Chapter 9: The Wedding


When Snape's Patronus arrived at Hogwarts only two days after Harry had finished the potion, it didn't come as much of a surprise that Voldemort was planning his major attack for the coming Saturday, the day of the wedding.

Harry had been so busy brewing and practising how to extract a memory (of course it had been Hermione who found the book giving detailed instructions on the procedure), he had almost forgotten about the upcoming event. Once again, they had all been invited to the Burrow where the binding ceremony for Nymphadora Tonks and Remus Lupin was to be held. Molly had kindly proposed this arrangement, since neither Remus nor Tonks could afford to rent a place that would accommodate so many people. Apart from Tonks’s and Remus's parents and a couple of friends, the entire Order of the Phoenix was expected. The ideal opportunity for Voldemort to wipe out the strongholds of resistance with one single blow.

What was more of a surprise was the Patronus itself. Ron spotted it through one of the windows of Hagrid's hut, flying swiftly over the nightly school grounds, neighing and shaking its long, silvery mane. It was a pearly-white unicorn.

“A unicorn! Can you believe it! That's like - like-” Ron said, still incredulous the following afternoon. “I dunno. But it's just totally impossible.”

“What did you expect, a gigantic vampire-bat? Or a basilisk?” Hermione quipped. “Come off it already, things often aren’t that obvious.” She turned to Harry. “Did McGonagall tell you what the Order is going to do? They had a meeting, hadn’t they?”

Harry nodded solemnly. “They’ll just go through with the wedding as planned.”

“And do nothing?” Hermione asked, slightly shocked by the casual way the Order handled the situation. “They won’t postpone it, or at least hold it somewhere else, or –”

“There’s no way the Death Eaters could get on our property,” Ron said with the greatest conviction while putting Fred and George’s latest invention in his mouth – dragon shaped crackers so hot, you could breathe fire through your nose. The twins had kindly sent them a free sample package. "The Burrow is unplottable. And you need a W–” Further explanations were cut short as Ron gasped for air. His eyes almost popped out of his head. When finally he managed to breath out again, small tongues of fire and smoke shot from his nostrils. Harry doubled up with laughter at Ron’s perplexed expression.

Boys! thought Hermione, rolling her eyes.

“Wow, that was – that was amazing!” Ron exclaimed, after having recovered his breath. “Anyway,” he said, turning serious again, “you need a Weasley to get in.”

“Still, Ron, we are talking about Voldemort, he –” said Hermione anxiously.

“The Ministry promised a special unit of Aurors,” said Harry, wiping the last tears of laughter from his eyes. “They think it’s a great opportunity to capture or kill plenty of Death Eaters.” Harry paused briefly, his expression darkening. “You know Scrimgeour, he doesn’t care it’s a wedding.”

“And what do you think, Harry?” asked Hermione tentatively.

“The potion’s ready. Guess it’s time to get it over with,” he answered, trying to sound more confident than he felt. What would await them at the wedding? Most probably, he would have to face Voldemort again, and this time he had to go for the kill – or die trying.


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On Saturday afternoon, Ron, Hermione, Harry, and Professor McGonagall were waiting for Hagrid to join them in front of the castle. It was five to two, and at exactly the full hour, the Portkey that Arthur had arranged for them would be activated.

“Jus’ comin’, jus’ comin’,” the half-giant panted as he jogged over the lawn in his holiday attire (a hairy and very horrible brown suit and a checked yellow-and-orange tie), Buckbeak on his heels. “Here we go, Buck– Witherwings,” he cooed to the Hippogriff as he ran, “t’ won’ hurt. I jus’ grab yeh aroun’ the neck an’ touch that ol’ log with me other hand –”

“Hagrid!” McGonagall’s indignant voice cut through the groundskeeper’s babbling. “You can’t mean to bring that – animal to the wedding, can you?”

“But Professor,” the half-giant looked at her with pleading eyes. “He’ll be all alone with us gone, poor little thing. I promise, he’ll be no bother, I jus’ gonna bind him ter some tree –”

“I really don’t care if he’s alone,” McGonagall said sternly. “After all, he’s a wild beast, they –”

“Everybody touch the Portkey,” interrupted Hermione, one eye on her watch, “Three ... two ... one ...”

It happened immediately: It was as though a hook just behind their navels had been suddenly jerked irresistibly forward. Their feet left the ground and they were all speeding forward in a howl of wind and swirling colour; their fingers were stuck to the mouldy log as though it was pulling them magnetically onward and then –

Their feet slammed into the ground. With a panicked screech, Buckbeak landed on top of everyone, making those few who had managed to stay upright through the landing topple over as well.

“Welcome to the Burrow,” crowed two familiar voices in unison as Harry looked up from the heap, spitting feathers. “Want a canary cream tart?”


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By three o’clock, everybody had arrived and crowded the Weasley’s garden. In a wide circle, tables and benches had been set up on the freshly-mowed lawn, and a buffet overflowing with the products of Molly Weasley’s cooking stood ready to be attacked by hungry guests. In the centre of the circle was a low bench covered in burgundy satin.

