Fred had never seen a Muggle wedding dress before, couldn’t understand Hermione’s insistence on wearing one instead of traditional wizarding robes but he accepted it anyway, figuring it was fair enough for Hermione to want to marry her two cultures at the same time as she was marrying him.

When he sees her walking down the aisle towards him on her father’s arm, for once in his life he’s stunned into speechlessness, the ivory of the dress warm against her alabaster skin, clinging to every curve, her hair sleek and tamed and just begging for him to mess it up later. She looks more beautiful than he’s ever seen her and as he takes her hand, he thinks he really should listen to her more often: after all, she’s usually right about these things.