The Tenth Weasley - CH - 111

The morning sunlight spilled over the Weasley Manor, setting the dew on the grass alight like scattered diamonds. It was the day—the day—Bill and Nymphadora’s wedding.

Though every last chair was polished, every silk ribbon tied, and every magical lantern hovering precisely where it should, Molly Weasley was in constant motion. She darted from the kitchen to the garden, from the garden to the parlor, as if sheer movement alone would keep disaster at bay.

“Fred! George! I told you—no experimental fireworks until after the vows!” she bellowed, catching sight of a suspiciously fizzing wand in George’s hand.

“Mum, it’s just for testing—” Fred began.

“Test it on your own heads, then!” Molly snapped, sweeping past with her wand flicking rapidly to straighten a floral arch that was already perfectly straight. “And Ron, tuck your shirt in, for Merlin’s sake. Hermione’s parents are coming!”

At the sound of a crack, Arthur appeared in the hallway, leading Hermione and her parents into the manor.

“Morning, all!” Arthur greeted cheerfully. “Come in, come in—you’re just in time. Molly’s almost reached her top speed.”

Hermione’s parents stepped inside with curious expressions. They’d dressed neatly in Muggle attire, but Arthur was already pulling a set of elegant wizard robes from a hanger.

“Here,” Arthur said warmly, “so you won’t stand out. Self-adjusting to your size, no need for tailoring.”

Mr. Granger took his robes with a chuckle. “Well, that’s more convenient than a suit fitting.”

Mrs. Granger slipped hers on and blinked as the fabric shimmered to a perfect fit. “I could get used to this.”

Hermione, already in her own set of dress robes, smiled. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

The moment they stepped fully into the main hall, the Grangers’ eyes widened. A large grandfather clock stood in the corner—not with numbers, but with hands bearing names. Each hand moved fluidly, pointing to labels like Home, Work, Mortal Peril, and Travelling.

“It shows where everyone in the family is,” Hermione explained quietly. “It’s… saved lives before.”

Beside the clock, the kitchen bustled with self-cleaning pots, each stirring itself over gentle blue flames. A stack of plates floated from cupboard to table in perfect order.

“This is extraordinary,” Mrs. Granger murmured, following Arthur’s gesture toward the back garden.

Through the wide glass doors, the manor grounds stretched into a vision straight out of a fairy tale. Silk canopies drifted in the breeze, anchored by charmwork rather than poles. Rows of chairs curved toward a vine-covered arch where the ceremony would take place, and shimmering globes of light bobbed above the aisle, programmed to glow softly when evening fell.

“Oh my,” Mr. Granger said under his breath.

And then they saw it.

Dominating the far wall of the living room was an enormous basilisk skeleton, perfectly preserved and arranged like a museum display. Sunlight glinted off the polished ivory fangs, each one longer than a man’s arm.

“That’s—” Mr. Granger began, but Hermione cut in quickly, “It’s… a very long story.”

Next to the basilisk display, dozens upon dozens of magical photographs lined the walls. In one, Bill posed triumphantly in front of a crumbling tomb entrance, tools strapped to his belt. In another, Charlie leaned against a fence as a Ukrainian Ironbelly stretched a massive wing behind him.

A series of photos featured Harry—grinning with a cluster of dragon hatchlings, standing beside the carcass of the basilisk, laughing with friends in Durmstrang uniforms. Other frames showed family gatherings, Christmas feasts, Quidditch matches, and sunlit afternoons in the orchard.

Mrs. Granger lingered on a moving picture of Harry shaking hands with an older wizard in green dueling robes, both smiling broadly after what looked like a competition. “He’s had quite a life already,” she murmured.

“You have no idea,” Hermione said softly, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Molly bustled back into the room, cheeks flushed from her whirlwind of activity. “Hermione! Good, you’re here. And you must be Mr. and Mrs. Granger—welcome, welcome! Now, don’t you worry about a thing. The ceremony’s at sunset, but there’s food in the kitchen if you’re hungry, and—oh, heavens, Fred! Get off the roof!”

