Matryoshka Vignettes
Sing A Song of Sixpence, A Pocket Full of Weasleys (2/4)
By Jeconais
Fred and George - Sun, February 1st 1998, 11:30am
"So, what do you think?"
"That if I add some sulphur to this it would make a really cool firework."
"True. But I was referring to last week."
"Ahh, Harry’s funeral."
"Yep. And the rather impressive eulogy Daphne gave."
"Do you remember the recipe for the perfect lie?"
"You take two parts truth, one part lie, blend, and imply as much as you can without saying anything."
"Exactly."
"And she was lying?"
"I think so."
"So, which bit was the truth, and which bit was the lie?"
"Well, if we wanted to hide something big, what would we do?"
"Focus on the other things?"
"Pretty much. Let’s break it down. We had a lot of detail about their relationship. True or false?"
"True. One, she had the photo, and two, she had no reason to tell us they were sleeping together."
"Agreed. Okay, our siblings’ actions — or lack of?"
"True. They swallowed Dumbledore’s stuff hook, line and sinker."
"Against our advice."
"People never listen to us, Fred."
"I can’t think why. Okay, Harry’s death?"
"False."
"Blimey. You’re right. She never said he was dead."
"She just implied it."
"Now that takes style."
"Lying to so many people so effectively? Absolutely. What are we going to do about it?"
"Contact them. If we can figure it out, others can."
"Not as fast, though."
"Of course not! They are not the Weasley twins."
Fred smiled, picked up a quill and dashed off a quick note.
The problem with lying to liars is that we can recognise the lie.
We need to talk.
F&G — still partners.
"Perfect," George said cheerfully. He attached it to an owl. "They might be warded."
"True, but I’ll bet Daphne is, which means that Harry isn’t — because who would send post to a dead man?"
"We would," George pointed out. "We’ll tell Harry to close that hole when we see him."
"Do we tell anyone else?"
"Did they listen to us before?"
"Good point." Fred looked at the owl. "Take this to Harry Potter — not his grave."
The owl seemed to look confused, and then took off, vanishing into the overcast sky.
"And now we wait," George sighed.
"Well, let’s add some sulphur and see what happens."
"Capital idea!"
It was a day before their owl returned, bearing a letter and a Portkey.
Agreed.
Wear a tux.
Portkey stops working in two hours.
D.
"What’s a tux?"
"One of those Muggle things that make the wearer look like a penguin."
"Where can we get one?"
"London?"
"Close the shop?"
"Sure, this is more important!"
George picked up a piece of parchment. "Gone to recover from an explosion caused by too much sulphur. Back in a few days."
"Perfect," Fred said admiringly. "Two parts truth, one part lie."
George grinned. "Shall we away?"
"We shall!"
A trip to Gringotts for some money had been followed by a trip to a tailor, and while it had been a little, well, unexpected when they had been measured; they were both soon fitted out in some off-the-shelf tuxedos.
"What do you think?" Fred asked doubtfully.
"It’s close, but not quite there," George replied. "Mine’s fine. I know!" He pulled out his wand, and cast a charm, reversing all the colours on Fred.
Fred looked down at his white tux and black shirt and smiled. "Perfect." He pulled the Portkey out of his pocket and activated it.
"Fred!" George said. "Do you know where we are?"
"Las Vegas," Fred whispered in awe as they looked out from the balcony they had appeared on.
"How much can we afford to lose this time?"
"You can bet later, guys," Harry said from behind them.
As one, they turned and jumped at him, hugging him tightly.
"Next bloody time you do something as stupid as to go off to fight without even asking us, we’ll make sure you don’t bloody survive!" Fred threatened.
"Damn right," George agreed.
"I’m sorry," Harry said, looking embarrassed.
"If you three have finished," Daphne interrupted, "we do have an appointment to keep."
Fred and George looked up and blinked repeatedly.
"Harry," George said. "You do realise that you seem to have…"
"Fallen in love with a complete fox," Fred finished.
Harry smiled. "I know," he agreed.
