The Weasley of Slytherin: The Deathly Hallows

Chapter 4: Wedding Crashed

Three o'clock on the following afternoon found Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and me standing outside the great white marquee in the orchard, awaiting the arrival of the wedding guests.

Harry had taken a large dose of Polyjuice Potion and was now the double of a redheaded Muggle boy from the local village, Ottery St. Catchpole, from whom Fred had stolen hairs using a Summoning Charm. The plan was to introduce Harry as "Cousin Barny" and trust to the great number of Weasley relatives to camouflage him.

All five of us were clutching seating plans, so that we could help show people to the right seats. A host of white-robed waiters had arrived an hour earlier, along with a golden-jacketed band, and all of these wizards were currently sitting a short distance away under a tree; I could see a blue haze of pipe smoke issuing from the spot.

Behind me, the entrance to the marquee revealed rows and rows of fragile golden chairs set on either side of a long purple carpet.

The supporting poles were entwined with white and gold flowers. Fred and George had fastened an enormous bunch of golden balloons over the exact point where Bill and Fleur would shortly become husband and wife.

Outside, butterflies and bees were hovering lazily over the grass and hedgerow.

"When I get married," said Fred, tugging at the collar of his own robes, "I won't be bothering with any of this nonsense. You can all wear what you like, and I'll put a full Body-Bind Curse on Mum until it's all over."

"At least one of us is sensible." I said using my wand to create a small breeze over us.

"She wasn't too bad this morning, considering," said George. "Cried a bit about Percy not being here, but who wants him? Oh blimey, brace yourselves — here they come, look."

Brightly colored figures were appearing, one by one, out of nowhere at the distant boundary of the yard. Within minutes a procession had formed, which began to snake its way up through the garden toward the marquee.

Exotic flowers and bewitched birds fluttered on the witches' hats, while precious gems glittered from many of the wizards' cravats; a hum of excited chatter grew louder and louder, drowning the sound of the bees as the crowd approached the tent.

"Excellent, I think I see a few veela cousins," said George, craning his neck for a better look. "They'll need help understanding our English customs, I'll look after them. . . ."

"Not so fast, Your Holeyness," said Fred, and darting past the gaggle of middle-aged witches heading the procession, he said, "Here — permettez-moi to assister vous," to a pair of pretty French girls, who giggled and allowed him to escort them inside.

George was left to deal with the middle-aged witches and Ron took charge of Arthur's old Ministry colleague Perkins, while a rather deaf old couple fell to Harry and me.

"Wotcher," said a familiar voice as we came out of the marquee again and found Tonks and Lupin at the front of the queue. She had turned blonde for the occasion.

"Arthur told us you were the one with the curly hair. Sorry about last night," she added in a whisper as Harry and I led them up the aisle. "The Ministry's being very anti-werewolf at the moment and we thought our presence might not do you any favors."

"How much worse can the ministry get?" I said shaking my head.

"It's fine, I understand," said Harry, speaking more to Lupin than Tonks. Lupin gave him a swift smile, but as they turned away, I saw Lupin's face fall again into lines of misery.

Hagrid was causing a certain amount of disruption. Having misunderstood Fred's directions he had sat himself, not upon the magically enlarged and reinforced seat set aside for him in the back row, but on five seats that now resembled a large pile of golden matchsticks.