The Wedding, Part I

A/n: I haven't posted anything in a very long time (almost ten years!), but with the lockdown I've had some unexpected time on my hands to fill with Dramione fluff.

The first part of this story is from Arthur's perspective, but never fear all the rest will be from Hermione and Draco's!

Rating: M - for language, but mainly the sexy scenes

On the whole, Arthur was extremely happy that his daughter was marrying the Boy Who Lived. The fact of it was he already loved Harry as if he was one of his own, albeit non-redheaded and less freckly, sons.

After the Battle of Hogwarts, it seemed to be common knowledge that it was only a matter of time before the pair made it official, and Harry had proposed two years after Ginny had graduated. It was such a foregone conclusion in fact, that Molly's clock had produced a hand for Harry the moment they became engaged. This almost, almost, made the fact that Fred's hand was permanently on 'lost' a tiny bit more bearable.

The part which Arthur did not enjoy about his daughter's imminent nuptials to the Boy Who Lived was the constant press intrusion.

The wedding was this coming Sunday, and since the beginning of the week each day on his way in to work Arthur had spotted an assembly of reporters lying in wait for him outside the Ministry. He'd even caught sight of Mundungus flogging an assortment of questionable wedding memorabilia that included a range of plates with images of Harry and Ginny smiling and waving.

Just like Bill and Fleur's wedding, they were holding the ceremony in a marquee in the garden at The Burrow.

He was pleased that he'd managed to get his hands on some muggle fireworks that had been confiscated during a recent raid – not that Molly was aware of this of course – and was particularly looking forward to something Harry had ordered called a bouncy castle. This was for all intents and purposes for the children, but seeing as very few children were actually attending the wedding, Arthur suspected it was a whim of Ginny's.

He had noted a mischievous glint in his daughter's eye the days following what Hermione had reliably informed him the muggles called her 'hen-do'. He wasn't entirely sure of the details (it didn't, despite first impressions, involve chickens), but he knew that it had been fuelled by rather a lot of alcohol.

Hermione had been staying with them the last few weeks to help out with preparations. She and Ron had called a halt to their romance, which even through his own somewhat abstracted observations had noticeably fizzled out in the years after they left Hogwarts. Hermione had returned to complete her Seventh year, and Ron had started his job alongside Harry in the auror office.

Since then she had concentrated on making a name for herself in the Department for the regulation and control of magical creatures, whereas Ron had been content to bumble along running his wizards chess league, and from what Arthur could make out, dedicating more energy to after work drinks in the pub than to work itself.

Whether their break up had been due to this time spent apart, or their persistent rowing, he wasn't sure. But he suspected Molly had been more upset about it than the couple themselves, who as far as he could tell had slotted comfortably back into their friendship.

If he knew his wife at all, she had knitted Hermione a welcome to the family Christmas jumper which she had then been forced to magically unpick amidst a cascade of sighing and hand wringing.

With just two days to go before the big day, Ginny had developed a cold and was distinctly grumpy about the situation. Arthur suspected this 'cold' had more to do with the fact that she had returned to the Burrow at 4am on the morning after her hen-do, supported by an equally dishevelled but not quite as inebriated looking Hermione and screeching Celestina Warbeck's 'Cauldron Full of Hot Strong Love' at the top of her lungs. Hermione had managed to get her up the stairs with a mixture of magic and brute force.

Ginny had woken up much later that afternoon with vomit and glitter on her pillow, but her father didn't know about that.

Her cold meant that Ginny was ordering her brothers around in an even more dictatorial manner than usual, as they put the finishing touches to the decorations, food and seating arrangements. They were, perhaps surprisingly, doing pretty much as they were told.

As Ron had pointed out – a tired, ill Ginny was a scary Ginny.

Bill and Fleur had arrived that morning with baby Victoire, as well as a number of beautiful shell lanterns and a mountain of enchanted macaroons for the wedding breakfast. These were a French custom and according to Fleur filled guests with a feeling of euphoria or a desire to break out into song depending on the colour and filling.

Charlie had turned up the evening before with his latest girlfriend – a vet who specialised in thestrals, griffins and other winged mammals – and a crateful of miniature model dragons that breathed real fire, reminiscent of Harry's battle against the horntail during the Triwizard Tournament. These were to line the open-air bar that would be set up in the garden.