"So, the infamous Weasley twins. We meet again," Daphne said dryly.
"Is there any chance that we could keep a certain conversation secret?" George asked Daphne hopefully.
"None whatsoever," Daphne replied.
"Oh?" Harry asked.
Fred sighed loudly. "There’s a slim chance that I may have asked your girlfriend out on a date before the events that led to our tragic early departure from dear old Hogwarts."
"And, I, too, may have done the same," George confessed.
"So that was why you smirked when I said invite them?" Harry asked Daphne.
"She turned us both down," Fred playacted a sniff. "Of course, if we’d known that all we had to do was to be unspeakably brave and not be scared off by her threatening to remove key body parts, we’d still have failed."
"True, brother mine," George agreed, looking solemnly.
"I’ve missed you guys," Harry said.
"So, why the penguin suits and why Vegas?"
"Well, you see, after tonight, Daphne will no longer be my girlfriend."
"What? Why?" Fred demanded.
"Because we’re getting married in ninety minutes."
Fred and George cheered together, before Fred embraced Harry and George embraced Daphne. Five seconds later, they switched.
"So it’s just the four of us?" George asked.
"It was going to be just the two of us," Harry said, "But your letter arrived at the right time."
"Ninety minutes?" Fred asked.
Harry nodded.
He looked at George, "Harry looks fine, doesn’t he?"
"Yes, his tux, while not as dashing as ours, looks better on him."
"But Daphne…"
"What?" Daphne asked, frowning at them.
"Split up?" Fred asked.
"Absolutely, you take Harry, I’ll take Daphne."
"What?" Harry and Daphne asked together.
George took Daphne’s hand. "You’ve got access to money, right?"
"Why?"
"No time for idle chit-chat, we’ve only got ninety minutes, the clock is ticking." He pulled Daphne through the hotel room and down the elevator.
"Why am I letting you do this?" Daphne asked.
"Because I’m cute?" George grinned.
Daphne shook her head.
"Because Harry trusts me with you?"
Daphne sighed. "I guess. What are we doing?"
"This is Las Vegas, where if you’ve got the money, they’ve got your dream."
"And?"
"That dress, while gorgeous, is something to be worn to a restaurant, not a wedding."
"But…" Daphne said.
"No buts," George grinned. "You brought us into this. We know Vegas, we came here last year." The elevator reached the ground floor. "I take it you’ve got a credit card? What’s the limit?"
"The Goblins set us up with an American Express card, no limit."
"Do you trust me?"
"No."
"But Harry does, and that’s what counts, right?"
Daphne sighed again. "I guess."
"Give me your card."
Daphne reluctantly handed him a platinum coloured card from her purse.
"Thank you, now come with me." He strolled confidently along the floor toward the concierge.
"Can I help you, sir?" the man asked politely, recognising Daphne as a guest.
"My friend here is getting married in eighty-five minutes," George said. "If you can arrange for a dress, makeup, and hair in that time, there will be a $40,000 tip in it for you."
The normally cool concierge gaped at him.
"Excuse me, sir?"
"I want the best for my friend, money no object," he subtly waved the card in front of the man.
The man gulped. "Eighty five minutes?"
George nodded.
"I think that can be arranged," he said. "If you’ll give me thirty seconds to arrange for another concierge to cover, we’ll step next door to a wonderful boutique."
George smiled. "You might want to tell the cover that my brother will probably be down shortly, requesting help for the groom. And my brother is just as generous as I am."
"Where is George taking my future wife?" Harry asked Fred.
Fred grinned at him. "You two amateurs were just going to get married like you are, weren’t you?"
"We wanted a quiet wedding," Harry explained.
"You two have a lot to learn," Fred sighed. "Now, hand over your credit card."
"Why?"
"Because we’re going to be spending a lot of money, and it’s far better if you don’t know until later how much it costs you."
"That makes no sense at all," Harry pointed out.
"Of course it doesn’t," Fred agreed, and as soon as he had Harry’s wallet in his back pocket, he continued. "And where’s the ring?"
Harry reached into a pocket and pulled out a box.
