Thoughts about Ginny’s strange behavior were pushed from his mind the moment the appeared at the Burrow. Before he even got out of the fireplace he could hear bangs coming from upstairs followed by yells. As he stepped cautiously out he noticed the racket was now increasing in volume and was coming from his left where the stairs stood. Crookshanks, with what seemed to be filibuster fireworks strapped to his back, appeared abruptly at the foot of the stairs. He tore through the living room and into the kitchen at top speed. Harry distinctly heard George yell something about cats, a second later he was running through the living room presumably after Crookshanks. All of a sudden, many feet were clamoring down the stairs. A young girl that Harry knew to be Fleur’s younger sister ran through the living room, the look on her face told him that she had been caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to do. Fred came next madly waving a long bit of parchment at her back.
Hermione emerged from the stair case screaming, “Don’t you hurt him!”
Harry assumed she was yelling at George not to harm her cat as Ron clattered down noisily. He was the only one to spare Harry a glance. Shrugging his shoulders he said, “Nutter’s” by way of explanation and followed Hermione. He thought it would be best to follow them to see if he could be of any help. Harry had taken only a few steps when he went flying to the floor with a throbbing pain in the back of his knee. Bewildered, he looked up to see what had attacked him. He saw Ginny shaking her head and looking exasperated towards the ceiling. A weathered, elderly man with no teeth and a noticeable hump sat to her right. He had very little hair left, squinty eyes, and large liver spots on his head. Harry was disconcerted to see that this little old man was brandishing his walking stick threateningly at him.
“Pépère! Récidiver!” Ginny cried out at him. “Harry, this is Fleur’s grandfather, but you can call him pépère,” she told him as she helped him up, “I’m pretty sure it means granddad in French.”
Of all the things Harry wanted to call him at that moment, he knew granddad was not one of them.
“What did you tell him to do?” he asked as he massaged the back of his knees.
“I’m not sure exactly…At first I thought it meant stop, but now I think…” what she suspected he didn’t get the chance to find out.
Crookshanks hurtled through the open window and George leapt in after him. Harry heard the front door crash open, soon everyone was back in the living room. Ron was holding a shrieking Hermione back from George who was reaching under the armoire to grab Crookshanks. Crookshanks was hissing madly, hair on end, scratching George’s hand whenever it got too close. Gabrielle, Fleur’s younger sister, hid behind her grandfather. Fred hesitated; he seemed weary of the stick that her grandfather was still wielding.
“QUIET!” Mrs. Weasley screamed and advanced menacingly on them.
The eyes of all her children, and of those who were not her children, widened with fear alike. It was as though someone had pressed the mute button on an invisible remote.
They heard a loud POP. Crookshanks suddenly flew out from under the armoire and much like a pin ball hit various points throughout the room including the ceiling, where spurts of fireworks erupted from his back.
Disconcerted, yet still breathing like a steam engine, all Mrs. Weasley managed to say were the words “dessert”, “backyard”, and “now!”
However, she had gotten her point across; they all nodded silently “ terrified of her wrath.
“Hello Harry dear,” she said when she spotted him, “Come along, we’ll have dessert…cake and ice cream…” she was mumbling to herself but he thought it best to do as she said.
He walked silently, side-by-side with Ron. When they got to the back yard Mr. Weasley jumped up and shook his hand.
“Good to see you Harry, good to see you!”
Mr. Weasley looked like a desperate man trapped on a desert island. Everything he said was in double.
“Allow me to introduce you, yes introductions…This is Mr. Delacour, Fleur’s father, her dad, mmm hmm. This is Mrs. Delacour, her wife, his mother. Erm, I mean his wife and Fleur’s mother…” he grinned pathetically.
“You’ve met Fleur, yes of course you have…met Fleur…must be out of my mind. Her sister Gabrielle, you saved her once, you and Ron, yes Fleur’s sister you must remember her…” he looked increasingly flustered.
“Oh I see you’ve met pépère have you?” he commented catching Harry’s slight wince when he moved
“Good, good…yes, that’s good,” he rambled more to himself than anyone else, “Don’t take it personal he’s done that to all of us…several times…except the girls that is.”
“And this is Harry,” he introduced him, “Potter that is, Harry Potter.”
Mr. Delacour shot up from his seat and pompously shook his hand. Mrs. Delacour delicately covered her mouth that had opened ever so slightly in surprise. Apparently even they had heard about him before. After they were all seated, Mrs. Weasley flitted around placing a scoop of ice cream on their individual slices of cake. As Harry sat among the moody brood he silently agreed with Ron that these people were bizarre. They looked very much out of place in the back yard of the burrow. They were wearing very expensive looking robes as opposed to the Weasley’s second hand clothing. Mrs. Delacour’s neck and ears were bedecked with diamonds. Mr. Delacour smoked a mahogany pipe that rested at the side of his mouth. And when she thought no one was looking, Harry distinctly saw Mrs. Delacour sneak a handkerchief from the giant alligator skin purse in her lap. Under the table, she began polishing the spoon Mrs. Weasley had given her.