Percy, Penelope and the children were only coming on the day of the wedding itself due to work commitments, although Arthur privately suspected that this was a ploy to avoid Molly's inevitable stress breakdown.

That afternoon they were all in the marquee, lending a hand to some finishing touches.

'This is a nightmare!' Ginny groaned, as she checked another item off her long list. 'I'm turning into mum!'

Arthur chuckled as he watched his daughter perform an intricate piece of spell work that sent cascades of floral boughs out the end of her wand to adorn the roof and wind their way down the central pole.

'Don't even think about it' she added, pointing an imperious finger at Ron and George, who had been trying to sidle out of the flaps and into the peace and freedom of the garden. 'I still need you two to go and pick up the wine order from the Leaky. And for goodness sake don't sample everything on the way home like you did with the ice cream from Florean's'.

'Unlucky mate' Harry commiserated, grinning at his best friend.

'I don't know what you're looking so cheerful about' Ginny chided her husband-to-be, rounding on him with hands on her hips. 'You've got all the cutlery to clean – mum's got her double strength super-shine magical detergent out of the garage – and 152 napkins to charm into the shape of Gryffindor lions'.

His grin fading, Harry's eyebrows knitted together. 'I didn't think this whole proposing business through'.

'No, you didn't' Hermione agreed, who had just entered the marquee with her wand out and a row of benches bobbing along behind her. 'You should have known your bride was going to run the tightest wedding operation known to wizard kind'.

'Almost the tightest operation' Arthur muttered, who remembered with painful clarity Fleur's insistence that every single flower in the garden be turned the exact shade of lavender to match her bouquet.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at her friend. 'Why is it suddenly 152 guests? Have you remembered two more long lost aunts?'

Ginny's lips curled into a smirk which Arthur felt did not bode well for the other girl.

It was the kind of look that usually meant his daughter had been up to something. In fact, age six, Ginny had fixed him with the very same expression after destroying all of their mops in an attempt to fashion a broomstick for herself when they'd told her she was too young for one of her own. She was practically the dictionary definition of asking for forgiveness rather than permission.

'Oh you know' she said idly. 'It seemed churlish not to invite our new hen-do friends'.

Hermione froze, wand hanging limply in her hand. She didn't seem to notice that the first of the floating benches was bumping gently into her back.

'You didn't' she gasped.

'Didn't what?' Harry asked interestedly, head appearing out of the napkin box.

'Ginevra Weasley, what did you say to them?'

A flush had crept up Hermione's neck and Arthur reflected that he had never seen her looking more flustered. He wondered who these new guests were that could so effectively unsettle such a normally poised and self-assured witch.

'Bride's prerogative and all' Ginny shrugged, looking immensely pleased with herself. 'It seemed rude not to ask them after all the help they gave us'.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth again wordlessly.

'This sounds intriguing' said Harry.

'Agreed' chipped in Ron. 'What exactly happened on your hen-do, Gin?' he asked suspiciously.

Hermione shot the other girl a sharp look and Ginny laughed. 'Sorry boys, but what happens on the hen, stays on the hen'.

'But… I… what did you say in the invite?' Hermione managed to get out. 'It was just a one-time ... I mean – it's not as if –'

'Oh for goodness sake Mione' Ginny interrupted her. 'For the brightest witch of your age, you can sometimes be incredibly dense about what's right in front of you'.

Ron snorted with amusement and Hermione rounded on him, nostrils flaring in indignation.

Arthur took this as his cue to leave.

He returned to the house, mind drifting to other matters. By his calculations, he could get away with pottering round in the garage for at least half an hour before Molly found him with another job to do.

The day of the wedding dawned bright and clear, without a single cloud in the sky.

Arthur took a moment for himself in the bathroom, looking out of the little round window at the promise of heat already shimmering in the fields beyond the hedgerow. Slowly putting on his shirt and trousers, he took a deep breath before descending into the chaos he suspected was reigning below.

Molly had made them all a hearty full-English breakfast. Amidst the chatter and clatter of pans in the kitchen, Arthur felt the absence of Fred as he watched his extended family tuck in to the spread, and catching George's eye for a brief moment, knew that his son was feeling the same thing.

He was glad that Angelina had stayed the night. It had been this way at all of their big gatherings since Fred's death; these moments of happiness and togetherness, were also the greatest reminders of loss.

