Memories of the Heart || Harry Potter x Reader

Y7 ~ The Wedding

The morning sun stretched golden fingers through the canopy of trees surrounding the Burrow, dappling the vast orchard with flickering light. A soft mist still clung to the ground, the grass glistening like a sea of crushed diamonds under the weight of the morning dew. Birds flitted from branch to branch, their songs blending with the occasional crackling of distant magic.

In the middle of the field, an enormous sheet of silk lay upon the damp earth, its silver edges fluttering in the light breeze. Arthur Weasley, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, stood at its periphery, wand raised with quiet determination. Bill, with his long hair tied back and his dragon-hide boots sinking slightly into the soft ground, exchanged a glance with Ron, who exhaled sharply, adjusting his grip on his wand. Fred, ever the troublemaker, gave an exaggerated flick of his wrist as if preparing for a grand performance.

Hagrid stood a few feet away, his massive frame looming like a watchful guardian. He clutched a steaming mug of tea in his enormous hands, his eyes bright with childlike excitement.

"All together now!" Arthur called out, his voice filled with authority and warmth. "One. Two. Three!"

Four wands moved in unison, a collective swish and flick slicing through the crisp morning air. The silk shuddered, then soared upward, catching the breeze like a ghostly sail. It hovered majestically for a moment, twisting and unfurling into the perfect shape of a wedding marquee—before crumpling back down in a shimmering heap.

A chorus of groans echoed through the orchard.

"Well, that's progress," Arthur said optimistically, wiping his brow.

"Yeah, if collapsing is the goal," Ron muttered, earning a snort from Fred.

Inside the Burrow, the scent of fresh bread and warm butter filled the kitchen. The wooden table was cluttered with breakfast remnants—half-eaten toast, a plate of jam-covered crumpets, and a teapot steaming beside a folded copy of the Daily Prophet. Its headline blared in bold, accusing letters:

DUMBLEDORE'S DARK SECRETS EXPOSED!

Harry stood by the table, fingers gripping the paper as he scowled at the grainy moving image of Rita Skeeter. She smirked triumphantly from the front page, her jewel-encrusted quill clutched between manicured fingers. Beneath the headline, her latest book, The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, was prominently displayed, its cover glowing ominously. Another taunting line beneath it read:

THINK YOU KNOW DUMBLEDORE? THINK AGAIN!

A voice broke through his thoughts.

"Zip me up, will you?"

Harry looked up sharply, blinking.

Y/N stood in the hallway, bathed in soft morning light, her blue dress catching every glimmer of it like rippling water. The delicate fabric hugged her frame, cinched at the waist before flowing down in gentle waves. The open back exposed the smooth curve of her spine, the dip of her shoulders, the vulnerability of bare skin.

Harry swallowed. Hard.

She turned slightly, offering him access to the zipper that hung at the small of her back. He stepped forward without thinking, the warmth of her body drawing him in like gravity. His fingers found the cool metal, grazing the edge of her skin as he slowly drew it upward.

Each inch of covered skin felt like a lost opportunity.

At the nape of her neck, he hesitated, his fingers lingering just a moment too long. The moment stretched between them, thick with something unspoken. His breath was steady, but his heart was anything but.