Fred looked at it, snorted, and shook his head. "You two have no taste at all." He threw the ring casually over the balcony edge.
Harry darted forward, and swore as it vanished from sight. He turned and ground out, "That could have been my mother’s ring."
"Nonsense," Fred said cheerfully. "Your mother was a red-head, and all red-heads have much better taste than that tatty piece of junk. Now, we’ve no time to waste, we’ve got a ring to buy."
Harry put his hands on his hips, allowing Fred to link his arm with the Boy-Who-Lived, and drag him out the door and down the stairs.
"What we need," Fred mused, "is professional help. Now, I’m sure my dear brother has already bribed the main concierge, so we’ll need one as well."
"Bribed who?"
"Not now Harry, you’re far too innocent for this sort of thing."
"Can I help, sir?" a concierge said, appearing as if by magic in front of them.
"Just the man," Fred said expansively. "My friend here is getting married to the most gorgeous girl on the planet in eighty-three minutes. Unfortunately, he has the taste of a Tunisian mud scraper, so he’s going to need a couple of rings, a fifteen minute stag party…" Fred paused, mid flow, and turned to Harry.
"Just where were you planning on getting married?"
"In one of the wedding chapels down the strip."
Fred shuddered. "Okay, we also need to arrange for something with a little more class."
"Can we extend the time available?" the concierge asked hopefully.
"If we’re rearranging the ceremony, certainly," Fred said, ignoring Harry’s stunned looks. "Let’s make it an evening wedding, seven pm?"
"That gives us five hours," the concierge noted. "I think we can arrange something for that."
Fred reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone, and dialled a number quickly.
"George, they were planning on getting married somewhere tacky, so we’re rearranging it to something with a little more class. So you’ve got until seven tonight."
"Brilliant," George said over the phone. "I’m paying the concierge $40,000 of Harry and Daphne’s money."
"Okay, talk to you later." Fred hung up, and looked at the concierge. "If this gets arranged, you’ll get the same as your colleague."
"Yes sir, and please, call me Chris."
"Fred," Harry sighed. "We are going to have a very long talk when this is over."
Fred grinned. "But not now, we’ve got no time to waste. Let us away to a jewellers, and Chris, nothing that even remotely resembles cheap. Daphne is the sort of girl who makes you want to thank God you were born male. While they are both young, they are both orphans, forced to grow up before their time. The marriage is the right thing for them, but like so many of the young, they have absolutely no class."
"Hey!" Harry protested.
"I completely understand," Chris agreed. "By the time we’re finished, we’ll have a wedding that they’ll remember for the rest of their lives."
George lounged negligently against the counter as he watched what could only be an army of hairdressers, manicurists, pedicurists, and make-up artists, all working on Daphne.
Normally getting an appointment in a famous salon on a Monday afternoon was impossible, but Edward, their concierge, knew everyone of any import in town, and knew exactly which buttons to press.
Spending someone else’s money was a lot of fun.
The first boutique hadn’t had anything that was absolutely perfect, but Fred’s idea of putting the wedding back had changed all that. He stepped back as a large van pulled up outside, and a couple of immaculately coiffured ladies climbed out, accompanied by two large men who looked like they ate steel for breakfast. The van was opened, and the two men lifted down a large rack of wedding dresses, and they rushed toward the door.
One of the women walked over to him quickly. "Where’s the bride?"
"She’s under that toxic looking green stuff at the moment." As he spoke, the green stuff was removed expertly.
The woman whistled. "Young, beautiful, and rich. Some people have all the luck!"
"Well… her parents were murdered," George said dryly, "as were the parents of the groom. I know they would give everything up for a chance to see their parents again."
The woman blushed furiously. "I’m sorry," she said.
George shrugged. "Neither of them would ever mention it."
"Look, I wanted to see if we could do a deal."
"Oh?"
"Let us use her for some publicity shots in one of our dresses, and we’ll let her have the dress she chooses for free."
George raised his eyebrows.
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to get real beauty, complete with minor flaws, down here, not the plastic perfection we normally get?"
