Wedding Party (an Anti-Romance)

Wedding Party

by Leni Jess

Harry defiantly kept the earrings Draco Malfoy had forced him to wear, since the piercings would remain. He soon transfigured the clump of jingling star shapes, however, into a single solid round silver earring, and wore that in his right ear.

After a week of whipping out his wand with a snarl every time he heard a snicker, no matter what its cause, and an impressive number of duels in the corridors, most of the student body was walking wide around him. Any of the Gryffindors who might have felt unsympathetic soon found it better to join their fellows in being supportive, protective, and ensuring that their champion duellist did not fall to mob action. By then even the Slytherins were being reasonably careful.

Before he and Hermione had managed to lift the last of the hexes Malfoy had laid on him, nearly twenty-four hours had gone by, and Harry had missed two meals. Since he had also missed a Potions class, he had two nights' detention as well.

His only consolation had been that one of the first things Hermione had managed to do was hex Malfoy's camera so that the film was spoiled. Certainly no photographs of the Boy Who Lived looking girly and pretty had appeared in the Daily Prophet or Witch Weekly.

What kept Harry's temper on the boil, however, was the constantly renewed sight of the little smirk on Malfoy's lips.

It was Ron who took the bull by the horns and said, "Look, mate, you need to wipe the floor with Malfoy. I don't care how you do it, but you have to do it thoroughly. Then he won't look so smart-arsed."

Hermione kept her mouth shut. Her sympathy had transmuted into urgings to concentrate on his studies and forget about stupid brats. Most recently, since that was a lost cause, she had pointed out that Malfoy had done that not just for his father, but because he fancied Harry, and didn't dare reach for what he wanted. Harry already knew that, and every time he was reminded, by her or by a twinge of memory, his temperature rose past any common sense.

However, it was Hermione who drew to his attention a notice in the Daily Prophet. A Malfoy girl cousin was getting married just before Christmas. In the same issue, on the social page, was speculation on whether the bride would be accompanied by the young Malfoy heir as ring-giver, as well as most of her female cousins as bridesmaids, since she was being married in the old form.

Hermione pointed out that Malfoy probably didn't want to do that, and that his mother would probably insist, if only to ensure the newspapers showed one Malfoy who wasn't in jail. If he had to do it, it might present an opportunity to trim his comb for him that he would hate far more than being made ridiculous in front of the whole student body of Hogwarts.

Harry said dubiously, "I've no hope of getting my hands on Malfoy at a society wedding, Hermione - they wouldn't let me in the door."

Practically she replied, "You could get your hands on Malfoy here, though. Or something. Send him there with hair that stays striped pink and blue for a week, perhaps. Long hair. Halfway down his back, just like his charming, prison-inmate father."

Harry's eyes lit with amusement, sufficient reward, whether he could achieve it or not.

"Why not think about it? Ron, what's this 'old form'? Some aristocratic pure-blood nonsense, I suppose?"

Ron laughed shortly. "Not just aristocratic. My parents were married that way. I didn't know, until Bill started seeing Fleur Delacour. Mum went all misty-eyed, and Bill said that if he ever did propose to Fleur, and she was mad enough to take him, he'd make sure they eloped to the ends of the earth before he was married that way."

"So what is it?" she demanded. "A fancy ceremony?"

He shrugged. "As fancy as you can imagine; but really, it's the whole family signifying its approval of the marriage."

Harry said with sudden interest, "So that's why Malfoy would be expected to take part: standing in for his father. And why Mrs Malfoy would make him do it. Go on, Ron."

"I don't know what the ceremony is, though I could ask Bill; I know he looked it up. But our great-grandfather was alive then, and if you think my father has some odd enthusiasms -"

Hermione interposed tactfully, "Mr Weasley is a kind, sensible man."

"And crazy about Muggles, and can't get the facts right any more than I can. Great-grandfather Roscius took a camera everywhere, one of those big old-fashioned ones. The photos he took moved, all right, but he liked to set up little scenes to photograph, and, er, some of them probably looked a bit odd. He fiddled with them afterwards, too, sometimes, so they got odder. Bill said, when he was ten, he found a box of them in the attic. Mum burned most of them when she found him looking at them."

Harry and Hermione both nodded. That sort of photograph. Harry sympathised with Bill, and Hermione with Molly.

