[potter wedding] stars when you shine [ginny]

the burrow // 19 july 2003

Hermione watched the door close behind Mrs Weasley, finally leaving her and Ginny alone for the first time in what felt like ages. In truth, it was the first time in maybe 36 hours; Hermione had only taken Friday off of work -- her first day off? maybe -- but there had been so much activity and excitement and general wedding flurry that it felt like much more time had passed.

She was much more organized today than she had been with the bachelorette party; this was the good kind of organization, drawing up the day-of schedule far in advance. Still, the little pockets of rest -- to eat, to slip out and see Ron -- had been squeezed out and she didn’t think Ginny had been all that honest when her mum had asked if she was nervous; not being left alone, Hermione had let it lie. Until now, anyway.

She turned her back on the door, taking in the surreal view of Ginny in her wedding dress once again. She’d seen her in it before, but it was different with her hair done, her makeup, the whole vibe. Hermione swallowed and pushed back her emotions -- Ginny was like a sister to her and she was getting married -- again. (And of course, Harry was like a brother to her but it was better if she didn’t have both those thoughts too close together.)

Ginny tugged up her not-really-a-sleeve sleeve again, some chiffon sort of something that Hermione had seen slip a couple times since she’d put the dress on. “Can I just--” she pointed quickly to the issue — and thankful for the distraction — not waiting for a response before she had her wand in one hand and the fabric of her own dress -- it was floor length and she hadn’t put her shoes on yet -- in the other and closed the gap between them. “Not a permanent one, mind.” Enough of a sticking charm to get her through the ceremony and reception, at least. She went ahead and did the same with the other side, just in case.

She took a step back and released her dress so she could cross her hands across her chest. “Are you alright, really?” She narrowed her eyes, suspicious and with at least ten minutes before they needed to be anywhere else.

The soft click of the door closing behind Mum sent a jolt of electricity through Ginny’s chest and down through her fingers. This was the most ‘alone’ she’d been all day (excluding when she went to have a pee), and the realization combined with the sudden relative silence was… deafening.
She could feel Hermione’s eyes on her before the older Gryffindor even turned around; to distract herself from the inevitable shift in attention, Ginny fidgeted absently with her capped sleeve. Predictably, Hermione fixated on it and was already closing in before the youngest Weasley could so much as and nod her assent. She trusted her basically-sister-in-law with her life (after all, she’d kept both Harry’s and Ron’s in check for the past twelve years), and thus had the utmost faith she could solve this minor wardrobe malfunction.

“Not a permanent one, mind.”

Ginny laughed.
“Good. As much as I love this dress… dunno if I love it enough to be stuck in it forever.”

She was quiet a moment as Hermione worked, letting her gaze drift around the room – her room. Only seemed fitting for her to get ready in here, on her last day as an unmarried woman. Her gaze lingered on her Holyhead Harpies poster (she was never taking it down, she’d decided), the faded and well-loved quilt on her twin bed (they’d need to upgrade that to at least a full), and finally out the window that overlooked the orchard (full of family and friends, mingling and finding their seats). No one’s face was upturned her way, at least not at the moment, and it gave Ginny a secret thrill. She was used to all eyes being on her, – had sort of made a career out of it, really – but sometimes it was nice to have the tables turned, however briefly.

“Are you alright, really?”

Ginny smiled ruefully, drawn out from her musings as her eyes found Hermione’s. She knew that look, to be sure: one of beady-eyed intent, like a bird of prey, determined to flush out any and all untruths. There was no point in pretending – not only would Hermione see right through it, but Ginny also knew there was no need for false pretense with her.
As the youngest of seven, Ginny had often learned to play the emotionally stoic card when it came to things like nerves, fear, and – at times – affection. Hermione was brilliant enough to see through all of that; and also tactful enough to not make a fuss out of any vulnerabilities or insecurities that Ginny did admit. After all, she’d entrusted Hermione with her secret skill on broomstick (and track record of breaking into the Weasley broom shed to fly her brothers’ brooms): and she’d kept it, right up until Ginny stepped up to take Harry’s place when he got himself banned in her fourth (their fifth) year.
That felt like a lifetime ago.

She nodded once in response.
“I am. A little nervous, I guess, but the good kind,” she reassured Hermione. “Like… pre-Quidditch jitters. Or… pre-exam jitters, for you.” Ginny waggled her eyebrows, teasing. “Honestly, I think it’s just the waiting building up to it that’s the worst.”