George shook his head slowly. "Okay," he said slowly. "But no pictures of the groom, he’s a little publicity shy."
"Thank you," the lady said, smiling. "Now, if you’ll excuse me?"
Fred smiled tolerantly as row after row of rings were placed in front of Harry. Now that he was being given the chance, he seemed to be very serious about the whole thing.
A stocky, balding man sidled up to him. "So," the man said with a New York accent, "is that who I think it is?"
"I’m sorry?"
The man reached into his wallet, and pulled out a card.
Fred looked at it, and the American eagle on a Stars and Stripes background nodded regally at him, before morphing into a business card.
Agent K Fire, Federal Bureau of Magic
Fred handed him the card back. "Who do you think it is?"
"A dead man."
"He’d like to remain that way."
"We heard rumours, but I thought it was only a minor internal problem he dealt with?"
"I’d check your sources very closely; Voldemort’s power was only matched by his overwhelming hatred for everything and everyone."
"Really?" Agent K said slowly. "The reports we had were that he was a two-bit problem that the British Ministry was handling."
"Over five thousand Muggles and nearly four hundred witches and wizards were killed, and a nation was terrified to stand up to him."
The man paled slightly and made a curious gesture. A woman walked up to them. She was about five foot ten, and while she was in her forties, she still had an attractive figure. "This is Agent D; she’ll be here while we check out what you said."
Fred nodded. "Are you any good at picking out rings?"
The woman laughed and nodded.
"Then go rescue the hero over there; it will give you a chance to get to know him."
One of the unexpected benefits of helping Daphne was getting to watch her change. Damn, but Harry was a lucky man, George thought.
"Ed," he said thoughtfully. "She’s going to need some lingerie as well."
"It’s on its way, sir, as are the flowers."
"Don’t call me sir," George said absently. "I’m George, and my brother’s Fred. Tell everyone who helps that they’re welcome to attend the party afterward — which reminds me, the party. What are we going to do about that?"
Ed looked at the crowd in front of him and smiled slightly. He pulled out a cell phone and dialled a number from the speed-dial menu. "It’s Ed," he said, as George eavesdropped as much as he could. "Put me through to Martha."
Ed paused for a second. "Martha, I’m with the couple from 516. They’re getting married in a few hours."
"Yes, I know. Listen, they were wrongly categorised; they were trying to keep a low profile. They’re going to need the Ambassador’s suite for the evening. I’ve already booked the Hall for their wedding. I have people decorating it at the moment." A pause, while a tinny voice came from the other side. "Excellent."
Ed hung up and smiled. "All set."
"Do you want to do the inviting?"
"It will be my honour."
With a newly purchased ring — which had been slightly delayed while American Express had contacted the jeweller to make sure that Harry was who he said he was, a not too surprising move after a brand-new card rang up some serious activity, Fred, Harry, Chris, and Agent D were now heading toward the casino attached to the hotel.
"Now, Harry, the object of the game is to lose as much money as fast as possible."
"And that’s supposed to make sense?"
"No," Agent D said. Fred had introduced her as another employee of the hotel. "You can also win."
Fred leaned into Harry and whispered in a low voice. "Do not use magic, even wandless. They have magical detectors on everything."
Harry nodded.
Fred walked up to one of the cashiers and dropped Harry’s card onto it. "$100,000 please."
The cashier didn’t even blink, not fazed at all by what was, to some people, a small sum of money.
Fred took the chips, split them in half, and gave one pile to Harry. "D? Chris?"
"We’re not allowed to," Chris said evenly.
"Your loss," Fred grinned. "Come on, Harry, the first game is roulette. You’ve got two choices. You can play red or black — and if the ball lands in the one you pick, you win, however the odds aren’t very good at that. Or you can pick one of the numbers between one and thirty-six. Oh, and if the ball lands in zero or double-zero, you lose."
"Okay," Harry said with a shrug. He looked at the table, picked up a small stack of tokens and placed it on number twenty-three. "Sirius’ birthday," he said, with a slight smile.