Arthur Weasley in his best robes strode towards the bench.

“Today we have come together to join two young people in the sacred bond of marriage,” Mr Weasley began. “Nymphadora Hortense Tonks and Remus John Lupin, will you step forward, please.” He motioned for the soon-to-be-weds to come into the circle and kneel on the bench.

Harry stared at Tonks’s almost phosphorescent hair. The bright greenish glow reminded him uncomfortably of the stone basin filled with potion, where the fake Horcrux had been hidden. That day had ended in Albus Dumbledore’s death at the hands of Severus Snape. A chill crept up Harry’s spine. How would this day end? Would there be more bloodshed and death? Harry tried to concentrate on Mr Weasley droning on about the duties of marriage, how a couple should support and protect each other in good as well as bad times, how they should share their happy and their dark hours, their burdens and sorrows and their joys, but his thoughts were drifting. When would the Death Eaters come? And how would they get into the Burrow? How strong were their forces? The Order had agreed that in case of an attack, everybody was to assemble inside the circle of benches and fight back to back against the assailants. Mr Weasley would Apparate the Aurors in, who would then station themselves in an outer ring of defence to surround the attacking Death Eaters. If all went according to plan, none of the Dark wizards would escape. But would it work? What if the Death Eaters brought Dementors? All the Order Members could produce Patronuses, as could Hermione, Harry and Ron, but would that be enough to fight a whole flock of the soul-eating monsters? And what about Voldemort; would he be with them from the beginning? Or would he show up only if his Death Eaters failed, as in the fight at the Ministry of Magic?

A rain of golden sparks and loud cheering woke him from his gloomy thoughts. Remus and Tonks were standing hand in hand and kissing. The ceremony was over.

“Now, let the feast begin!” Mr Weasley shouted excitedly over the heads of the assembly and raised his glass. “To Remus and Nymphadora Lupin!”


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The sun set over the Burrow in a glorious display of red and orange. Candles and Chinese lanterns lit magically and bathed the darkening garden in their soft multicoloured shine. Fred and George were distributing hundreds of firefly crackers and glowing will-o’-the wisps from their new collection, and soon the air was filled with zooming and buzzing dots of coloured light. Taking Fred and George’s slogan of the day (‘No leftovers for the Death Eaters’) to heart, the guests were helping themselves to Molly’s famous pies and stews, pretending this was just a normal wedding. However, as the evening drew on, more and more anxious looks were exchanged and a growing tension settled over the party. Even Fred and George grew quieter and stopped trying out their new products on unsuspecting guests. The Death Eaters would strike after nightfall, the Patronus had said – it couldn’t be long now ...

“Have you seen Percy?” Harry heard Molly Weasley ask her husband from a bench close by.

“He just popped over to the Ministry to get Tonks and Remus’s wedding certificate stamped and signed,” answered Mr Weasley. “Thought they might like to have it today. He’ll be back in a minute.”

“I’m so glad things have smoothed over between Percy and the rest of us, Arthur,” Molly sighed. “He even laughed when the twins spiked his drink with that new powder of theirs that makes you turn into a donkey and Ee-aw ...”

Harry stopped listening, his thoughts racing. What was it again Ron had said – ‘you need a Weasley to get in’? And Percy had left for the Ministry ... Percy surely couldn’t be a Death Eater, could he? But what if he was captured by Death Eaters and used as a key to get into the Burrow? Or he might be under the Imperius Curse ... Before Harry could tell anybody about his suspicions, however, soft ‘pops’ could be heard all around the garden.

The Death Eaters had arrived.

All of a sudden, the night was filled with cries and shouts and more ‘pops’. Curses came flying. High above them the blazing green skull with a serpent tongue appeared in the night sky, flooding garden and house with eerie green light. A huge hand grabbed Harry by the shoulders and dragged him into the circle. Hagrid stood beside him, raising his pink umbrella at the moving shadows that closed in on them.

Harry felt for the small glass phial in his cloak pocket. It was spelled unbreakable, and it was still there. He drew his wand. Taking aim at a bulky black figure that was firing curses from behind a bush, he shouted, “Stupefy!”

The figure dropped to the ground. Harry jumped aside as a curse came flying at him. Darting sideways, he sped towards the bush, ducking curses as he ran. Gregory Goyle lay spread-eagled in the grass, unable to move, his wand several feet away. Harry picked up the wand and looked around in the greenish semi-darkness. If Goyle was here, Crabbe couldn’t be far ...

Something hit him in the small of his back, and he stumbled, feeling a thin stream of warm blood trickle down his spine. Cursing under his breath, Harry whirled around.

“Look who’s here – Harry Potter, the ‘Chosen One’,” jeered a familiar voice from out of the shadows. Leaning lazily against an apple tree was Snape, holding his white Death Eater mask in one hand, his wand in the other. “Ready for another duel, Potter?”


TBC