Look After You

Bill and Fleur's wedding was to be held in the Weasley's backyard on the first of August. Everyone in the world was going to be in attendance, according to Fred and George's older brother, Charlie, and when I woke up the morning of (with a panicky feeling like I had overslept and should have been doing something), I didn’t really doubt it. There were sleeping bodies everywhere. I rolled over to slip out of George's bed and almost stepped on Ronald's face. He and Harry were sprawled across the floor of the Twins' bedroom, and I had to pick my way between their arms and legs to get to the door.

I stumbled down the stairs into the living room, yawning every so often and fixing the pants I was wearing because the waist of them had twisted sideways while I slept, somehow. I'm pretty sure they belonged to Fred, but I couldn’t be positive. I was half asleep when they'd been given to me, anyway.

Mrs. Weasley had been working every living being in or around the Burrow in a manner that bordered slavery very closely. She would come into our bedrooms in the morning and shake our shoulders until we were awake, practically shove food down our throats, and set us to working on jobs that probably hadn’t been done in years. (I'd had to help Harry de-gnome the garden on one occasion. Not a pleasant task, let me assure you). The entire day would pass with only a break for lunch, and by the time the sun went down again, we were all too tired to hold our heads up.

I entered the kitchen and noticed that the clock on the wall said that it was eleven-forty-eight: later than I had slept in weeks. I understood my panicked feeling and gazed around at my surroundings.

People were already starting to arrive for the ceremony, I was shocked to see. Upon closer examination, I realized that the most of them were various Order members, waving their wands to help set up. Mrs. Weasley's Auntie Muriel was seated at the kitchen table, drinking something that looked suspiciously like brandy and criticizing the way the large, elegant tent was set up in the back yard. Mrs. Weasley glanced up when I entered the room, looking positively frazzled and half-way over the edge of insanity.

"Oh, Lacey," She said with what sounded like relief to stop listening to her Aunt, "You're up, dear. Sleep well?" she was already in the process of spooning porridge into a bowl for me.

I sat cautiously at the table, avoiding Auntie Muriel's eyes and suddenly wishing that I had thought to at least brush my hair and wash my face before coming down stairs. Mrs. Weasley placed the bowl in front of me and handed me a spoon.

"Who are you?" Muriel demanded, staring at me from beneath numerous folds of skin around her eyes. I could see her scalp through her fluffy tufts of cotton-candy-esque hair.

"Hello, Auntie Muriel. I'm Lacey James, a friend of Fred and George's." I straightened my spine a little.

"You have rats' nests in your hair, girl. And your lips are too big." She snapped, returning to her brandy as if she hadn't just insulted me. Mrs. Weasley gave me an enormously apologetic look, and I hurried to swallow my breakfast.

I scraped my bowl clean and stood, moving toward the kitchen sink and posing a general question about what I could do to help.

"You know, dear, I'm not entirely sure." Molly stopped scouring a large cauldron and stared out the window contemplatively. "Perhaps you could go wake the others?"

"Sure." I nodded and trooped out of the kitchen, careful not to bump Auntie Muriel's chair as I went.

I bounded back up the stairs and burst into Fred and George's bedroom, not bothering to watch where I was walking. Harry let out a sleepy cry as I trod on his ankle.

"Ooh, sorry, Harry." I said, then hopped up onto Fred's mattress, standing with one foot on either side of him. I bounced a bit, and he stirred.

"Get up, you lazy git!" I sang, bouncing a bit more, "Your brother's getting married today, and you need all the time you can get to make yourself presentable."

He opened his eyes and stared up at me for a moment, obviously trying to make sense of the situation. He seemed to understand after a little while, because he yelled, "Lacey, stop straddling me! You've got the wrong bloody twin!"

I crouched down to smush my hand against his face, then hopped off the bed and went over to George, using Ron's stomach as a step up. The breath left him in a whoosh and he sat up, staring about wildly.

"Sorry, Ron." I said, grinning at him. He glared in response and lay back down, pulling a blanket over his head.

George was already partially awake due to the commotion I'd caused, and he grabbed my ankle before I could jump up and down on his bed. I dropped down heavily, draping my legs over him and leaning my back against the wall.

" 'Time is it?" He grumbled sleepily, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. I glanced at my watch.

"Nearly twelve," I said, "Your mother's made breakfast, and you need to get pretty!" I dragged out the 'y' on 'pretty' for longer than I should have, and he opened one eye to stare at me.

"Not pretty," He corrected, stretching his arms out to the sides, "Fantastically dashing."

"Whichever." I patted his stomach and stood, treading on Ron again. (Accidentally this time, of course).