Fred placed a smaller amount of chips on number two.
The croupier spun the ball and the wheel, and after a few seconds, said, "No more bets," stopping the other people at the table from placing any more bets.
The ball jumped merrily along, until, with a last minute jump, it landed firmly in twenty three.
Fred sighed loudly. "You are such a git, Harry!"
George was pouting slightly as he sat waiting for Daphne. He’d been summarily ejected from the room when the lingerie had arrived.
Still, there was nothing worse than a bored Weasley twin, so he picked up his phone and arranged for a male stripper for Daphne.
With that done, and his gesture toward some sort of hen night for her out of the way, he dialled his brother.
"Fred, how’s it going?"
"Interesting: we’re having Harry’s stag night. He’s supposed to be losing money in the casino now."
"Supposed to be?"
"The git keeps winning, and he’s not using magic either."
"Typical," George snorted. "How is the casino taking it?"
"They’re loving it; they’re making a killing from what Chris has described as the 'Halo Effect’."
"The what?"
"All the other players are seeing Harry win, so they’re gambling even more and losing. The casino is going to make more money tonight, despite paying for Harry."
"You know, we really need to open a Wizarding casino."
"We’ll talk to Harry about it later. If you’re bored, why don’t you organise a honeymoon?"
"Great idea! They can come to Vegas anytime."
He hung up and looked thoughtful. "Ed, where would you suggest for a honeymoon for people who want to get away from it all?"
"The Caribbean?"
"Wonderful," George grinned. "You know a travel agent?"
"Of course."
"Okay, Harry," Fred said. "You’ve won enough; we still have things to do."
Harry nodded. "What do I do with these?" he asked, pointing at the large pile of chips in front of them.
"I’ll take care of them," Chris said. "They’ll be credited to your room." He motioned to a smartly dressed man who had been hanging around in the background.
Their entourage had grown, as Chris had arranged for some security. The hotels always looked after their guests, and the more money they had, the better they were looked after.
"Might I suggest a new tuxedo?" Chris suggested quietly. "The one he has is merely adequate."
Fred nodded. "Come on, Harry. It’s time for you to be primped. Daphne’s been going through it, so no complaints from you!"
Harry nodded, and followed as they walked out of the casino — to a few groans from punters who had been following them around.
As Harry was being measured, Agent K arrived back.
"That was quick," Fred noted.
Agent K had a ferocious scowl on his face. "It turns out that our Ambassador over there was a member of the Death Eaters. He’d been feeding us crap for years."
"Really?"
"We don’t like traitors," Agent K continued, "and he’s now singing like a canary under Veritaserum. So, would Harry mind if a few more people turned up at the wedding?"
"Can they keep a secret?"
"Of course, but the Secretary for Magic would like to be able to say thank you on behalf of the Wizarding population. The knowledge that he is alive will be kept top secret."
Fred picked up his phone and dialled his brother. "George, the American Ministry has asked for a few invites. It appears that the American Ambassador in England was a Death Eater."
"Really? Well, that explains that," George replied. "Sure, why not?"
"Well, they did want a small wedding, remember?"
"Then they shouldn’t have invited us."
"True. I’m picking up people left, right, and centre at the moment."
"Me too, I’m bringing around thirty at current count."
Fred grinned. "I’m getting that way," he said, and hung up.
"Not many wizards use cell phones," Agent K half stated, half asked.
"Do you have any idea how hard it is to get cordite?"
"Excuse me?"
"In the Wizarding world, getting bats’ eyes or the tears of a virgin camel is easy, but getting something like cordite is practically impossible. It’s the same with most of the really fun stuff. So the only way we can get half the ingredients we need is to go into the Muggle world.
"We travel a lot, doing business, so we purchased some top of the range tri-band mobiles so we can remain in contact."
Agent K nodded. "Have you thought about opening a branch this side of the Atlantic?"
"A few times," Fred replied. "We need to talk to Harry about investing our profits."
"Harry’s involved?"
