Harry and Arthur parted ways as soon as they got back to the main area. Harry felt as if someone had thrown a switch in his head and turned on his senses, or as if he were awakening from a bad dream. The sky was a rare, brilliant blue, the sea air was strong and salty in his lungs, and the rush and babble of voices speaking English and French was music in his ears. For a moment he wasn’t exactly sure where or when he was; he expected to hear horns and see mounted knights approaching from the hills.
He found Ron and Hermione in one of the smaller tents, getting hors d’oeuvres and drinks from a sideboard. He made his way through the people towards them. Ron drew himself up when he spotted Harry as if expecting a challenge, then relaxed when he saw Harry smiling. He nudged Hermione, who turned away from the platter of galantines and canapés to follow his pointing hand.
“Hi, guys,” said Harry as he came up to them. Food suddenly seemed like a very good idea. He loaded a napkin with bits of cheese and canapés and began to munch happily. He let himself get caught up in the taste of the food for a bit, then turned back to his friends. “Listen, I wanted to apologize to both of you. I’ve been a right idiot these last couple of weeks, and I’m sorry.”
“What brought this on?” asked Hermione. “All of a sudden you’re all smiles and bonhomie.”
“Oh, I had a talk with Mr. Weasley. He straightened me out. Told me to get my head out of my bum and enjoy life while I could.”
“I’ve been telling you that the last couple of weeks,” interjected Ron, piling caviar on a toast point. “Have you talked with Ginny yet?”
Harry’s face fell. “Erm… no, not yet. Maybe after the ceremony.”
“Just so long as you talk to her,” he replied. “Have you tried this caviar stuff? It’s amazing!”
Hermione looked amused. “Ron… you do know that that’s fish eggs, right?”
Ron looked nonplussed and stared at the pile of tiny black spheres on his toast. “Really? Fish eggs?” He shrugged and popped it into his mouth. “Good fish eggs,” he commented.
Just then the sound of cornemuses and drums cut across the assemblage. “They’re starting,” said Hermione. “Let’s find our seats.” Harry noticed that she took Ron’s proffered left arm and leaned on him all the way to the seats. They found spots halfway down the main aisle, on the groom’s side. Hermione took the third seat in, then Ron followed her, leaving Harry to sit right by the aisle. He had a feeling that it was deliberate. Fleur’s sister Gabrielle was first down the aisle, accompanied by one of Bill’s friends from Gringotts. Harry craned his neck to see Ginny, then turned back when he saw her coming. The sight of her was like a fist in Harry’s belly. She was dressed in robes the color of champagne that just revealed her shoulders. Her hair was piled up on her head with a single lock trailing down her left cheek, a posy of yellow and white flowers in her gloved hands. She gave no sign that she recognized him, just kept looking straight forward as she paced down the aisle.
All through the ceremony he stared at her across the audience. Fleur was a beautiful and elegant bride, but it was Ginny that held his gaze. The pain was back in his chest, but it was no longer rage. He stood and grieved silently for what he had given up. There was no way he could face her now. He had pushed her away so soon after finding her, to keep her safe, he had said. There was no going back.
He applauded along with the rest of them at the kiss. The celebrant, an elegant woman in white robes, raised her hand for silence.
“C’est fait,” she said, her amplified contralto rolling across the crowd. It is done. “Salutez a l’homme et sa femme, a la nouvelle famille!” Greet the man and his wife, greet the new family! She raised her other hand, then brought them both down slowly. A breeze stirred the banners, and suddenly they all displayed the combined arms of the two families side by side. Red and blue, star and scallop shell, Weasley and Delacoeur. The marriage was made.
Harry made an excuse about getting drinks once the reception line formed. After all, there were two hundred guests to pass through, and they could all wait a bit to congratulate everyone. He went back to the sideboard tent and tried to make the waiter understand what he wanted, but he couldn’t think of how to say ‘pumpkin juice’ or ‘butterbeer’ in French. Finally he took three glasses of fizzy amber liquid and went back to the others. It turned out to be hard cider, a bit stronger than butterbeer, but refreshing and nicely tart on the tongue. They were mostly silent as they made their way through the line. As they got close to the head of the line, Harry started to fidget and finally turned away. Ron caught him by the shoulder.
“Oi, where you off to?” he asked.
“Erm… call of nature,” Harry said. “You know.”
Ron pursed his lips and nodded. “Just so long as you don’t try to escape,” he warned.
Ron kept an eye out for Harry’s return as they made their congratulations to the wedding party. Just as he was shaking hands with Bill, he saw the familiar unruly head hanging back from the line, clearly unwilling to come back in.
“Go see if you can sort him out,” said Bill, following Ron’s gaze. Ron peeled off form the line and strode over to Harry. He grabbed Harry by his belt and collar and frog-marched him back to the line, squawking and protesting all the way. Harry finally gave it up as a lost cause. He shook hands and kissed cheeks as appropriate, the dread rising in him with each step. Finally she was right there in front of him. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t. The blood roared in his ears and his knees wobbled. He didn’t know who moved first but suddenly she was in his arms and he was in hers and he was whispering “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” over and over into her ear.
“Come with me, Harry,” she whispered back. “We need to talk.”
Harry Potter and the Tale of the Red Knight by Tabletop_Joe
Chapter Notes: Usual disclaimers apply: none of the characters are mine, I just make them dance.