The smile Ginny was offering her was the sort of smile that told her she had been right. (She knew she was, but this would go so much smoother to have Ginny agree with her right off the bat.) She was nervous, and who could blame her? She’d only have one wedding, probably; the statistics weren’t exactly in Ginny’s favor, especially not when coupled with the rockiness she had had with Harry here and there and the chances being less good the younger a couple got married, but vocalizing any of that certainly wouldn’t help.

She raised her eyebrows instead, prompting Ginny to go on. Hermione was still a good listener, despite how practical her thoughts tended to skew.

Ginny was the good kind of nervous, which was good. Better than the other sort. She went on to explain it, and Hermione laughed, rolling her eyes slightly as she put it in a language—exam speak—she could understand. Hermione shrugged, as if she wasn’t obviously nervous before each and every exam she’d ever sat. They’d studied for their NEWTs together, anyway. Still, she nodded. She got it.

“Post-exam jitters are much worse.” Hermione had to rehash everything after she was done, second guessing every answer she had circled and every word she had chosen for an essay up until (and sometimes after) her grade had come back. But she was trying to distract Ginny, or course. “I doubt you’ll have any trouble with the afters,” she said, not letting her mind wander too far toward what she was hinting at as she waggled her own eyebrows right back at her.

“Post-exam jitters are much worse.”

Ginny laughed out loud at this.
“Riiight… for you, who insists on experiencing the entire ordeal at least twice, if not more,” she teased. The youngest Weasley had a long memory for personal slights and the like – but exams were another story. Once she finished that last question, she was done with thinking about it until her results came back. Though she’d had little choice during their last year of school but to oblige Hermione of the exhaustive post-exam review, as Harry and Ron had done for the other six.

“I doubt you’ll have any trouble with the afters.”

She grinned. “Daresay you’re right about that.”
The one thing she could honestly say she never had performance anxiety about… but she didn’t say that part out loud, for Hermione’s sake. If she’d been talking to any one of her other friends (except maybe Luna) then she likely would have said it, but the relationship between the four of them (her, Harry, Hermione, and Ron) was unlike any other. It felt… weird… to make even remotely sexual innuendos, however innocuous, involving someone’s functional sibling: which was effectively Hermione and Harry’s relationship.
In any case, it wasn’t like she’d ever want things any differently – she and Hermione had each been the sister the other never had, and while they hadn’t always seen eye-to-eye their relationship had meant much and more over the years.

Hunting for something else to say that might steer them away from that topic, she said the first thing that popped into her head: something she’d overheard last night at dinner, a thought triggered by the fact that her mum had recently left the room.
“F—George” – it was still a struggle to think of the twins as separate entities sometimes, and she felt her throat tighten transiently as she caught her verbal slip – “is running bets on how long it’ll take Mum to start crying: over-under thirty seconds.”
She grinned. “I told him whomever chooses ‘over’ clearly likes to lose their money.”

Ginny wasn’t wrong, really, but Hermione opened her mouth as if she were offended, being called out like that. It was all in good fun, though--Hermione was aware of her own little quirks--and she had made Ginny laugh. Distraction was the ultimate goal. Distract Ginny from whatever sort of jitters she had.

And they went almost too far on the subject of distraction, but it was good to give Ginny something to look forward to, if being married wasn’t enough on its own. Either way, she was grateful Ginny didn’t elaborate anymore than she did. Her hen night had been enough of that chat for quite a while.

Hermione heard that slip, the starts of Fred when she meant to say George, and she teetered forward on her toes in case Ginny dwelled over it too long-- but she recovered and Hermione stood down, focusing on what Ginny was saying after correcting to George. Her eyebrows went up, like it was a hard bet to make a choice on. She returned her grin easily.

“Whoever,” she corrected gently, before she could help herself, taking a step forward to poke a stray hairpin back into place near the crown of Ginny’s head. “But honestly, she was close to tears just doing up your buttons.” She rolled her eyes lightly in jest. Once Molly didn’t have any wedding things to focus on besides simply watching the ceremony… there was no hope, really. Hermione could only hope Mrs Weasley had more than one handkerchief handy.

There was a beat of silence and Hermione stepped over to where she had set her watch (after she had been told she couldn’t wear it down the aisle). “It’s nearly time,” she said, swallowing back another rush of emotions, blinking quickly to stop the tears she felt threatening to well up. She was realizing a little too late that once she had nothing to focus on besides simply watching the ceremony-- it was nice, all of this. Not for the first time, her thoughts drifted to Ron and she swallowed again before looking back to Ginny with another smile.