'Where's 'Arry?' Ron asked the room at large through a mouthful of bacon butty.

'It iz unlucky to see ze bride on ze morning of ze wedding' Fleur informed him, her nose wrinkling in distaste at the sheer volume of food that Ron was shovelling into his person. Victoire, on the other hand, who was sitting on her mother's knee, seemed fascinated by the progress of her uncle's knife and fork and reached out a sticky hand towards him.

Ron forced his food down with an enormous swallow, and graciously allowed his hair to be grabbed. 'He's missing out'.

'I got Bill to take a plate up to your room dear' said Molly, bustling over from the stove and setting down a ginormous bowl of fried mushrooms and tomatoes on the table. 'Harry needs his strength for the big day!'

'And the big night' added Charlie, wiggling his eyebrows.

Molly tutted and swatted him round the head while everyone else laughed.

Ginny continued to spread marmalade on to her toast in a pained way. 'Can we not discuss the rampant ins and outs of my wedding night in front of the parents please? And yes Ronald, pun intended.'

Ron grimaced.

Arthur busied himself with pouring a mug of coffee and pretended he hadn't heard.

'Oh hang on a minute, I forgot' said Bill, swivelling round in his chair. 'Harry told me to tell you to come upstairs Ron, so he wasn't eating on his own like a sad git'.

George gave an exaggerated sigh. 'Ahh. He should make the most of the peace and quiet. He won't get a moment of sad lonely gitting to himself ever again after today'.

'Yes. And isn't he a phenomenally lucky wizard?' Ginny deadpanned, taking a bite of her toast.

'Very luck' agreed Angelina.

'Extremely lucky' Hermione concurred.

The three girls exchanged grins.

Before Arthur was able to help himself to a second plateful of sausage and eggs, Molly was ushering him out into the yard to oversee the band setting up and to introduce himself to the elderly official who was going to be presiding over the ceremony. In-between that, a heart-stopping twenty minutes where Ron thought he'd lost the rings, and feeding the chickens, the morning passed in a blur.

Soon after he was sent upstairs to get changed into his dress robes and station himself at the entrance of the marquee ready to welcome the guests, who were to begin arriving at 1pm.

The first person to appear through the gap in the hedge which led out into the field beyond was Kingsley, dressed in bright purple robes and an equally magnificent hat.

'Why is it that when I'm trying to schedule a meeting with you at the Ministry you've got a two week waiting list, but when there's a party you're first through the door?' Arthur greeted the Minister for Magic with mock seriousness.

Kingsley chuckled and the two friends shook hands.

'You know me Arthur, always make time for my electorate'.

In no time at all the marquee was filling up and the table at the back was straining under the weight of gifts. Amongst the usual array of ever-warming tea cosies, a family sized flying carpet and a ginormous Honeydukes hamper, Arthur spotted (rather enviously) a lifetime subscription to Quidditch Monthly from Harry's colleagues at the auror office, and (less enviously), a cage with two bright pink bouncing pygmy puffs inside from Ginny's Hogwarts dorm mates.

Next to this abundance of fluff and squeaking was a dubious matching set of radish necklace and cufflinks, which he assumed was from the Lovegoods. The present which caught his eye most was a small golden vial of Felix Felicis, if his potions knowledge was up to scratch, with a note scrawled in Horace Slughorn's elaborate script.

When most of the guests were present and seated, which took a rather long time given all the catching up with old friends and 'oohing' over outfits and general excitement, Arthur made his way back to the kitchen where he was supposed to wait for Ginny.

He assumed, if his wife was anything to go by, that Ginny would take longer getting ready than planned for and he had time to make himself a cup of tea.

When she did finally appear, three shortbread biscuits later, she looked nothing short of radiant.

Arthur didn't know much about these things, but her dress seemed stylish in its simplicity, and she had coiled her hair up to match in an elegant bun, having managed to avoid Aunt Muriel's goblin made tiara. She had a sheer lace veil which was pinned at the base of her hair and delicately covered the exposed skin where her dress swooped low at the back.

Her something blue was an old-fashioned silver hairpin set with three sapphires that Harry had found in Grimmauld Place, had checked over for curses, and given to her as a gift. Arthur had a feeling it was probably worth more than the entire contents of his and Molly's Gringott's vault, but he hadn't mentioned this in case it put her off wearing it.