"Without him, our business wouldn’t exist. We learnt a long time ago that while some people might follow Voldemort, and some might follow Dumbledore, the only way to actually succeed would be to follow Harry."
Agent K nodded.
"Now, do you think Agent D would mind if we went to a strip bar next?"
Agent K blinked. "Why?"
"Because every man should have a stripper on his stag night," Fred grinned. "And, on a more serious note, it will really make him appreciate what he has with Daphne, when he finds out that his wife is better looking — and better built — than the professionals."
"Harry," Agent K said. "I’d like you meet our equivalent of the Minister for Magic, Arthur Mulder."
Harry blinked, and turned to glare at Fred for a second. "Excuse me," he said. "I thought that K was an employee of the hotel. And that my being here and alive was a secret."
"Not to worry," Arthur said cheerfully. "Not many people know you are alive, and it is placed on the Top Secret list. And we have a team of Agents ready to Obliviate your Muggle friends after the party. Oh, and please, all my friends call me Art."
"This was supposed to be a quiet wedding," Harry groaned.
"You’ll appreciate it more when you see Daphne," George said, as he joined the group. "You’re going to have an amazing wedding, all courtesy of the Weasley twins."
"George," Fred said. "This is the Secretary for Magic over here."
"Ahh," George said, offering his hand. "The man responsible for all our bodyguards."
"What bodyguards?" Harry asked, looking lost.
"Pre-wedding jitters," Fred said conspiratorially.
Chris and Ed walked up to the group slowly. "We’re going to be ready to start in about five minutes," Chris said. "The cake is arriving as we speak, and the chefs are creating a wonderful feast for the party."
"What party?"
"The party you’re giving in your new suite to thank everyone," George said cheerfully. "You can thank us later."
Harry shook his head slowly. "Well, you’re going to bloody have to stand up there with me then, as Best Men."
Fred looked at George in horror. "We forgot something."
"We did. But how?"
"There’s only one way."
"You didn’t have to watch the male stripper earlier."
Fred nodded. "Thank Merlin this is Vegas! Keep Harry and the secretary entertained."
George nodded, and with a familiarity that made the Agents twitch, he slid an arm around Harry and the Secretary. "While I have your undivided attention, let’s talk expansion plans."
"Chris," Fred said. "I need a dress, quickly."
"For who?"
"Me."
Chris stopped dead. "I’m going to regret this," he muttered. "Why?"
"Daphne needs a maid of honour. And as we have no women we know that well here, I’m going to do it."
"I do regret it. So you want me to find a dress that suits a 5 foot 6 inch tall red-head male in less than five minutes?"
"Problem?" Fred asked cheerfully.
"Why don’t I take care of this," Agent D said, interrupting. "I know just the place, and if we hurry…"
Fred nodded and grinned at Chris. "Take care of the guests," he smiled.
"Just one question," Chris said. "Why are there a load of Secret Service agents suddenly around?"
"Harry’s got friends in very high places," Agent D said quietly. "And some of the guests are very important."
Chris nodded. "Thank you for choosing our hotel," he said seriously.
Fred smiled. "We like to see friends get on in the world," he said cheerfully. "And now, Agent D, let us depart forth — and fifth — with."
They stepped into the original boutique, where Agent D took a dress off the rack and made Fred pay for it.
"What about fitting?"
"No time," Agent D said, running back to the hotel. "Change, quick."
Fred did as he was told, and laughed hysterically as he saw himself in the mirror. The dress only came to his upper thighs.
Agent D smiled, pulled out her wand, and started to cast spell after spell after spell. The skirt lengthened, the bodice tightened, the colour changed, and somehow Fred acquired a distinctively female figure. His shoes changed from black dress shoes into seafoam green sling-back heels. His socks gave him a case of the heebie-jeebies when they turned into stockings and crawled up his legs, getting far too friendly, he thought, with his manly bits. He also acquired longer hair and a makeup job that de-emphasised his freckles and his masculine jaw line while drawing attention to his eyes and lips.
"You’re really good at that," Fred noted. "If you ever want to leave the Bureau, give us a call. We can always use talented people."
