Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

“Anyway, I won’t trust this guy anymore. Who knows if he’s already joined You-Know-Who?” Ron blurted out, forgetting that he himself had once been under the Imperius Curse.

Ron was being a bit extreme, but his worries weren’t entirely unfounded. Dark wizards from all over the world were flocking to the country, hoping to join Voldemort’s army or fulfill other nefarious purposes. A pamphlet printed by the Ministry of Magic warned the public to be wary of strangers.

But to say Krum had joined Voldemort was a bit too much; he wasn’t a Dark wizard.

Perhaps, maybe, or probably, Ron was just jealous of Krum’s fame.

After all, as a world-renowned Quidditch star, the girls hadn’t taken their eyes off him since Krum entered.

That said, while the others didn’t share Ron’s hostility toward Krum, they didn’t particularly like him either.

Fred and George felt the same. They steered Krum far away to the other end of the marquee, seating him among a cluster of Fleur’s middle-aged French relatives.

Soon, everyone’s attention shifted away from Krum.

A sense of jittery anticipation had filled the warm tent, the general murmuring broken by occasional spurts of excited laughter. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley strolled up the aisle, smiling and waving at relatives; Mrs. Weasley was wearing a brand-new set of amethyst-colored robes with a matching hat.

A moment later Bill and Charlie stood up at the front of the marquee, both wearing dress robes, with large white roses in their buttonholes; Fred wolf-whistled and there was an outbreak of giggling from the Veela cousins.

Then the crowd fell silent as music swelled from what seemed to be the golden balloons.

“Ooooh!” said Hermione, swiveling around in her seat to look at the entrance.

Evan turned his head as well. A great collective sigh issued from the assembled witches and wizards as Monsieur Delacour and Fleur came walking up the aisle, Fleur gliding, Monsieur Delacour bouncing and beaming.

He held Fleur’s arm, and she was wearing a very simple white dress and seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow.

While her radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everybody it fell upon.

Ginny and Gabrielle, both wearing golden dresses, looked even prettier than usual.

But compared with Fleur, they were only accents, charming in their own right but serving to highlight her.

At this moment, beauty itself seemed to belong to Fleur alone.

Under everyone’s gaze, Fleur walked over to Bill.

Suddenly, Bill, too, became radiant, and all the scars he’d received from the battle at Hogwarts at the end of last term vanished.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” said a slightly singsong voice. The same small, tufty-haired wizard who had presided at Dumbledore’s funeral, was now standing in front of Bill and Fleur. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls …”

“Yes, my tiara sets off the whole thing nicely,” said Auntie Muriel in a rather carrying whisper. “But I must say, Ginevra’s dress is far too low cut.”

Ginny glanced around, grinning, winked at Harry, then quickly faced the front again.

Evan noticed that Harry’s face beside him instantly turned red; he couldn’t tell whether Harry was looking at Fleur or at Ginny behind her.

At that moment, Hermione also took Evan’s arm with a little excitement. The most crucial moment was about to come.

“Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle … ?”

In the front row, Mrs. Weasley and Madame Delacour were both sobbing quietly into scraps of lace. Trumpetlike sounds from the back of the marquee told everyone that Hagrid had taken out one of his own tablecloth-sized handkerchiefs. Hermione turned and beamed at Evan; her eyes too were full of tears. Evan held her hand tightly.

“I do!” said Bill in a loud voice.

“Fleur Isabelle Delacour, do you take William Arthur —?”

“I do!”

“… then I declare you bonded for life.”

The tufty-haired wizard waved his wand high over the heads of Bill and Fleur and a shower of silver stars fell upon them, spiraling around their now entwined figures. As Fred and George led a round of applause, the golden balloons overhead burst: Birds of paradise and tiny golden bells flew and floated out of them, adding their songs and chimes to the din.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” called the tufty-haired wizard. “If you would please stand up!”

They all did so, Auntie Muriel grumbling audibly; he waved his wand again. The seats on which they had been sitting rose gracefully into the air as the canvas walls of the marquee vanished, so that they stood beneath a canopy supported by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside.

Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the center of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor; the hovering chairs grouped themselves around small, white-clothed tables, which all floated gracefully back to earth around it, and the golden- jacketed band trooped toward a podium.

“Brilliant!”

“Absolutely amazing,” Ron exclaimed. “This was designed by Bill and Fleur. I never thought it would be so smooth.”

“Very inspiring. We can use it as a reference for our wedding,” said Hermione thoughtfully. Then, as if suddenly realizing what she’d just said, her face turned scarlet. She glanced at Evan a little evasively. “I mean, if you ever plan to marry me — you would, wouldn’t you, Evan?”

“Don’t be silly!” Evan pulled Hermione close. “I’m marrying you and no one else — don’t even think otherwise.”

Evan was not sure if Hermione had heard the last part, because at this moment, there was another round of cheers from the front, and the waiters popped up on all sides, some bearing silver trays of pumpkin juice, butterbeer, and firewhisky, others tottering piles of tarts and sandwiches.

“We should go and congratulate them!” said Hermione softly, standing on tiptoe in Evan’s arms to see the place where Bill and Fleur had vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers.

“We’ll have time later,” shrugged Ron, snatching a few butter-beers from a passing tray and handing them around. “Let’s grab a table, get a good spot, and have a good meal. … No, not there, Harry! Nowhere near Muriel —”

“Come on, Evan, I want to go congratulate Bill and Fleur now,” said Hermione. “Let’s go together, shall we?”

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