Fred’s voice floated in from outside. “I’m stringing up the banner, Mum!”

“I’ll string you up if you fall!” Molly shot back, disappearing toward the garden once more.

Harry emerged from the hallway, already dressed in tailored dress robes of deep emerald with black trim. “Hey,” he greeted Hermione’s parents politely. “Glad you made it.”

Mr. Granger grinned. “Your home is… impressive.”

Harry chuckled. “Wait until you see it lit up for the evening. That’s when it really looks magical.”

Mrs. Granger gave him an amused glance. “I think it already does.”

Somewhere outside, George’s voice carried in: “Oi, Harry! You’re on ribbon duty with me!”

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes at Hermione. “Ribbon duty. At least it’s not flower charmwork again.”

Hermione smirked. “Be glad your mum hasn’t put you on tablecloth straightening duty. She made Ron redo it four times yesterday.”

With a resigned shrug, Harry headed for the garden, the sounds of last-minute chaos and cheerful bickering drifting after him. The day was only just beginning, but the Weasley Manor was already alive with laughter, magic, and the promise of the evening ahead.



The steady stream of visitors began just after midday, the garden gates creaking open as familiar faces crossed the wards and stepped into the bright summer air of the Weasley grounds.

Charlie Potter and Neville Longbottom were the first to arrive. Harry caught sight of them from the veranda, both dressed casually and grinning in the easy, confident way of people who had nothing to prove to one another.

“Harry!” Charlie called with a casual wave, striding up the path.

“Long time no see,” Neville added, giving Harry a firm handshake before stepping back to look him over.

“Blimey,” Charlie said with an exaggerated squint. “When did you get taller than me?”

“Must be the dragons,” Harry replied with a smirk.

The two laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and—just as quickly—drifted toward Ron, who was lounging under a shady apple tree. The three of them fell into an easy chatter, their voices carrying snippets of something that sounded suspiciously like planning. Harry caught the occasional glance in his direction and shook his head in amusement.

They’re up to something.

Not long after, Lily Potter arrived with Rose in tow, the girl darting off immediately to find Ginny. Lily greeted Arthur warmly, explaining, “James and Sirius will be along this evening—Auror work’s keeping them longer than they’d like.”

Arthur nodded sympathetically. “At least they’ll make it in time for the vows.”

And then came Aunt Muriel.

The moment she stepped through the gate, the air seemed to tighten. Dressed in stiff mauve robes and a hat bristling with artificial feathers, she marched up the path with her chin lifted.

“Molly,” she said in the tone of someone tasting something slightly unpleasant.

“Muriël,” Molly returned, just as stiff.

Harry stayed back, remembering well the day Muriel had sneered about the Weasleys adopting him. ‘Another mouth to feed in that circus you call a home,’ she’d said. Everyone else seemed to have forgotten, but Harry hadn’t. Still, he inclined his head politely when her sharp eyes landed on him.

“Harry,” she said coolly, before sweeping into the house without another word.

“Lovely,” Fred muttered from somewhere behind him. “Wedding wouldn’t be complete without her venom.”

Charlie Weasley arrived tired, returning from town with Percy at his side. Both were loaded down with enchanted baskets brimming with fresh produce, bread, and every manner of bottled drink.

“Harry!” Charlie beamed, setting his load down with a thump. “We got evening.”

“That easily?,” Harry said warmly.

“Not without a fight,” Percy grumbled, wiping his brow. “Half the village seemed to be in that shop. And every single one of them wanted to know what we were buying for ‘the big day.’”

Lee Jordan had already been at the manor since yesterday, and Harry spotted him helping Arthur charm an enormous cauldron to keep the stew at a perfect simmer.

“Bit more to the left, Lee,” Arthur said, squinting at the hovering ladle.

“This left or your left?” Lee called back, and Arthur just sighed.