"Bloody hell, Lacey!" He groaned as I picked my foot up off his outstretched arm. He reached up to slap the back of my calf to show his discontentment, "Would you cut it out?"

I smiled apologetically and pranced off down the hallway to Ginny's room. She and Hermione were already up and showered, so I strolled off again, headed downstairs to see the progress of the decorations.

I was about to walk out the kitchen door when Mrs. Weasley grasped my arm and pulled me backward. I stumbled around to face her.

"Oh, no, you can't go outside now!" She turned me back in the direction of the stairs and said, "You need a bath. Go on, then. Start getting ready."

I sighed in defeat and marched back up the stairs for the second time that day, then dashed back into the Twin's room to rummage through my trunk. George was up, sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of his bed. Fred was still lying down, but his eyes were open, and he watched me come in with a glare on his face. Ron had pulled the blanket over his head again, and Harry was sitting up, grinding his fists into his eyes.

"Get up, you lot." I said, lifting all sorts of feminine soaps and shampoos out of the depths of my trunk and tucking them into the pockets of my borrowed pants. "People are already starting to arrive. Nearly all of the Order is here, helping set up outside." I paused to think for a moment, then looked at George quizzically, "Are my lips too big?"

Fred let out a roar of laughter and George gave me a strange look which was followed closely by a grin.

"Auntie Muriel's here, isn't she?" He asked.

"Yeah." I said bashfully, scratching the inside of my elbow.

"She's dotty. Don't listen to a word she says. Are you for the bathroom?" He stood and stretched his arms above his head. His shirt rode up, displaying several inches of a flat, pale stomach sprinkled with freckles. I nodded. "Wait a minute, will you? I need the john." He strode from the room, whistling as he went. I followed a few steps behind and leaned against the wall while he went into the bathroom and shut the door.

I heard the click of a lock and I called out, "What? Afraid I'm going to walk in on you in your knickers?"

"Of course," He called back, "I know you can't resist my body. And I'm really vulnerable at the moment."

"Don't flatter yourself, boy."

A few moments passed and he flung the door open, still tying the drawstring on his pajamas with a grin on his face. He moved toward me – quite close, actually – and put a hand on the wall near my head. He didn’t stop smiling, but leaned his face in toward mine, pausing only when our lips were tantalizingly close. Without thinking, I tilted my chin up, reaching for him. By the time I realized what was happening and had thought to recoil, he was a step or two away, laughing and shaking his head.

"I told you." He said, wagging a finger at me.

"Bugger off." I snarled, walking into the bathroom and slamming the door behind me. I turned the lock for good measure.

"What," He mocked, "Afraid I'm going to walk in on you in your birthday suit?"

"Quite." I called back in a clipped voice.

I drowned out his laughter by twisting the knobs on the shower and drawing the curtain. The scented soaps I had gotten from my trunk had been a Christmas present from my mother. I had never been one for smelling like baby-powder-and-roses-with-a-hint-of-spring-breeze, so they had gone untouched until that point. I figured it was a wedding and being altogether presentable involved smelling nice.

I finished bathing and turned the water off, stepping out into the bathroom and toweling myself dry before pulling my pajamas back on. I left the bathroom and went back to the Twins' bedroom, wringing water from my hair as I went.

"That wouldn't be my choice of outfit, but I suppose it's whatever you prefer. Don't let Fleur see you, though. She might start breathing fire." Fred said from his bed. He was sitting propped against the wall and doing tiny magic tricks with his wand. A line of pink bubbles became a length of ribbon which became a yellow daisy. He stood and offered it to me with a grand bow.

"Thank you, kind sir." I curtseyed, taking the flower and twirling the stem between my fingers, "And of course I'm not wearing this. My dress is in your closet."

He nodded and stepped past me. He disappeared out the door for a moment, then poked his head back around the doorframe, a pensive look on his face.

"Yes?" I prompted, dragging a brush through my hair.

"What's going on with you and George?" He asked, moving so that he could lean against the wall inside the room.

"I... I don't know." I said honestly, putting my brush down and looking at him. "I think nothing."

"Nothing?" He repeated, looking like he didn’t believe me in the slightest.

"I'm not sure." I raised my eyebrows at him, "Why? Has he said otherwise?"

"No, he hasn’t said anything at all, actually. I was just wondering."

I shrugged and smiled and returned to brushing my hair, gazing at myself in the tiny, cracked mirror hanging on the wall. I heard Fred leave and brushed the conversation away like some irksome little insect. I kissed George sometimes, but that didn’t mean anything. But, in all honesty, I was at a complete loss when it came to wondering how George felt about me. He was mostly the way he'd always been: brotherly, protective, friendly. But we snogged, and it was baffling.