"Any way. Doesn't matter. At their wedding he did the head-of-the-family I-give-you-permission-to-marry bit, and put a happiness spell them, for what that was worth, and kept stopping to take photographs. I don't think Mum ever really forgave him, but my grandfather insisted his father should do it, and the old boy was keen to."

Hermione murmured, "I think the spell worked all right, if not quite the way some people would have expected it to."

"Yes, well, Roscius Weasley embarrassed his entire family that day, and I don't think anyone's been married in the old form since."

"So why would your mother want Bill to?" Harry asked.

Ron shrugged. "Get it right next time? Dunno. But if it's that kind of wedding, the important thing, apart from all those promises, is for the head of the house to do that bit. Some people think it's proper. Some think it's lucky. Guess what the Malfoys think."

Harry said dryly, "That they'd better acknowledge Lucius Malfoy is the boss."

He brooded, and the other two waited, not interrupting.

Harry's growing smile could only be called evil.

"Ring-giver," he said. "Acting head of the family. A member of the wedding party. Standing there in full view of practically every pure-blood in wizarding Britain, with any luck. With a part to play no one else could undertake, maybe. No matter what he looked like."

Harry lifted a hand to the slim earring in the upper curve of his left ear and began fiddling with its sliding silver bead, a new habit Ron was trying to break him of. This time, however, Ron did not reach out to slap his hand away.

"I can't do what Malfoy did to me, lay an ambush and grab his wand and hex him senseless and helpless. I don't want to just copy-cat, any way; I want to go one better."

He didn't mention what else Malfoy had done, and made him do, for that disastrous parade through Hogwarts in fishnet, roses, high heels, makeup, and precious little else. Hermione brushed his hand, hoping to avert a firework display of temper. It turned to touch hers, fingertips briefly clinging, grateful for her support.

"I can lay a hex on him though - a whole bunch of them. Set to cut in at the right time. And he'll have to take it, or let his family down."

He said briskly, "I need to think about this. Look up the right hexes, or curses, or whatever. Ron, I need to know about that ceremony. Find out, everything."

Ron said uneasily, "Maybe you should ask Hermione; that way you'll know you've got the lot."

"I can do that," she agreed.

"All right. But Ron, talk to your Mum, ask her what it was like - no, ask her what it should have been like. What Bill's wedding could be."

"He'll kill me," Ron said dismally, "if he hears about it."

He made no other objection, however. Listening to his mother reminisce, or dream, was better than plowing through fusty old books of wizarding world customs.

For the next few days Harry worked with uncommon diligence in the library every chance he got. He even managed to get a pass into the Restricted Section from Professor McGonagall to look up rare transfiguration techniques. When Ron and Hermione heard him persuading her how useful that could be, they glanced at each other.

Ron muttered, "Hope he thinks it worth it when he has to write a three foot report on his research."

"Hush."

Once he had that pass Harry stopped taking an interest in casual snickers, and the duels ceased. He had other things to think about. Hermione noticed, with some sympathy, that the snickers very quickly died down in the face of this sudden baffling lack of response, and Malfoy developed a disappointed pout. She would tell Harry about that, later, when he was paying attention again.

Hermione found the full ceremony, words and actions and spells, for the old form marriage-for-life - something she had never heard of before - and checked several other sources to make sure there were no errors or omissions.

She also started reading the Daily Prophet social columns, and even looked through past issues, asking Lavender about society weddings, and looking up the accounts of these, complete with photographs of wedding parties.

Some photographs had the head of the family performing; she even managed to hear the marital happiness spell being pronounced. Apparently it was traditional to take a photograph at that point. She had already discovered it was general rather than specific; just as well, considering how widely some people's definitions of happiness varied. Malfoy wasn't as good at Charms as he might be; he would have to work hard to get that right. She wondered how many people would become happy while he practised, and for how long.

Ron sought permission to make a Floo call to his mother and encouraged her to dream aloud about Bill's wedding with such success that, to his horror, she decided he was thinking of marrying. Her reproof for considering it so young was astonishingly mild, and her enquiries about his intended as coyly indirect as the Hogwarts Express's progress through the landscape. By the time he managed to get her back to how wonderful a family occasion Bill's wedding could be, he had resolved that in future he would do the reading and Hermione could talk to his mother. Whatever his mother thought, he had no wish to be that mature this young.

Harry at last emerged from his daze of research, brushing aside impatiently Ron's reminder that he owed Professor McGonagall a long, long report.

"Later," Harry said. "I haven't done that research yet; I'll do it later."