He felt his eyes filling up with tears and coughed to disguise his emotion. She looked so beautiful, so happy, and ablaze with absolute certainty that this was what she wanted for the rest of her life – a father couldn't ask for more.

'Aw dad, don't cry – you'll set me off!'

Ginny crossed the room and kissed him on the cheek. 'You look very dapper in your dress robes. Mum managed to get that blast-ended-skrewt mark out then?'

She bent to pick her bouquet up off the table, a mixture of flowers gathered that morning from the garden. Ginny wasn't someone who could ordinarily be accused of sentimentality, but Arthur couldn't help thinking with a fresh surge of emotion that the whole wedding was full of home touches and reminders of her and Harry's life together.

When she turned to face him again her eyes were lit with a fierce joy. It was the same look she always got before hopping on her broomstick and zooming off into the sky.

'Ready?' she asked.

He nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

They set off along the path towards the marquee, enjoying this quiet moment together. Hermione had charmed the leaves of the crab-apple trees gold, just as she had done on Harry's birthday years previously, and they shone in the sunlight.

As they entered through the flaps the music swelled and the chatter died down, and Arthur could have sworn that he spotted the Malfoy boy sitting next to his great uncle Rufus in the second to back row.

But this peculiarity was soon lost to insignificance with the feel of Ginny's hand on his arm as he led her up the aisle; the barely concealed look of wonder on Harry's face as he watched his bride approaching; the words as old as time spoken as the pair exchanged rings (Ron's relief was palpable as he handed his burden over); and the collective sigh from around the marquee as the official pronounced them husband and wife. Gold and silver phoenixes, stags and horses erupted above them and fell upon the assembled guests like a swirl of stars.

His vision was blurring with tears again as Molly blew her nose loudly and turned to him beaming and crying all at once.

'Our little girl' she murmured. 'Oh Arthur!'

He leant over to kiss his wife, a kiss full of understanding and contentment and shared years, before joining in with everyone else in the cacophony of cheers, whoops and whistles that threatened to raise the roof off the marquee.

As the benches disappeared to be replaced by food tables, leaving enough space for a dance-floor in the centre, bottles of champagne began floating amongst the guests.

Harry and Ginny came over to them and he pulled his daughter into a hug, squeezing her tight and hoping she understood everything he couldn't find the words to say. She squeezed him back.

The next few hours were caught up in eating and talking in the sunshine, and being congratulated by just about everyone he knew, and a fair few people that he didn't. Under the boughs of flowers, and with the sides of the marquee rolled up to let in the sights and smells of the garden, it felt as if they were all in a woodland glade.

He did see the same blonde head once or twice amongst the crowd, but Molly had insisted he took each of his elderly aunts and cousins for a spin around the dance floor, so he was out of breath and limping and might have been mistaken.

When Molly brought out the cake, a seven tiered masterpiece decorated with alternating swirls of iced snitches and quaffles, he took the opportunity to sneak off and soothe his aching feet in a bowl of cold water in the kitchen.

Later on, he thought he heard Ron shouting angrily but he must have imagined it. The band was playing an upbeat mix of old favourites like The Weird Sisters, Thestral Nights, and Knuts & Bolts that had everyone singing along.

Some of the guests had disappeared into the back field for an impromptu game of quidditch.

'Bride's family vs Groom's family' Ginny screeched, hitching her dress up and racing to the shed to lay claim to the best broom.

'That's just mean' Harry pouted, chasing after her.

The celebrations got more raucous as twilight bathed the garden in blue shadows. The shell lanterns began to glow, and gaggles of gnomes dashed giggling between the plant pots clutching tiny hatfuls of stolen cake.

By the time it was dark, a boisterous game of Butterbeer pong was in full swing by the everlasting flutterby bushes. Charlie and George were bullying Percy into taking part in a dance-off which promised to be spectacular.

The evening was a swirl of fireworks lighting up the sky, Molly's face as he whirled her round and round to the music, and one too many fire whiskeys pressed on him by Lee Jordan.

The last thing he thought before collapsing into bed at the end of the night, was that he had never had a go on the bouncy castle contraption and hoping it would still be inflated in the morning.

Unbeknownst to him, at that very moment two figures were clambering on to it – one blonde, the other with brown curly hair.

A/n: Thanks for reading! Part II will follow the night of the hen-do and shed some light on why a certain Slytherin keeps popping up around the reception...