"You mean that?"
Fred nodded.
Agent D looked thoughtful. "Agent K and I have been thinking about it," she confessed. "The Bureau frowns on relationships between Agents."
"We’re going to be here for a few days; come see us after we get Harry and Daphne on a plane."
"You’re done," Agent D said.
Fred looked at himself in a mirror. "Wow, I’d date me," he grinned.
They ran out and across the hall — Fred remarking that only in Vegas would a cross-dressing redhead in a bridesmaid’s dress be treated as normal — and burst into the room where Daphne was waiting.
"Whoa!" Fred said, blinking repeatedly.
"What he said," Agent D agreed.
"I look okay?" Daphne said nervously. "This was supposed to be small and easy," she mumbled.
"Okay?" Agent D asked. "If we don’t have to pick up Harry’s — and every other male in the building’s — tongues, I’ll eat my hat."
Daphne smiled nervously, and then seemed to focus on him directly.
"Why are you wearing a dress?"
"You need a maid of honour, and since George had to watch your stripper earlier, it’s my turn."
"You two are certifiably insane," Daphne said flatly.
"Agreed," Agent D muttered.
"Guilty as charged," Fred agreed. "But you look great, you’re having fun, and you’re about to have the wedding you secretly dreamed of."
"True," Daphne said slowly. She looked up and for the first time, smiled directly at Fred.
Fred felt his heart speed up a little, and he shook himself. Daphne leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you," she said.
"You’re welcome," Fred squeaked, feeling his face heat up. "Now, come on, Harry’s waiting."
Daphne nodded, and steadied herself. "Let’s go."
They walked out together, a hotel employee handing them both flowers as they walked past, and entered the hall.
As they entered, a forty-piece orchestra in the corner took up the traditional wedding march.
"Slow down," Daphne whispered without moving her lips. "Walk with the music."
The room, decorated in white with enough flowers to keep a small florist in business for a year, looked fantastic.
Fred walked with Daphne, concentrating on keeping his balance, not used to walking in heels, and smiled as he looked at Harry.
Harry’s new tuxedo emphasised just how good he could look, and he could only be described as awestruck as he looked at Daphne.
The white off-the-shoulder dress she was wearing made her lightly tanned skin glow; her eyes, emphasised by the Muggle makeup, were sparkling; and her hair seemed be giving off its own light.
Fred looked at her and smiled softly. This girl was so in love with his friend that there could have been a million men in front of her, and she would have only had eyes for him. He sniffed a little, suddenly feeling a little sorry for his sister, but one look at Harry made him realise that he felt the same way about Daphne.
Fred took his place next to Daphne, and winked at George as the minister started the ceremony.
It was five in the morning, Harry and Daphne had just left for the airport in one of the Hotel’s limos, and the party was finally winding down.
There were people crashed all over the suite. The Secretary, with his wife, was asleep on the couch, several fresh Agents surrounding them.
Agents K and D, or former agents, as they soon would be were spooned up together on a couch in a way that left no one in doubt about their relationship.
Chris and Ed were snoozing with the two girls from the dress shop, and around them, everyone seemed very happy.
"Good wedding," George said softly.
"Yep, Mum’s going to kill us when she finds out we were here and she wasn’t."
"True, worth it though."
"Absolutely. As we always say, if you want something done, you can pick anyone off the street, but if you want something done properly, with style and panache, then you really have to choose a Weasley. By the way, where did you send them on honeymoon?"
"Bora Bora, in the Caribbean."
"Nice. What are we going to do now?"
Fred grinned. "Everything is paid for, and Harry’s winnings from earlier are just sitting around doing nothing."
"Poker?"
"Breakfast first, then poker, then business, then the Ministry, then more poker, and then we can Portkey home."
"Busy day. No sleep?"
"We’re young and good looking, who needs sleep?"
They looked up as two stunning girls finished their drinks and headed toward them. "Maybe breakfast can wait," Fred said softly.
"Absolutely!"
A/N: Yes, I know where Bora Bora is…)