Out of the Night that Covers Me

Out of the Night that Covers Me

by Mephistedes


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XII. The Wisdom of Exes

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In the weeks leading up to Hermione and Ron’s wedding, Harry rarely saw the outside of Number Twelve. After all, he had no job, he’d sooner snog a Blast-Ended Skrewt than help Hermione with last-minute details, and he still had a chinchilla loose somewhere in his house.

Oh, Harry did his best to trap her, but Pash always managed to escape. Though he was starting to suspect Kreacher had something to do with it, as Harry only put enough food out for Pash to return to her cage for more, but she hadn’t. Harry kept his notions to himself; the last thing he wanted to do was alienate one more person in his life.

Following That Night, as he’d taken to calling it, he hadn’t received word from either Cottenham or Kingsley. The latter he knew he’d cross paths with at the wedding. He also guessed with McLaggen now the main investigator, Cottenham was more than likely busy cleaning Cormac’s messes. He must’ve been a handful, especially for Draco.

And as was usual every time he thought of That Night, Harry’s mind drifted to Draco. It wasn’t natural to think of him so often, he thought; they weren’t in a relationship. They weren’t even friends! It was just a shag, Harry repeated to himself time and time again. Just a shag, just a one-off, a big mistake, like Draco had thrown in his face That Night....

But had he really meant it, or was he just angry that his privacy was abused? Oh, what did it all mean? The more Harry tried to put Draco out of his mind, the more he thought about him. Never before had he been this plagued by a ... what? Love interest? Lover? One night stand? What did Draco think of him as?

Harry wanted the answers to all of these questions and more, but as per inquiry orders, he couldn’t contact Draco until the inquiry was resolved. By then, Draco would be long gone, and Harry would only be left with more questions. It was quite a pathetic way to live, Harry admitted, but it was either that or stalk David Seiker from the Watford playground while dodging the eerie specter of his late owl. (Several times Harry thought he saw white blurs outside his bedroom window from the corner of his eye. They always disappeared when he turned back, however, leading him to believe he was slowly going mad.)

Or there was always chinchilla hunting, but Harry wasn’t that desperate.

The only excitement he’d had in the last few weeks was Ron’s stag night, where he contributed the venue (Number Twelve, much to Mrs. Black’s chagrin) and helped George and Bill plan the entertainment. It hadn’t gone as wild as George hinted to over breakfast at the Burrow the next morning, but that didn’t stop Hermione from shooting Ron dirty looks all day.

After being accosted by Ron for the third time that post-party morning with the reason if Hermione believed anyone it was Harry Potter, Harry gave in to Ron’s pleas. He was already tackling a massive headache and wanted very much to avoid another. Giving a scowling Hermione his word the incident with the mantel-dancing fairies was blown out of proportion, Harry vaguely alluded to behavior far worse than a provocative shoulder dance by a six-inch creature.

It started when George decided to bring up the subject of their wildest shags to date, demanding everyone had to weigh in. Harry couldn’t remember if anyone objected. After hearing of some of the Weasley brothers’ — he felt nauseous just thinking of Charlie and dragons in passing now — Harry had nearly made public his encounter with Draco.

Luckily, Harry had one too many flaming Firewhiskys and drunkenly got as far as, “Ah shagged’a blo — !” before emptying the contents of his stomach into Percy’s lap.

Fortunately, the others took it to mean blond (which, granted, still wasn’t that far off from Draco), and rowdily cheered. Even Percy, tipsy as he was, didn’t mind the mess and went on to talk about testing the firmness of cauldron bottoms.

The morning of Ron and Hermione’s wedding dawned bright and early two days after that. Judging by the slight ringing in his ears, Harry could’ve sworn the party was only last night. If it wasn’t his best mates’ biggest day, he would’ve stayed in bed until Kreacher threatened to shake a bucket of maggots over his head. Luckily for those who still had hangovers, Hermione had thoughtfully planned the wedding to commence at sunset.

Harry arrived at the Burrow late that afternoon to gather the lucky groom. Harry’s only task, other than keeper of the rings, was to make sure Ron was waiting at the end of the aisle to accept Hermione’s hand. If he wasn’t, everyone at least knew who was responsible for the groom’s absence.

