The Anti-Heroine || A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter LXXIX

CHAPTER LXXIX:

Harry's POV:

Harry's first impression of Gamp Hall was that it was an ostentatious monstrosity (with pretty decent architecture) that someone with way too much money had mistakenly called a "house", as he was pretty sure it was actually a medium-sized palace. He was also pretty sure that it was absolutely perfect for Voldemort— even if the Dark Lord didn't decide to become the permanent Minister of Magic for as long as the Philosopher's Stone kept him alive, Harry didn't doubt Voldemort had no intentions of ever giving up Gamp Hall. He just wondered how long it would be until the Dark Lord proposed a new name for it, and then charmed Wizarding Britain into going along with it— Voldemort could sell water to a drowning man and get thanked on bent knee for it.

The portkey had transported him, Charlie and Tonks to an expansive, lush green lawn bordered by a white, ornamental marble balustrade and filled with varied and exotic plant-life, including yew, silver maple, cypress and mulberry trees and hundreds of different varieties of roses, all bright and bloomed, and a large, oval fountain of white stone, water-lilies and cascading water that seemed to shine with silvery light under the moon.

And that was just the outside.

It only got better (worse?) inside, where golden ribbons of light marked the path through winding corridors to the extravagant hall that was the ballroom, which was brightly lit (surprisingly so, considering Magical Britain's medieval tendencies of using candles instead of electricity) and filled to the utmost with well-dressed witches and wizards draped in silk, satin, velvet, and glittering jewels. An area of the ballroom had been reserved for dancing couples, cordoned off with more ribbons of golden light, with a small, live orchestra positioned on a floating platform to provide the music, and small, elaborate round tables dotted the large hall to allow the attendees to sit and rest, with vases of roses decorating the golden tabletops.

"Harry!" He heard an unmistakable voice call out as he, Tonks and Charlie started to make their way inside the grand hall, and he spun towards the sound of it, to where Hermione was approaching him, a beaming smile curving her dusky pink lips. 

She looked breathtaking, he thought, blown away by the sight of her. Hermione's ballgown was the same exact shade of emerald green as his shirt, and it was beautiful. It had a heart-shaped neckline, a tight bodice decorated with silver thread, and tiers of skirts that gathered and swept. Her eyelids were dusted bright silver and her eyes were lined with kohl, her rich brown curls were half pinned up and half flowing free, and around her neck she wore a Victorian-style choker made from plush black velvet centered by a large emerald bordered by rows of glittering clear diamonds.

He caught her when she got close enough, carefully crushing her to his chest in a way that didn't wrinkle her dress. "I've missed you," he told her, his voice going embarrassingly thick. "I know it hasn't even been a week, but—"

"—being separated is fucking shit," Hermione completed his sentence for him, her arms tightening even further. "And you're stuck with fucking Dumbledore and Moody and the Weasleys."

"It's the worst," Harry agreed glumly. "Er, no offense, Charlie."

"None taken," an amused Charlie assured him, and Hermione turned in his arms to take in his companions.

"Wow," she said, sounding surprised. "I already knew Tonks was hot, but you clean up shockingly well, Weasley."

"Cheers," Charlie said with a grin, "though I'm pretty sure I've already invited you to just call me Charlie."