The Gryffindor Quidditch team arrived shortly after, their laughter carrying over the hedges before they even came into view. Fred and George wasted no time roping them into a “friendly” match on the far end of the field, well away from the ceremony setup.

“Strictly no Bludgers to the head,” George declared.

“Unless you’re on the other team,” Fred added cheerfully, earning a chorus of groans and laughs.

Then Luna Lovegood drifted in, serene as always, carrying a small bouquet of oddly shaped wildflowers.

“Hello, Harry,” she said dreamily. “The wrackspurts are very calm today. A good omen for weddings.”

Harry blinked. “I’ll… take your word for it.”

“My father will be here later,” Luna added before disappearing indoors in that floaty way of hers.

He caught a glimpse of her again moments later, heading upstairs with Ginny, Rose, and Hermione. The three of them swept Hermione into Ginny’s room with a flurry of dresses, hairpins, and giggles.

Harry lingered by the garden gate, feeling the hum of activity all around him. Laughter and footsteps echoed from every corner of the manor, but somehow, he was on the outside of each little circle.

Fred had his Quidditch mates. Ginny was with the girls. Ron was plotting something with Charlie Potter and Neville. Even Bill was busy with last-minute groom duties.

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets, watching the lazy spin of a ribbon caught on the breeze. For the first time that day, despite the bustle and noise, he felt entirely alone.



Harry had just started considering retreating to the kitchen for a butterbeer when the shimmer of a portkey activation flared at the far end of the lawn. A small group materialized in the summer air, the runes of the portkey’s anchor fading from the grass beneath their feet.

It took Harry only a heartbeat to recognize them.

“Antonin!” Harry called, already striding forward.

The tall Spaniard grinned, his hand extended. “Harry! You think I’d miss your brother’s wedding? Not a chance.”

Behind him came Sonja, dressed in deep green robes that shimmered in the light, her hair neatly braided but her eyes still carrying the spark of a duelist ready for a fight.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been staying out of trouble,” she said with a smirk as they embraced briefly.

“Mostly,” Harry replied, though they both knew ‘mostly’ didn’t mean much in his case.

A few more familiar faces stepped forward—Louis, Marek, Ingrid and Eryk, smiling and clapping Harry on the shoulder, each of them greeting him in their native tongue before switching to English. But the real stir came when the last figure moved out from the group.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with that unmistakable heavy-browed gaze, Viktor Krum walked forward in tailored black dress robes.

The moment people in the garden realized who it was, a ripple of whispers ran through the crowd.

“Is that—?”

“It is! That’s Viktor Krum!”

“He’s here?!”

Mini-marauders nearly dropped the butterbeer bottles they were carrying. The Gryffindor Quidditch team stopped mid-joke, craning their necks.

Viktor clasped Harry’s hand in a firm shake. “It is good to see you again, Harry.” His accent was thick, but his smile genuine.

“You too, Viktor. Didn’t expect you to come all this way.”

“For you? And for a wedding? Of course.” He glanced around at the decorated grounds. “Is very… festive. Your family does not do things small, yes?”

Harry chuckled. “You have no idea.”

Molly Weasley bustled over, flustered but beaming. “Oh my goodness, Mr. Krum, what an honor! We’re so delighted you could make it. Come in, come in, you must be starving!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley,” Viktor said politely, though he cast Harry a small sideways smile as if to say he’d been caught off guard by the warmth.

The arrival of Harry’s friends injected a new energy into the manor grounds. People who’d only been half-interested in the earlier bustle now drifted over, eager to meet the famed Quidditch star and the young duelists who’d accompanied him. Antonin was quickly roped into a conversation with Fred and George, Sonja was showing off a silver dueling pin to an impressed Lee Jordan, and Viktor was cornered by Ron, who had the glazed, awestruck look of a fan trying not to embarrass himself.

Harry, caught in the middle of it all, felt the loneliness he’d been nursing earlier dissolve completely. His friends had come—not just for the wedding, but for him.