Three o'clock on the following afternoon found a bunch of us awaiting Wedding Guests. Harry had taken a large dose of Polyjuice Potion and was now the double of a redheaded Muggle boy from the local village, from whom Fred had stolen hairs using a Summoning Charm. The plan was to introduce Harry as "Cousin Barny" and trust to the great number of Weasley relatives to camouflage him.

And they left me as me because no one cares about the other potter.

I was standing around awkwardly because Mrs. Weasley told me to relax, but everyone else was rushing around crazily. I was wearing this weird mint coloured dress that Hermione dressed me in, and she’d given me matching heels. The only way to describe the dress is that if I spin, it flips out and goes nuts. My hair was in all these curly bits falling around dramatically. Oh, and the rainbow hair thing had washed out and my hair was this goldy brown. Yeah. I’ve got the bestest descriptive powers when it comes to talking about girly clothes.

That didn’t make sense.

Yeah.

 Anyway, Hermione was dressed in this lilac-coloured dress with matching high heels; her hair was sleek and shiny. I was waiting for her to appear with Harry – the ranga and Ron the ranga.

Ron was saying some shit and then “Wow.” blinking rather rapidly as Hermione came hurrying toward us. "You look great!"

"Always the tone of surprise," said Hermione, though she smiled. "Your Great-Aunt Muriel doesn't agree, I just met her upstairs while she was giving Fleur the tiara. She said, 'Oh dear, is this the Muggle-born?' and then, 'Bad posture and skinny ankles.'"

"Don't take it personally, she's rude to everyone," said Ron.

"Talking about Muriel?" inquired George, reemerging from the marquee with Fred. "Yeah, she's just told me my ears are lopsided. Old bat...” he trailed off looking at me apparently mesmerised, and I turned into a fucking tomato before he continued. ”I wish old Uncle Bilius was still with us, though; he was a right laugh at weddings."

He was still looking at me.

And he was smiling.

Oh my god.

George.

Oh my god.

MY OVARIES!

"Wasn't he the one who saw a Grim and died twenty-four hours later?" asked Hermione.

"Well, yeah, he went a bit odd toward the end," conceded George.

"But before he went loopy he was the life and soul of the party," said Fred. "He used to down an entire bottle of firewhisky, then run onto the dance floor, hoist up his robes, and start pulling bunches of flowers out of his-“

"Yes, he sounds a real charmer," said Hermione, while Harry roared with laughter.

"Never married, for some reason," said Ron.

"You amaze me," said Hermione.

We were all laughing so much that none of us noticed the latecomer, a dark-haired young man with a large, curved nose and thick black eyebrows, until he held out his invitation to Ron and said, with his eyes on Hermione, "You look vunderful."

"Viktor!" she shrieked, and dropped her small beaded bag, which made a loud thump quite disproportionate to its size. As she scrambled, blushing, to pick it up, she said "I didn't know you were-goodness-it's lovely to see -how are you?"

Ron's ears had turned bright red again. After glancing at Krum's invitation as if he did not believe a word of it, he said, much too loudly, "how come you're here?"

"Fleur invited me," said Krum, eyebrows raised.

I forgot to pay attention for a moment, and then:

"Time to sit down," Fred told us, "or we're going to get run over by the bride."

Harry, Ron and Hermione took their seats in the second row behind Fred and George and I.

A sense of jittery anticipation had filled the warm tent, the general murmuring broken by occasional spurts of excited laughter. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley strolled up the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives; Mrs. Weasley was wearing a brand-new set of amethyst coloured robes with a matching hat.

Hats are cool.

A moment later Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with larger white roses in their buttonholes; Fred wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of giggling from the veela cousins. Then the crowd fell silent as music swelled from what seemed to be the golden balloons.

"Ooooh!" said Hermione, swivelling around in her seat to look at the entrance.

A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur came walking up the aisle, Fleur gliding, Monsieur Delacour bouncing and beaming. Fleur was wearing a very simple white dress and seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow. While her radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everybody it fell upon. Ginny and Gabrielle, both wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual and once Fleur had reached for him, Bill did not look as though he had ever met Fenrir Greyback.

Oh my god.

I will not cry at a wedding.

Oh my god.

No.

Do not.

"Ladies and gentlemen," said a slightly singsong voice, and with a slight shock, I saw the same small, tufty-hired wizard who had presided at Dumbledore's funeral, now standing in front of Bill and Fleur. "We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls..."

I refuse to cry at a wedding.

It’s so uncool.

It’s so un me.

Stop.

Stahp.

"Yes, my tiara set off the whole thing nicely," said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. "But I must say, Ginevra's dress is far too low cut."