He Apparated to the Burrow in the midst of much chaos. Going by the myriad of mouth-watering aromas wafting out over the back garden, Harry surmised Molly was in the kitchen, cooking up a storm. As he neared, he could hear her bustling around, banging pot covers onto pots, and mumbling about seasonings. When he entered, he could see her familiar form waving her wand to various pots and pans hovering closely.

“Afternoon, Mrs. Weasley,” he called over the commotion, moving aside as a large pan foaming with something that looked and smelled like fudge bobbed lazily past his head.

“Harry, oh, lovely to see you,” she greeted with an affectionate, yet frazzled smile. As she tucked a greying wisp of ginger hair behind an ear, she maneuvered her way through the labyrinth of drifting pots to kiss and hug him warmly and tightly. Strangely, Harry felt better than he had in weeks with that one gesture. She pulled away and patted his jaw gently before returning to her work. “All right, dear?”

Nodding once, Harry genuinely replied, “I am now.”

“Good, good. Here for Ron, then?” she asked, directing a large wooden spoon to stir frothy white cream.

“If he hasn’t run off screaming yet, then yes.”

“Oh, shush,” she chided, but he could see the twinkle in her eye. “He’s upstairs; heard him pacing back and forth since this morning, the poor dear,” Mrs. Weasley tutted sympathetically. “Can’t get him to settle down, he’s a ball of nerves. Hermione can’t be faring much better.”

“Right.” Harry winced. He couldn’t imagine what his best friends must’ve been going through: the butterflies, the jitters, cold feet, the before and after scenario. He very much didn’t envy his mates right now.

“Well, ball of nerves or not, I’ve got to get him to Hermione’s cousin’s, the sooner the better,” he said, straightening to stand. “I promised Andromeda I’d pick up Teddy no later than half five. I’ll be with Ron all day, but if you need any help — ”

Mrs. Weasley shook her head and waved him away. “I’ve got five children and their families coming through today, one to a pot. Don’t mind me, dear, it’s not my first wedding, after all.”

“Of course,” Harry nodded, recalling the prior weddings she’d practically jumped at the chance to cater for her children and their spouses. Moving toward the staircase, he called back, “See you at the manor, then?”

“Yes, yes. Would you like me to help you with your hair?”

“You’d be wasting your time, but thanks,” he chuckled, racing up the rickety stairway to Ron’s old room.

He greeted Charlie and Percy’s wife Audrey along the way, before finally reaching Ron’s door and knocking sharply on it.

“M’getting married,” was the stifled response. Harry knew then and there he wouldn’t have traded places with Ron for all the money in the world.

“Ron?” he said, resting his ear against the wood.

“I’m getting married.”

Shaking his head and smiling, Harry opened the door. His eyes were assaulted by the violent orange memorabilia of the Chudley Cannons on every surface, including the creased duvet under his best friend. Ron lay flat on his back in his too-short and faded nightclothes, staring silently up at his ceiling.

Approaching with caution, Harry gently asked, “You okay, Ron?” and tilted forward to study Ron’s face. He was so pale his freckles resembled ink pinpricks on parchment.

Ron’s throat bobbed, which was a good sign, and with eyes as large as Bludgers, Ron nervously replied, “I’m getting married today.”

Harry nodded slowly, fighting his amusement. “Yes.”

“Today,” Ron absently said, “I’m getting married.”

“Not if you don’t get out of bed, you won’t,” Harry teased.

Ron sat up on his elbows and turned his round-eyed gape on Harry. “Merlin in pink bloomers, I’m getting married, Harry! Married!” He flopped back on the bed with a moan, threw an arm across his eyes, and muttered neurotically to himself.

Harry rubbed his face and blew an explosive breath, knowing his simple task wouldn’t go as easy as he’d hoped.

After dragging Ron into the bath and threatening a sponge bath by Mrs. Weasley if he didn’t hurry up, Harry Apparated Ron to the empty stables of Hermione’s cousin’s country manor where the sunset wedding would be held. Hermione said she had chosen it for the ‘lovely garden,’ but more so because her entire family was Muggle. So it was between her cousin’s, the Burrow, or Ron’s Great Aunt Muriel’s, who declared she would charge them by the minute if chosen.