Inwardly musing still, I used my wand to dry and smooth my hair until it hung in gentle waves to my shoulders. I had no idea how else to use magic in this case, so I trotted out into the hallway in search of Hermione.

She was in Ginny's room, holding what I assumed to be her dress for the wedding up to herself and twisting this way and that, inspecting her reflection in the mirror. I knocked lightly on the open door and she turned, blushing madly.

"Oh! Lacey, I didn't see you there." She flung the dress across the nearest bed and folded her hands in front of her, like a child caught in the act of naughtiness. I grinned.

"Pretty dress. I nodded in the direction of the heap of pale purple fabric.

"Do you think so?" She gushed in a very un-Hermione way, "My Mum helped me pick it out." She reached out a hand to stroke it affectionately.

"It's very nice," I assured her, then held up my wand questioningly, "Do you think you could do me a favor?"

"Sure."

"How do I use this to style my hair?" I spun the wand between my fingers and it emitted pale blue and gold sparks.

She beckoned me into the room and told me to stand in front of the mirror. It took nearly an hour, but at the end of her lesson, my hair fell in loose ringlets down my back, the right side delicately swept up and pinned above my ear. I examined myself closely, then nodded.

"That looks quite nice on you," She said breathlessly, reaching out to push some of my hair forward over my shoulder.

"Thanks for your help, Hermione. I'll let you get ready now." I beamed at her and left the room.

The wedding was due to start at three and, looking at my watch, I was shocked to see that it was nearly two already. I applied a bit of light makeup and summoned my dress from the Twins' closet. The silk felt amazingly supple and light between my fingers, and I was immediately glad because a glance out the window told me that it would probably be ridiculously hot outside.

I dressed in a hurry, careful not to muss my hair, and hurried from the room. Everyone was gathered in the kitchen, lined up for Mrs. Weasley's inspection. I slipped into line beside Ron and straightened my dress' strap. Hermione and Ginny tripped lightly down the stairs in their finery and came to stand beside me, blushing and giggling in most uncharacteristic ways.

"Yes, yes." Mrs. Weasley muttered, moving slowly among us, brushing a bit of lint from this one's coat, tucking a strand of hair behind that one's ear. She took a step back and smiled, "You all look wonderful. Very appropriate color choice, Lacey. You'll coordinate with the wedding quite nicely."

Fred and George both leaned forward slightly to look at me, then flashed an identical thumbs-up, pointing to their pale gold vests and ties. I smiled back and Mrs. Weasley shooed us all from the house, giving us standing orders to direct guests to their seats.

I walked forward to stand between the Twins, linking my arms through theirs'.

"You're not wearing robes." I noted, turning my head to the left and right to look them both up and down.

In fact, they were both wearing nicely cut tuxedoes with coattails and trousers. I'd expected something a bit more… wizardly. Then again, I'd never been to a Wizarding wedding, so I couldn’t possibly have known any better.

"Fleur wanted all the men identical, and Bill hates dress robes." Fred shrugged.

"I think we look dapper." George grinned, tugging his lapels forward and lifting his chin.

"Of course you do." I agreed.

The Twins hurried off to greet guests, and I ushered an elderly witch and wizard to their seats near the front. They asked me which Weasley I was. I told them I wasn’t one, but they didn’t seem to believe me so I walked away.

It seemed like half the universe was packed under this white awning, all wearing their finery (with which long-sleeved robes seemed to be a trend), and I was again glad I had opted for something lighter.

I joined Hermione at the top of the aisle to wait for more guests. She looked a bit sour and kept shooting glares at the back of a tall redhead I assumed to be Ron. He looks much more mature from the back, I noted with raised eyebrows.

I pretended I hadn't seen him and asked, "Where's Ron?", thinking this might cheer her up a bit because everyone knew that she and Ron were going to get married eventually. It didn’t.

"He's over there. Flirting." She hissed, jerking her head in his direction. I craned my neck for a better look. Ron was leaning toward a pair of astonishingly pretty blonde girls.

"With who?"

"Some Veela cousins of Fleur's." She said tersely.

"Ah," I said. As I watched, Fred and George approached the two girls, offering their arms with cordial little bows. A little flash of petty jealousy flashed through me as one of the girls - who really wasn't that pretty now that I thought about it, really she was awful. Who am I kidding, she's flawless - tilted her head and giggled at something George had whispered in her ear.

I turned to Hermione to change the subject, desperate for distraction, but realized she wasn’t standing there anymore. She had strolled into the tent on the arm of someone whose profile seemed vaguely familiar. He turned around to face the mouth of the tent and I couldn’t help but gasp. Viktor Krum.

I love Ron to death, but I had to credit Hermione. Krum was a bit of an upgrade.