Ginny turned and winked at me.

And I was confused.

Then I realised she winked at Harry.

What.

"Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle...?"

In the front row, Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace. Trumpet like sounds from the back of the marquee told everyone that Hagrid had taken out one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs.

I turned and looked at Hermione. She was crying.

I AM NOT CRYING AT A FUCKING WEDDING OKAY?

DO NOT MAKETH ME CRY!

 "...then I declare you bonded for life."

The tufty-haired wizard waved his hand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiralling around their now entwined figures. As Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst. Birds of paradise and tiny golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" called the tufty-haired wizard. "If you would please stand up!"

We all did so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly; he waved his wand again. The chairs on which we had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that we stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the center of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth round it, and the golden-jacketed hand trooped toward a podium.

Waiters popped up on all sides, some hearing silver trays of pumpkin juice, butterbeer, and firewhisky, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches.

"We should go and congratulate them!" said Hermione, standing on tiptoe to see the place where Bill and Fleur had vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers.

"We'll have time later," shrugged Ron, snatching three butterbeers from a passing tray and handing one to Harry. "Hermione, let's grab a table.... Not there! Nowhere near Muriel...”

I looked at Fred and saw his slight frown at me, and I knew he wanted me to tell George.

But I couldn’t.

So I did the next best thing.

I stole myself a butterbeer and hid under a table.

And then my eyeballs turned into a waterfall.

I AM CRYING AT A FUCKING WEDDING BECAUSE I KNOW I WILL NEVER GET MARRIED OKAY?

I didn’t want to go with Harry, Ron and Hermione and find horcruxes.

I didn’t want to leave George.

I didn’t want to leave Hogwarts and have to make my own decisions.

I didn’t want to die.

I was almost certain I would, because sacrifices need to be made, and I can’t keep being lucky, can I?

Everything crashed on my shoulders, but I looked up as someone crawled under the table with me.

George.

We didn’t say anything, but we just looked at each other, and in my head, I saw this weird montage of every moment we’d spent together in my life; every kiss; every smile; every awkward moment; every hug; every single moment.

With tears still streaming down my face, I leant over and kissed him. He had one hand in my golden hair, one hand around my waist and I felt myself succumb to him. I was his. It was only ever George. For my entire life. George was all I saw, and was all I’d ever see.

As the tears continued to roll down my cheeks, I pulled away.

“I can’t.” I said, and crawled out clumsily from under the table, and ran off to the Weasley’s back stairs, there was no one there. They were having fun.

They could still have fun, but I couldn’t.

“Willow,” His voice floated towards me through the summer air.

“I’m sorry,” I said, as the tears cascaded down my face. “We can’t be together...We could never be...”

“Why?”

“They’ll kill us George. The death eaters will kill us.”

“We’ll run away where they won’t find us.”

“They’ll always find us.” I sobbed.

“We’ll hide and be free. Wil, how about it. Just you and me.”

“You’re making this so much harder than it is.” I said, tears still streaming profusely down my cheeks.

“Harder to do what?”

“I’m leaving, George. I’m going off with Harry and Ron and Hermione. We’re gonna stop him you know, Voldemort. We’ll do it.”

“But, you’re sixteen- you’re not of age.”

“I am in the eyes of the ministry.”

“No-“

“George.”

There was a long silence and I sat down on the stairs. After what seemed like an eternity, George sat beside me.

“You’re really going aren’t you?” he whispered.

“What other choice do I have?” I said frantically.

“You could stay here...With me.”

“I can’t. I have to go with Harry-“

“Why? Why do you have to go? He can manage on his own.” He said cantankerously.

“I do have to George. I need to make sure he’s safe!” I said, a slight note of desperation in my voice.

“But why? What does it matter-“

“He’s the only family I have left.” I said softly, and George looked as though he’d swallowed a large rock and was in the process of shitting it out. “You know that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I’ll count the days until I can see you again.” He whispered into my ear.

“You might never see me again.” I said honestly.

“I can live in hope.”

“Even if we do make it through this,” I said softly. “We can never be together.”

I said it because I didn’t want him to have false hope. I didn’t want him to know that I wouldn’t see him again. Ever.

“Fine.” He said, but he didn’t sound hurt. It was like he knew my intentions. “How about one more night, one more night where we’re together?”

“That sounds really sus.” Was all I could say.

“Let’s have one more fantastic night, with our clothes on.” He corrected.

“I accept.” I said, and he wiped the tears off my face with his thumb and pressed his lips against mine once more.

“Come on, let’s join the party.”

**

Cantankerously. Oh my god. Honestly. What the fuck is it? It means like, annoyed, but it’s so retarded.

What the hell.