“The shock of seeing the Burrow defying the laws of physics would be too much for them,” she’d winced as she explained to a crushed Molly. Mrs. Weasley wasn’t too pleased her garden wouldn’t boast a fourth wedding. She’d softened a great deal, however, when Hermione gushed about having nothing but the best Molly Weasley-prepared cuisine to serve her guests.

Harry settled Ron in the groom’s quarters and left Ron’s moaning for Charlie to handle. He was late in getting to Andromeda’s for Teddy, his plus-one guest. The green-haired child had leapt on him the moment the door opened, as Harry hadn’t seen him since Pash was still on the loose.

Teddy immediately launched into an account of his last few weeks without Harry (“Grandma made me eat Brussels sprouts again — blech!”) on the walk to the nearest Apparition point. Harry cautiously opened the door and let him into Number Twelve, watching the floors closely for any sign of the fuzzy terror.

As it was not quite dark yet, Pash was probably huddled somewhere in Mrs. Black’s old knickers sleeping, so Harry was met with no opposition. Quickly, he ushered Teddy upstairs to change: the wedding was less than two hours away and he was running late.

“Why can’t we wear robes?” Teddy asked as Harry was adjusting his burnished gold ascot in the bathroom mirror.

“‘Cos Hermione’s family is Muggle, and stop doing that,” he mildly scolded at seeing Teddy fiddling with his black necktie in the corner of the mirror. Teddy gave a long whine and dropped his hands at his sides with a disgruntled frown.

“Do I have to wear this, Uncle Harry? It’s choking me, and you don’t want me to choke, do you?” he griped, moving forward to lean on the sink’s edge. “Auntie Hermione won’t marry Uncle Ron if I choke, so she won’t care if I don’t wear this, right?”

“Nice try, buddy,” Harry chuckled as he kneeled to the boy’s eye level. “But Aunt Hermione Charmed this tie especially for you so you can go to her wedding, and do you know why?”

He smiled at Teddy’s fidgeting followed by an exaggerated huff. “I know, I know! ‘Because her family is Muggle and might have puppies over my unique gifts so she Charmed my tie to cover my in-di-vi-doo-alit-tee,’” the young boy mimed with a put-out expression before cocking his head quizzically. “If the Muggles bring puppies, can I have one?”

Snorting aloud, Harry stood and ruffled Teddy’s tame brown hair before guiding him into the corridor. “We’ll have to ask your grandmother first.”

“Aww! She’ll say no, I know it,” he groaned before pouting. “I’ll bet Victoire’s mummy and daddy would let her have one.”

“Er....” But Harry decided he didn’t want to get into that.

They arrived in the midst of much gossip, with several people Harry didn’t recognize already seated on one side in the neat garden setting.

“Woooow,” Teddy’s little face lit up as he surveyed the yard. “It’s really pretty, Uncle Harry! I don’t see any puppies, but isn’t it pretty?”

“Very.” Harry agreed. Every chair was shrouded with a white cover, neatly tied back with a red satin bow. Each row was lined with smart bouquets of blooming lantanas in sunburst gold and exploding red franciscanas in ornate vases as an obvious nod to Gryffindor house.

Aunt Petunia’s garden looked like a plot of weeds compared to the arrangements. Though judging by the light buzz of magic he sensed on a nearby vase, Harry thought the colors may have been magicked for radiance.

A simple white length of cloth that was the aisle lead to a latticed, wrought-iron gazebo embellished with more red and gold flowers. Finally, tall urns with assorted bouquets guarded the two-stair entrance leading to the dais.

“Leave no stone unturned, that’s Hermione.”

Harry whirled around and smiled upon spotting the owner of the familiar voice. “Ginny,” he warmly greeted, moving forward to buss her on the cheeks. She posed a striking sight in a dress the color of brass, clearly indicating her role as bridesmaid. “Almost didn’t recognize you without your Harpies uniform on.”

Ginny laughed with a delighted nod. “Yeah, I had an overnight at St. Mungo’s to have it surgically peeled from my body,” she joked. “It is Ron’s big day, after all. Don’t want to embarrass him any more than usual; he’s bound to do it to himself today, anyhow. Have you seen him zombieing about? ‘Merlin, I’m getting married!’” she parroted with a laugh. “Poor Hermione doesn’t know what she’s getting into.”

