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A man stood alone in a graveyard, dressed in the most handsome set of robes imaginable, his messy jet-black hair was as under control as it could be, his wire-rimmed glasses were pushed back so firmly against his nose that it was pinching him, and his emerald-green eyes were blinking down at the stone slabs at his feet. Harry Potter stood at the resting place of his parents – James and Lily Potter – but he was not there to mourn. Today was his wedding day and he would be getting married in the Church of Godric’s Hollow.
It had been several years since the end of the war. A lot had happened in that time. Harry had helped the Ministry track down the remaining Death Eaters and then, once free of his obligations, had falling in love with his best friend. It had been a slow burn of a relationship, but it was all worth it in the end, even though some friendships had been tested. Everything was fine now; Harry would be starting this new chapter of his life by marrying his sweetheart, starting a family on the block of land that had once belonged to his parents and living a life of peace.
He could have been anything. He could have continued working at the Ministry as an Auror, perhaps he might have even reached the Head of the Department which could in turn have led him to becoming the Minister of Magic; he could have played Quidditch for the Chudley Canons, and even represented England as Captain in the next Quidditch World Cup; he could have taken up a teaching position at his other home, Hogwarts, as the new Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor and perhaps even sat where Albus Dumbledore had once sat, as the Headmaster of the school.
But he didn’t want any of that.
He had come to his parent’s graves to try and explain all of this, but the moment he saw their names he was at a loss for words. He was sure they of all people would understand, the first few decades of his life had seen nothing but pain and misery, so he was entitled to a bit of pleasure and happiness. He frowned and said nothing and just kept fiddling with the top button on the front of his robes until his best man came wandering over and went about fixing it.
“You’re nervous,” said Ron Weasley, there was a hint of a little smile at the edge of his mouth.
“No, I’m not,” Harry lied, standing up straight as Ron pressed the button firmly in place and then patted the robes down.
“Absolutely you’re nervous,” Ron insisted, raising his eyebrows, “blimey I’m nervous and it’s not even my bloody wedding.”
Harry made a face but didn’t reply. Together they looked back down at the Potter’s graves and Harry finally produced a fresh reef of flowers and replaced the ones that had been there since last Halloween for the twentieth reunion of their death.
“So,” Ron said after a respectable enough of a pause, “you’re sure about all this then?”
“Never been surer of anything in my life,” Harry said as they began to walk between the graves towards the front gate, “and you?”
“I’m with you mate,” Ron assured him, nodding, “both of you.”
Harry smiled weakly and then outstretched his hand, which Ron took, and they shook hands in silence, appreciating each other’s friendship. The front door of the church opened, and the priest stepped out, his head spinning around until he spotted Harry.
“We are ready to begin, my son,” he said calmly, before giving a little nod and turning on his heel.
Ron beamed at him, clapped him on the shoulder and then joined the small gathering of family and friends who had come to witness the event converging into the church.
Harry gulped deeply. Ron was right, he was nervous, but he shouldn’t be. He had never been surer about something than this in his whole entire life. So then why? Why now? Turning to look back towards his parent’s graves in the distance, Harry ran a hand through his messy jet-black hair and then followed the procession up into the small church. The pews were relatively empty, as he had planned, only a handful of people had been invited to the event and there was not one person that he didn’t want there.
As he made his way up the aisle, he nodded at the people waving at him as he went by and eventually got to the front where the priest was stood waiting. He turned nervously back towards the audience, all eyes were upon him, waiting for the arrival of his bride. The priest quickly leaned across to him and whispered in a low voice just as the doors to the front of the church opened.
“You’ll be right, son,” he said encouragingly, patting him on the back.
Harry tried very hard to force a smile but at that precise moment music started playing, signalling the impending arrival of the bridal party.
It started with the flower girl, the tiny figure of Victoire Weasley – Bill and Fleur’s first-born – who took about half a dozen steps, threw a few handfuls of lily petals aimlessly before upturning her entire basket and running to her mother. Then in came the best man, looking fairly sharp in his turquoise dress robes and expensive wing-tipped shoes. Holding onto his arm was his sister Ginny Weasley, the bride’s maid; she was wearing a very pretty pale blue dress and her long red hair was being held in place by a row of butterfly clips.
The siblings seemed to be in great spirits for the occasion, laughing and waving at the onlookers as they made their way to the front and took their respective spots at the altar and then everyone stood up, turned to face towards the back and watched as a veil of white stepped into the church.
Hermione Granger had never been one to follow tradition, but when her mother had insisted that she wore the gown from her own Wedding, there had been very little resistance. It was very long, very white, and very beautiful. Hermione looked slightly flustered at all the attention she was getting as her father accompanied her along the row – desperately slow for Harry’s liking – and she caught Harry’s eye with a smile and a shrug. Harry quickly shuffled to the bottom of the stairs to meet them, smiling at Hermione and shaking her father’s hand, who simply grinned in delight.
He then went to go sit with his wife down in the front row, along with a few other close relatives of Hermione’s. On Harry’s side were all of the Weasley’s – and their extended partners – as well as his closest friends Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood and the half-giant Rubeus Hagrid, who had to stand to the side because the benches couldn't hold his weight.
Everyone was beaming with joy as Harry – who was at a loss for words at the sight of Hermione in that dress – led his wife-to-be up the steps to the front of the church and then they held hands and looked expectantly towards the priest. Soon his words were echoing around the church as he began to recite the usual transcript for the act of marriage and Harry – unable to contain himself – turned to look at Hermione and complimented her under his breath.
“You look really pretty,” he told her, as she leaned in and raised her eyebrows to hear him.
She smiled at him. “Thank you,” her eyes flashed in amusement, “your top button is loose—”
Ginny cleared her throat with a little, “Hem, hem,” that mimicked Dolores Umbridge, brought Harry and Hermione out of their little bubble and they realised the priest had lost track of where he was because they had been talking. He blinked at them, and then after a pause, resumed proceedings. Hermione squeezed his hand harder, and he smiled at her, but he barely lasted another minute until he started talking to her again.
“Can you believe we’re doing this?” Harry asked her under his breath.
“I know,” she whispered, shrugging her shoulders excitedly, “you are sure, aren’t you?”
“Absolutely,” Harry assured, smiling sweetly at her. “I love you.”
She smiled even more. “I love you, too.”
It was at this point that Ron cleared his throat quite loudly. Harry and Hermione looked around in alarm. The priest had stopped talking altogether and was staring at the two of them blankly with raised eyebrows, questioning if he should continue.
“Sorry father,” Harry said automatically with a shrugging grin, “no more interruptions, I promise. Please continue.”
The priest gave them one last suspicious glance and then proceeded with the rest of the ceremony. He began to talk faster, no doubt worried about being interrupted again, but thankfully it meant the rest of the service went past rather swiftly. Harry was saying “I do,” before he knew it, Ron and Ginny took turns handing over the respective rings and then Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were officially married.
And then they were kissing.
“Ladies and gentleman,” the priest said loudly and proudly and with him arms outstretched to the congregation sitting out in the isles, “I present to you Mr and Mrs Harry Potter!”