He had decided what to do, and found out how to do it. A mixture of timed hexes, and a complex Transfiguration charm. He told his friends the effect he hoped to achieve.

Ron was delighted; this would be even better than the ferret incident. Hermione was rather sorry for the bride, though not for Draco Malfoy. Harry wistfully regretted that he was unlikely to see the results of his hard work. Though no doubt there would be some kind of mention in the Daily Prophet, Malfoy family influence would probably ensure it was nowhere near as sensational as the event.

Hermione thought about that, and put in a private Floo call to Rita Skeeter, asking to meet her the next Hogsmeade weekend. Rita was cautious, remembering her time in a bottle, and her year off work, but in exchange for Hermione's promise of continuing silence about her Animagus form (provided there were no further hostilities), she agreed to what Hermione asked of her.

Once Hermione had her plans at least tentatively in place, she took them to Harry and Ron. Ron yelled, and sprang up to dance round the common room. Harry stared, and smiled, and kissed her, quickly and awkwardly, before he drew back looking worried. Hermione smiled at him, despite her slight dizziness, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek as she had done once before. That seemed to reassure him, and certainly did not displease her.

The other Gryffindors stared at all three of them, but now the twins were no longer at school to ask their little brother impertinent questions only Ginny murmured, "What brought that on?" and only Ginny determined to watch the three of them to find out what was happening.

The wedding was not until shortly after the Christmas holidays began, so Harry mastered his impatience, practiced his hexes and his charm complex, and did the additional research necessary to placate Professor McGonagall, finding some interesting things in the doing. Perhaps she and Professor Snape had something, with their insistence on study.

Much of his free time was spent deciding on the perfect look for Malfoy.

Harry liked Hermione's idea of giving Malfoy pink and blue striped hair, but he wanted Malfoy to be instantly recognisable, so that was out. He was still very attached to the idea of pink or blue fluffy bedsocks poking out of his footwear, perhaps one of each. He wanted Malfoy's arse as near naked as possible. He thought long and hard about all the things that wouldn't suit Malfoy, but might suit a wedding, if you had an active imagination.

The day before the Christmas holidays began, Harry donned his Invisibility Cloak and slunk into the Slytherin common room, waiting for it to empty. Eventually he was able to follow Malfoy to the room which, as a prefect, he had to himself. Only then did he place his charms and hexes, designed to be activated by a particular phrase part-way through the wedding ceremony. Malfoy noticed nothing, which was a good start.

The day after the Christmas holidays began, Hermione and Harry met Rita Skeeter in The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, and finalised the plans she had a small part in. She bought them a drink each, even offering something stronger and more expensive than butterbeer, so she had found something to look forward to, more than mere freedom from threat from Hermione.

Over the second banana-rum and durian cocktail (which Hermione confided to Harry afterwards was designed to put one off tropical fruit for life) Rita mourned the fact that reporters were banned from the wedding. The Daily Prophet was allowed to send a photographer, to make a record for publication, as were Witch Weekly and a couple of other magazines, but though they could observe the ceremony they were banned from the celebrations afterwards.

Harry did not say there might not be any very whole-hearted celebrations. Rita was clearly hoping for something exciting to result from his presence, and resigned to finding out what only after her colleagues returned to the newspaper offices.

On the day of the wedding Harry Apparated to London. It was the first real test of his skills, but their class had been having regular training sessions with Madam Hooch since the start of term. They were not allowed to go for their licences until they were seventeen, however, and not, if Hogwarts had any say in it, until the day after they finished school. Harry seemed to be as naturally competent at Apparition as he was at flying; Hermione and Ron had no real concern for his safety.

He met the photographer's assistant. Rita had been economical with the truth, like any good reporter; no one but the assistant and the man she worked for knew of the substitution. Harry had resigned himself to being polyjuiced as a girl; it was better than being dressed and made up like one.

Cicely spent the next two hours teaching Harry as much as she could of her duties. At the last moment Harry drank the polyjuice potion in the toilet. He changed into Cicely's best working outfit, with which she mercifully wore low-heeled shoes, and left the bundle of his own clothes with her, before she shut herself into a seldom-visited stockroom with a textbook. As a precaution he tucked his Invisibility Cloak into the wand pocket of her dress, and a tiny package in another pocket.

Murdo the photographer greeted Harry-Cicely with a smirk and shoved a shiny silver box of equipment at him to carry along with the reserve camera Cicely had already given him and taught him to use.