“Be nice,” Harry admonished, but couldn’t help chuckling. It was good seeing her again, and even better that he felt nothing but companionable affection for her.

Ginny gave an exaggerated gasp before crouching down to greet the quiet little eavesdropper. “Who are you?” she warily asked.

Teddy giggled, hopping in place. “Aunt Ginny, it’s me: Teddy!”

“Teddy?” Harry rolled his eyes as she pretended to frown and tapped her chin. “No, no, you can’t be. The only Teddy I know is Teddy Lupin, and he is not this tall. So you simply can’t be Teddy Lupin. You’re what, fifteen, sixteen? I’m surprised you’re not snogging Victoire in the powder room.”

“Ewwwww! No! Girls are gross and I’m six!”

Harry bit his lip when Ginny threw him an affected glance. “Odd. The Teddy I know is six.”

“Yep, he is.”

“It is me!” Teddy insisted and tugged on an amused Harry’s hand. “Tell her, Uncle Harry, it’s me, it’s me! Y-you gave me all that Harpies stuff and even though it’s a girl team, I love it and I wear the robe to bed, but Grandma makes me take it off,” he loudly whispered the last bit.

“And what do you say?” Harry prompted with a nudge.

“Thank you, Auntie Ginny,” Teddy shyly replied.

“Oh, all right, fine, I suppose you are Teddy,” she conceded. “But the Teddy Lupin I know would’ve hugged me already.” Harry released Teddy’s hand and watched him throw his arms around Ginny’s neck excitedly.

When Teddy freed her from his embrace, Harry asked, “How’ve you been?”

“Better, now that I’ve put distance between myself and Hermione,” she wearily said, sighing sharply. “I left her with Luna.”

“Oh,” Harry grimaced. “You think she’ll survive?”

“It’s Luna,” Ginny stressed. “She’s got a lot thicker skin than people believe, I’d know. But I swear, that is not going to be me on my wedding day. The flock of doves she ordered hasn’t come in yet and she’s on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Even Crookshanks is raising a fuss, yowling in his basket and trying to get away from her.”

“Crookshanks?”

“He’s staying in the bridal suite,” she said. “Hermione’s a pair of flaming lungs short of becoming a Horntail. But you, you look like you’ve got one nasty hangover.”

Harry’s smile faltered, and he blinked at her in uncertainty. “I’m-I’m sorry?”

He arched an eyebrow at her knowing look. “C’mon, Harry. How long have we known each other?”

“I...” Harry shook his head, at a loss for words. He honestly had no idea what she was talking about. Well, he had some idea, but Ginny couldn’t possibly be referring to That Night? But he hadn’t told anyone, not even at Ron’s party. Unless Draco somehow had....

Frowning, he held tight to Teddy’s hand and moved to the last row of chairs on the groom’s side, taking a seat after Ginny and Teddy. At the redheaded witch’s expectant look, he said, “I’ve not got a hangover, I’m afraid. To tell you the truth, I wish I did.”

Ginny crossed her legs and nodded. “Ah. All right, who is she?”

“Wait — what?” he blinked again, idly shaking his head. “Why do you assume it’s that?” He wasn’t about to correct her on the gender, either. Besides, Draco was just a passing ... thing. He was still attracted to women, Malfoy notwithstanding.

“Because I can see right through you, Harry. Believe me, I’ve had practice,” she chuckled with a shrewd stare. Harry looked away, suddenly finding the chair bows fascinating. “I know that look because I know you ... and I’ve seen it once before.”

The distinct note of discomfort in her voice made him look up, questioning. “I’ve seen it on Dean’s face when we broke things off, and yours when we parted,” Ginny quietly admitted. “Like someone’s told you Christmas was cancelled.”

A startled gasp on his left drew his attention to Teddy, his little face the picture of alarm. “Oh. Oh no, darling,” Ginny quickly said, reaching over his lap to pat Teddy’s knee soothingly. “I’m just joking, Ted. Just a joke, really.”

But the young boy still didn’t look convinced and Harry met his fearful gaze with a crooked grin. “It’s not cancelled,” he assured. “Santa doesn’t have that much of a death wish to cancel Christmas and risk our wrath.”

