Fred forgot the words and George mixed up the phrases. Hermione was so nervous that she hadn’t eaten all day and her tummy growled mid-way through the ceremony. George’s hands were sweaty and Fred kept biting his lip until she was sure it was going to bleed. Her hair hated the humidity and was frizzy, which wasn’t nearly as attractive as she had hoped.

There were snickers from where Ron was sitting and she heard Harry hiss at him right before a loud yelp signaled that someone had thwacked Ron. Molly was crying, soft sobs muffled by Arthur’s shoulder, and her parents were silent, probably in awe by the whole ceremony.

It wasn’t smooth or perfect by any means. By the time they finished reciting the words and the magic spread over the three of them, there had been snickers, laughs, stammers, sweaty palms and swollen lips, and a moment when she had almost started crying because it wasn’t going the way it was supposed to when she’d planned it. Then she looked at Fred and George, saw their smiles and the way they looking at her, and realized that perfect wasn’t important when they were hers.

End