"I'm looking for some good shots from this, my boy," he remarked, as they hurried down the stairs to the newspaper's Disapparation alcove.

Harry scowled. "Cicely. My girl. If you call me anything but 'Hey, you'."

"Right. Here, Hey You, pin this on your dress - no, your left shoulder, where it won't be covered by the camera strap; it's your pass. If you lose it they'll probably kill us both. Also, you won't get out of Redherring Hall, any more than you could get in, without it."

Seconds later they were passing the guard of wizards and witches in formal dress, backed up by trolls with clubs under the control of three uniformed goblins: an impressive security line-up.

Harry had never been in Festive Alley, let alone inside the exclusive building where a lot of wizarding society events took place, but he refrained from acting like it. He was pleased that Cicely had excellent vision, and reminded himself, happily, of his appointment with a Muggle ophthalmologist in two days' time. Soon he too would have perfect sight, or something near it.

"Good girl," Murdo said approvingly. "And we're not late - just. Looks as if the bridal party's on time; that's the groom sitting up front."

A party of extravagantly robed young men waited, tense for the most part, since the groom's family's blood-line was not quite as impressive as the Malfoys', while Murdo and Harry hastened up the side of the room to the press cubicle.

Murdo muttered as he wedged them into the front row, taking advantage of his seniority, which seldom had him attending weddings, however socially significant, "This sheepfold has a good view for most events; it's certainly well-placed for weddings."

He went on, "Take as many photographs as you can; it's good practice, and who knows, you may be lucky and get something I don't. There's loads of film in the box."

Harry nodded, and concentrated on preparing his camera as he had been taught. He also surreptitiously used an Engorgement Charm on Colin Creevey's borrowed camera. Colin had been torn between reluctance to lend it and eagerness to know what Harry planned to photograph, but at present he was still cringingly in awe of the temper Harry had unloosed on him when he tried to photograph Harry in his now legendary girly persona. He had given way after the slightest pressure and threat of a replay.

Two more minutes had gone by. This whole ceremony was only supposed to take thirty minutes, but he had fewer than sixty in hand by now. If the bride was very late he might have to leave before he saw everything. If schedules were kept no one would be surprised by the press hastening like a mob of goats for the exit, to be first back to their offices with their trophies.

A susurrus at the back of the great hall caught the attention of all the photographers in their box (which now had a goblin standing by the exit, with two trolls in reserve, Harry noticed). The bridal party was coming. Malfoy would be last in, and would wait near the door, to make his own entrance.

Harry smiled contentedly. Not long to wait now. Whatever Malfoy did, he would never live this down.

The bride, Harry noticed, was pretty, though she bore a strong resemblance to three of the young men accompanying the groom, all of them fair, though not, he thought, as pretty as Malfoy. Rita's information about what the bridesmaids would be wearing had been remarkably accurate, even down to the pale green roses pinned to their skirts at the left hip. Real roses, Rita had informed him with lofty contempt for ignorance; they came that way by nature. Only one each, though, Harry noticed, and not large, accompanied by four even smaller greeny-white roses which he thought rather prettier. Overdoing the Slytherin image, he thought it.

The large party shuffled itself into the appropriate positions in front of the witnesses and guests - the former more important, and quite numerous - with well-drilled speed, the young men filtering into their own places without error.

The celebrant rose at last from his imposing armchair and moved forward. He was elderly enough to warrant a seat for as long as possible, but he proved to have a strong, carrying bass voice. He took control briskly, and began the ceremony.

The bride and groom were essentially married before Malfoy was due to do his bit, save that without that the union would not be valid. Harry watched with interest despite himself; this was probably a fairly rare wizarding ceremony these days, and impressive in its way. Certainly a confirmation of the power that families had once had over all their members, and the significance of family links through marriage. It sounded as if the groom was doing well for his family, marrying this Irina Malfoy, however distant her cousinship with Lucius, the family head.

The groom, Harry noticed, was allowed to call himself Malfoy hereafter, if he desired, but if he did he would be committing himself to supporting his wife's family, rather than his own. Not likely, except for an orphan.

At last the celebrant, who seemed to have the equivalent of his own Sonorus Charm, demanded, "Who gives this woman of his family, and gives the binding ring?"

Draco Malfoy, resplendent in black silk robes, stepped forward with all his father's predatory grace.