After reassuring the skeptical child some more, Harry knew he still had to face Ginny’s uncanny perception. Granted, they had been together long enough as a couple and even longer as friends to know one another, but her keen observation still frightened him. Had he been so sloppy in masking his true sentiments that everyone saw through him? If so, why had no one come forward before now?

“What happened?” Ginny gently asked him. “Did you get so keyed up again you pitched her over the side of the bed? I’ve still got the mark on the back of my head, by the way.”

“No...” he quickly shot down, sighing. Was he ready to talk about this? Harry knew at some point he had to move on; it was a fling, for God’s sake ... why was he so wrapped up in a fling with Draco Malfoy?

“It’s all right if you don’t want to tell me. We’re both adults, after all.”

Harry shook his head, rubbing at his temples, a headache ringing in his ears. “It’s not that, I just ... I think it’s over,” he quietly confessed. “I may have blown it.”

When Ginny didn’t answer right away, he peered over at her, catching her frown. “I see.” She nodded a single time before offering a sympathetic grin. “Well, that’s that, then. Time to move on, I suppose.”

Harry sadly agreed, picking at his waistcoat. “Yeah. I guess so. Yeah.” Too bad he couldn’t trick himself into believing that.

“Then again, if she’s got you this miserable, she must be someone special.” Harry cast puzzled look at her, but she simply smiled in return. “Someone worth fighting for.”

“You were worth it,” he was quick to say, holding her soft brown gaze. “You still are.”

“As are you,” she smoothly agreed with a smirk. “You looked at me in many ways I’ll never forget, Harry Potter, but never like that, and I don’t think she’s even here. I can see it in your eyes,” Ginny leaned forward tellingly. “It is not over.”

Harry had nothing to say in response. Just as well, Ron loped from the house in handsome black robes, garnering more than a few curious looks from Hermione’s relatives. He looked a right sight better than earlier, having gained some color back. Ron reached them and leaned heavily on the backs of their chairs, panting as if he’d just run a marathon.

“Ron,” Ginny addressed him first with a sly grin. “You look ... not good.”

The lanky wizard gruffly wheezed, “I’m getting married today.”

“We know!” he and Ginny barked in unison.

Ron shook his head violently, and his voice steadily rose in pitch as he feverishly rambled, “No, you don’t understand. I’m getting married today, and I don’t have the rings. I can’t get married without rings! Hermione’s gonna kill me! Or worse, not marry me, because you need rings to get married, which I ... don’t ... have!”

By the end of his hysterics, Ron had a painfully tight grip on Harry’s shoulder. “Ron, calm down, you’re scaring people,” Ginny supplied, prying his fingers from her own shoulder.

“Calm down? How can I calm down knowing Hermione’s never going to forgive me for this?” he hissed, and Harry stifled a pained grunt when his fingers tightened. “Now I’ve got to tell her and she’s going to be so angry she’s going to break things off with me and run off with Vicky over there — ”

“Viktor’s here?” Ginny absently murmured. “I should go say hello — or gloat; we totally humiliated his team last month — ”

“Would you focus? I’m having an emergency here!”

“Ahh, relax!” Harry growled, finally plucking Ron’s iron fist from around his shoulder. He glowered at the wild-eyed groom as he rubbed his bruised flesh. “I think I liked you better when you were near catatonic.”

“Listen, mate — !”

“Relax,” Harry said again, patting Ron’s hand. “Relax. It’s your wedding day, mate. The only thing you’re supposed to be doing is what? Relaxing.”

“But the rings — ”

“Are my responsibility,” Harry reminded, seeing Ron visibly settle down at the news. “So stop worrying. Hermione will marry you — ”

“Well, she did invite Viktor, so we’ll see.”

“No, she’s not running off with Viktor,” Harry threw the cheeky bridesmaid a dark look as Ron turned different shades of white. “She’s marrying you, Ron, and you don’t have to worry, because I’ve got the rings right h — ”

But as Harry patted his breast pocket, he felt no hard surface answer in return. He couldn’t remember ever taking the rings out of their box since Ron gave them to him months ago, and he didn’t feel any hard loops beneath his fingers. It all added up to a single truth.

He was in deep dragon shit.


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