As his gaze shifted to pépère Ron whispered out the corner of his mouth, “He’s the normal one.”
Mrs. Delacour gave the softest cough, “About ze wedding, zer ez just un detail left.”
All the Weasley’s and Hermione collectively held their breath.
Apparently she had a sadistic streak in her nature because she left them in suspense for a whole minute until Harry said, “Yes?”
“Every member of ze family should walk down ze wedding allée wiz zer partner during ze wedding marsh.”
“Yeah, well, I don’t have a partner,” Ginny appeared out of nowhere and took the seat to his left.
“Where did you come from...?” Harry asked but was interrupted by Mrs. Delacour.
“Zen you mus get a partner! Zes es tradition in our famille! Everyone mus walk ze bride down ze allée!” she was growing steadily panicked with each word.
“Yes of course she will get a partner!” Mr. Weasley quickly interjected silencing any protests with his glare. It appeared that he had no problem making this last concession to the Delacour’s. Perhaps he had thought Mrs. Delacour’s final request would be something much worse than simply walking down the aisle before the bride.
“Zen we are ready for ze wedding, no?”
“Er, yes…Yes! We are definitely ready for the wedding!” Mr. Weasley pronounced with relief.
Harry thought that Mrs. Delacour looked like a cat that had stolen some cream. As though someone had pushed the un-mute button everyone began to talk all at once.
“Maybe Angelina…” Fred was saying to George who was already asking “Just one partner, how ever will I narrow it down?”
Hermione became very interested in the topic of bouillabaisse out of the blue, “So what exactly is it…?” she was asking Fleur.
“Like ze consommé…bisque…potage,” Hermione was slowly shaking her head at each word, “How you say in ze English…chowder? Or ze gumbo?” now Hermione was nodding fast and asking for the recipe.
Ron was the only one that remained silent. However, the back of his ears were very red and he wouldn’t look anyone in the eye.
Harry had no time to deal with Ron, “Where were you?” he asked Ginny for the second time.
“Went to deliver the wedding invitation to Dean,” she replied sitting slumped over in her chair, arms crossed.
“Didn’t he want to come?” he casually asked.
“Well of course he wants to come,” she whined, “He just can’t make it, that’s all.”
He felt a slight sense of satisfaction but didn’t ask himself why.
“Would you like some of my dessert?” he offered after noting that Mrs. Weasley had not set any aside for her.
She snatched the entire bowl from his hands and set about the business of pouring mounds of chocolate syrup on top before settling down to eat.
Ron took the chocolate syrup that Ginny had set down; it sprayed all over his clean shirt. Hermione jumped up and pulled him to the kitchen insisting that they needed to clean it right away before the stain set. Somehow, Harry got the distinct feeling that it may not have been an accident.
“So I guess that leaves you without a partner…”
Ginny was really wolfing the dessert down now but she stopped long enough to give him a venomous glare, “Don’t remind me,” she growled fiercely, and then returned to gorging on the cake.
“I could be your partner,” he said in a quiet voice.
She looked up at him, her eyes were wide open and her mouth completely stuffed, “You do jat fo me?”
He smiled; she looked very much like a little kid. She even had chocolate syrup smeared on her nose.
“I think I could manage it. That is, if you’ll have me…”
“Oh Hairy jank ooo!”
She took a swift swig of his milk and swallowed hard.
“Harry! Thank you! Now I won’t look like a fool!”
He was just paying her back for the help she’d given him up till now, he told himself. What was that saying? One good turn deserves another…yes, he would pay her back and they would be square again. So why was he wasting time trying to justify it to himself? It was just Ginny. He looked over at her again; she looked like a delighted little kid. He was content having put that joy on her face. Ron and Hermione strolled back towards them; Harry noted that not much of the stain was gone. Ron seemed to have a bounce in his step but his ears were still painfully red. Hermione had her lips pursed up, as though she was trying hard not to smile. Meanwhile, Fred got up to help Mrs. Weasley collect the dirty plates so that he could get away from Gabrielle who had not left him alone all night. It was interesting to watch him attempt to take pépère’s plate while avoiding the old man’s walking stick all the while.
George got everyone’s attention when he asked Gabrielle, “Who’s going to be your partner?”
“My boyfriend,” she responded promptly.
“You have a boyfriend?” he asked.
The curls of her hair bobbed up and down as she nodded very adamantly that she did indeed have a boyfriend.
“Is he nice looking?”
“He’s beautiful!” she was now delighting in being the center of attention.
“Doe’s he have a name?” George asked her playfully.
“Fred!”
All the plates that Fred had been carrying crashed, splintering into thousands of little shreds as he looked up at Gabrielle, horror-struck. George looked as though his wildest dreams had just come true.
“Do you think I’m beautiful as well?”
“Shut up, George!” Fred yelled warningly.