Harry watched avidly, aware of many of the guests and witnesses, as well as the bridal party, turning to look. This was, after all, the person who would ultimately be the head of the Malfoy family.

Malfoy looked only a little stiff, his face cool and confident. Harry smiled.

"I give this woman in marriage, and I give the ring to bind husband and wife."

Done, and done.

Malfoy seemed to shimmer, then the robes disappeared. He had astonishingly long legs, naked but for a red garter on the left below the knee. The legs ended in ankle-high black boots of scuffed leather. Above the boots a fluffy, drooping pink bedsock showed on one side, and on the other a blue one.

Malfoy's face retained its ignorant calm, but a slight puzzlement started to show at the reactions of everyone looking at him, at the rising murmurs.

Harry wondered what these people found most dreadful.

The thin film of stuff like Muggle kitchen wrap that made a tight bodice in imitation of the bridesmaids' dresses, clinging to chest and arms, the sleeves ending in a point over the back of the hand? His bodice, however, dived below his nipples and underlined them. They were pale pink, as Harry expected. One had a pale blue plastic ring depending from it, about the size of a baby's teething ring; the other had a matching pink one. They looked absolutely obscene.

Probably worse were the frills around Malfoy's hips. See-through red plastic, patterned after the bridesmaids' skirts, with a large rose in a slimy sort of green on his left hip. These were such tiny frills that in front they stopped short of Malfoy's crotch, and at the back, as Harry knew, they flared out above his arse, exposing and emphasising its nakedness. One could hardly count the thong nestled between his arse cheeks.

Harry gazed happily at Malfoy's crotch, keeping his face perfectly straight, enjoying what he considered Malfoy's crowning glory. He was wearing a covering, of sorts, but since it was made of fine white large-patterned lace, it afforded little privacy. Malfoy's cock was tucked neatly in, quite impressively fat for so slightly built a boy, and a red ribbon ornamented his pale blond crotch hair. Gryffindor red, of course. Oh yes. Very satisfying.

Harry had known what to expect, and had time for a quick, thorough survey, before he lifted Colin's little camera above the front of the press box and began snapping away. The photographers had reacted even more speedily, professionally, than he did. If the Malfoys did not break or confiscate all their cameras, something publishable should survive. No doubt wizarding world photographers took precautions against losing their exposed film to hostile subjects.

Though guests were standing, and their voices rising well above a polite murmur, Narcissa Malfoy and the celebrant were the first to react decisively.

The celebrant raised his voice and infused it with command that snared the attention of many of the guests.

"The bride is given! Witness all here!" Even more loudly he demanded, "Signify your witness!"

The crowd of pure-bloods before him were, many of them, cowed into giving the ritual response, tearing their eyes from the ring-giver.

Narcissa Malfoy rose from her seat at the front, behind the bride, and, with a delicate swirl of silvery robes that so nearly competed with the bride's ivory white, walked calmly down the aisle towards her son.

Harry could recognise the moment when Draco at last understood what had happened.

At much the same moment Narcissa snapped her fingers at one of the ushers and relieved him of his robes, swirling them over Draco's shoulders. Harry grinned tightly, then suppressed it. No way. He had thought of that one, just as Draco earlier had. The robe essentially disappeared, though Draco's hands, rising, could obviously feel it.

Draco was no longer concentrating on looking appropriate for the wedding party; he was fighting horror, anger, disbelief. Harry could see all his feelings chasing their way over his face, totally transparent.

Smiling internally, Harry took another photo, though all he could see was Draco's face; Narcissa blocked most people's view of him. Smart woman, Harry thought dispassionately. Dumb son. Maybe now Draco would learn better. 'Who dare meddle with me?' was a Scottish clan motto he had seen and admired years before. Maybe he could adopt it.

Except, of course, for the Malfoys' master, Voldemort. Harry did not try to tell himself that some planning and rather more hard work would dispose of Voldemort, or even discomfort him. When it came, that battle would be bloody, and not brief, and Harry might yet lose. If he did not lose the battle, he could well lose his life. Days like this provided some consolation.

For now, one of Voldemort's supporters had been reminded that Harry Potter was lucky, and clever, and just as vindictive a bastard as any would-be Death Eater following in his father's footsteps. For now, that would do. Harry lifted a hand to where the silver earring would be, then dropped it again. He could wear those ornaments now as battle trophies, not just tokens of defiance.

Harry realised that once he had seen the ophthalmologist he would have everything he wanted for Christmas.

~~The End~~