Fred and George found me shortly after, having left the Veela girls in their seats. We strolled in together, and I chose to pretend my moment of jealousy hadn't happened. Auntie Muriel was toward the front row, talking loudly about some tiara she had lent Fleur for the occasion, and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the expressions of the people seated around her.

"She's just told me my ears are lopsided." George whispered. I laughed louder and took my seat beside Harry who didn’t look like Harry. He had taken some polyjuice potion and now resembled a fat, ginger-headed muggle from the nearby village. Fred and George sat in front of us. I chuckled again at Muriel's statement about George's ears, then fell quiet with the new hush inside the tent.

The ceremony began on time, and I couldn’t help but become dewy eyed at the sight of Bill and Fleur standing together beneath an arch of gold balloons. The same tiny wizard that had presided over Dumbledore's funeral was conducting the service, his little voice carrying over the gathering pleasantly. I listened intently, watching the proceedings through a thin film of tears. Bill and Fleur were declared bonded for life, and the ceremony ended with the popping of the gold balloons, which emitted gold bells and birds of paradise. We were all asked to stand, and the chairs we'd been sitting on vanished, replaced instantly by a gold dance floor.

"Oh, that was beautiful, of course." I said, wiping my fingers gingerly across my lower eyelids to catch any tears that might have spilled over. Fred and George rolled their eyes, then beamed.

"Can't believe Bill's married, really." Fred said cheerfully, then dragged me toward an empty table. George followed, smiling, too.

Fred summoned three glasses of firewhiskey from the tray of a passing waiter, and we sat there, drinking and staring around.

"We came up with the balloons," George said, "Did you like them?"

"Yes, very clever." I smiled.

"We know." They said in unison, grinning.

"Anyway, off to find those Veela cousins." Fred said, knocking back the remainder of his whiskey.

"We must remember to thank Fleur." George said cheekily, wagging his eyebrows.

I forced a small chuckle and they dashed off. Not long after, I caught sight of the two of them slipping in opposite directions into the shadows of the garden and the orchard, pretty girls in tow. I summoned another firewhiskey and sat - alone - at a table, watching couples dance and feeling sorry for myself. I saw Ron and another girl (probably another of Fleur's relatives) together at the opposite end of the floor from Hermione and Krum.

It was a long time before Fred and George returned to the tent. I didn't notice either of them until George was standing just before me, grinning madly.

"Want to give dancing another go?" He asked me.

"Why aren't you dancing with that pretty Veela girl?" I said shortly. He only shrugged and grinned at me, his hand outstretched.

"Well," I sighed, "Everyone else is dancing, aren't they?" I set down my glass, removed my heels, and allowed him to drag me out into the crowd on the dance floor.

I spent the first of the seven dances we had together pouting and trying my hardest to look disinterested. I spent the last six laughing so hard my stomach hurt, because George was being far from serious. He dipped me low to the ground on several occasions, meriting rounds of amused applause from onlookers. I blushed and he grinned.

Night fell, and the lights dimmed a bit. I was leading George away from the dance floor so that we could find Fred. My mood was thoroughly lightened, and I could hardly catch my breath between giggles. George stumbled after me, chuckling also and winding his fingers through mine. I was about to turn and kiss him for all I was worth (because firewhiskey and dancing and giddy uncertainty make you do those sorts of things) when something silver dropped through the ceiling of the tent. A Patronus. Everyone stopped mid-step to watch it. Kingsley Shacklebolt's deep voice echoed across the gathering.

"The ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."

Panic ensued. People were disapparating from where they stood or running in every direction, which seemed rather pointless.

"Who's coming?" I asked frantically while George dragged me toward the house. He turned and looked at me as if he'd forgotten he'd been holding my hand the entire time.

"Ministry officials or, I should say, Death Eaters," He muttered, then leaned close so that he could speak quietly without being overheard, "Get out of here. Don’t come back. We'll send word when it's safe."

"George," I glared at him, "I want to stay. I can duel as well as you can."

"No," he said firmly, then let go of me and started to walk away. I grabbed the sleeve of his shirt. He turned to face me.

"I want to stay," I repeated.

"And I'm not going to let you," I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off, "It's too dangerous. If you got hurt, I'd…" He looked away, then reached out to squeeze my arm gently. "Lacey, please, don't be stupid."

Just then, there were a number of loud pops, and I saw several wizards in long, black ministry robes encircling the yard. The drew their wands and moved closer.

"Go!" George shouted and ran forward to join his father.

I stared around wildly, looking for someone who might want me to stay. Nobody was concerned with me. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were nowhere in sight, people were screaming. I closed my eyes and turned on the spot, for once grateful for the crushing darkness that enveloped me as I disapparated.