away, he only really saw her.

And looking at her...seeing how beautiful she was...how she looked at him...like she could barely believe he was real...he thought of many things.

How much he loved her.

How his body perpetually felt on the brink of cracking open with the force of it.

How he never thought, in his forty-six years, he'd see this.

Her walking towards him, choosing him. Loving him.

And all the old words and voices were there. He could not deserve it. He could not be worthy of her.

But those fears were like creaking floorboards now, or a bum socket. He could still build a house around it-large and grand and fine.

And they'd live there, for as long as they had.

And if that was to be his life, well...he must try very hard. He must try and get used to being so happy...

She came level with him and, smiling, shook her head slightly, curls catching in the rays of dyed sun. She reached up and brushed away the wetness on his cheek.