A/N: The author apologizes for taking a million shades of forever to continue this collection of snippets. I deeply appreciate each and every person who has followed, favourited, and/or left me a comment encouraging me to continue writing. Rest assured that, even after all this time, I am still at work. There are many, many things that may or may not be published, but I have been working on my writing and will hopefully be able to deliver some quality content. "Snippets" is, by far, my most popular published work, and I hope to continue it.

For now, I am working my way toward the most requested snippet—that of the long-awaited wedding. It's not this one, but I'm getting there. You'll see :) Until then, again, my deepest thanks to everyone who has stuck around until now.

The mid-May morning smelled of earth and clean, fresh air as the first weak rays of sunlight began to creep over the horizon. Harry took a moment to close his eyes and draw in a deep, steadying breath of the cool air around him. He stood just outside The Burrow's front door, dressed in a t-shirt and pyjama bottoms that he had pulled over his tired, slightly shaky body approximately seven hours earlier. He had known, even then, that any efforts to get a good night's sleep would be futile, but Molly had urged him to try anyway, and so he had gone through the motions.

After something like five hours of lying in the twins' old bedroom, having to take care to not fall out of the small bed as he tossed and turned, he had finally pushed himself up and carefully made his way down The Burrow's creaky stairs. Being out of the small, dark bedroom, with the damp, cool grass against his bare feet and the fresh air on his face, had done a bit of good for his nerves. He had watched the stars slowly wink out and the night sky lighten from deep purple to faint pink.

Now, a gentle breeze ruffled his hair and created a rustling noise nearby. Harry glanced at the immense piece of white material that lay neatly folded on the lawn, weighed down by several heavy metal poles. It had been delivered the previous evening. In a few hours, a team of witches and wizards would pop in, set the spacious tent up on the Weasleys' lawn, and pop back out again, hopefully without any complications. Harry was not sure he could bear it if anything went wrong—his nerves were frayed enough as it was.

Sighing, he scrubbed his hands over his face and through his hair, wishing that he had been able to get even a few hours of sleep. He would look exhausted and miserable by the time the wedding actually began. The last thing he wanted was to give Hermione the wrong impression. She had put so much time and effort into each detail of their wedding that the very thought of making her wonder, even for a moment, if he was not entirely committed to it made his insides squirm. Everything about the ceremony was to be tasteful and simple—Hermione had assured him multiple times that she did not want anything extravagant—but he knew that, simple or not, their wedding was deeply important to her as a celebration of their devotion to each other. He already felt rather guilty for his mounting anxiety.

It was not that he had developed cold feet. He was certain of that. He loved Hermione and had wanted to marry her for quite some time. He could not imagine the rest of his life with anyone but her. Indeed, he had spent the previous sleepless night missing her familiar warmth and weight next to him, inwardly cursing the tradition that kept them apart until the wedding. What, then, was the cause of the persistent wobbling in his knees, the squirming of his insides? Why, although he had read them over and over again, could he not remember even the first few words of his vows?

A soft creak made him turn around. A tall, redheaded man in a Chudley Cannons t-shirt and plaid pyjama bottoms was carefully closing the front door behind himself. Ron's hair was as rumpled as Harry's, though Harry knew that his friend's dishevelled appearance, unlike his own, was the result of sleep.

"Hey, mate," Ron said, his voice lowered to match the early hour.

Harry noticed a shadow of rust-coloured stubble on Ron's cheeks and chin when he turned around, his violently orange shirt rippling gently in the breeze. The shirt clashed spectacularly with Ron's hair.

"Everything okay?" Ron asked. "What are you doing out here?" After a moment, he added, "Not making a run for it or anything, are you?"

He asked the question lightly, but apprehension flickered momentarily in his eyes as the possibility occurred to him. As the best man, it would reflect rather badly on him if the groom were to disappear only hours before the ceremony.

Harry shook his head.

"Just needed some air," he murmured.

"Okay," said Ron. He moved to Harry's side on the dew-dotted grass. "Did you get any sleep?"

Harry gave a short, humourless laugh and shook his head. He reached under his glasses with his thumb and forefinger, massaging his tired eyes. Ron's calling attention to his lack of sleep had made them feel gritty.

"Couldn't," he said. "I'm going to look like hell."

"Nah." Ron absently rubbed the stubble on his chin. "We'll get you prettied up." He let out a short chuckle. "Though you do look like hell at the moment, and you didn't even have a proper stag party."

Harry's lips quirked.

"You only think it wasn't a proper stag party because you wanted strippers," he said. His stag party had been a subdued affair at the Three Broomsticks. All of his male friends had gathered to drink and reminisce about their Hogwarts days, mostly sharing as many stories about Harry as they could remember, from the heroic to the downright mortifying. Dozens of slightly tipsy and fully drunken toasts had been made in his name, and Harry had liked the whole thing very much, even though Ron had good-naturedly accused him of being henpecked when he continued to refuse to hire any sort of nude or partially nude dancers.

In truth, Hermione had told him to do whatever he liked, provided that he avoided anything he would not want to have to explain to her in the morning.

"I'll make sure there are a few at your stag party, whenever that is," he added. Ron grinned and shrugged one shoulder.

"We'll see," he said. "You're not exactly the poster boy for marriage just now, mate. Not with your face looking like that. Not getting cold feet, are you?" he asked more seriously.

"No," Harry said quickly, wincing inwardly. His unease really did show on his face, just as he had feared. "No, no. I'm just... I don't really know what I am. Nervous, I guess, but I don't know why." He sighed. "'Mione's taken care of everything for the wedding, and you know how she is about planning things, so it's not like anything can really go wrong there, but what else is there to be nervous about? I'm not afraid of my own fiancee, for heaven's sake," he said, more to himself than to Ron.

"Of course you aren't," his best man said reassuringly. He clapped a hand onto Harry's shoulder. "Look, she's important to you, right?"

"Of course," said Harry. "I wouldn't marry her otherwise."

"Right. And you wouldn't want to let her down?"

Harry's insides gave another uncomfortable wiggle at the thought.

"Never," he said. Ron nodded.

"Well, there it is, isn't it? You want her to have the perfect day, and you're worried about doing something to spoil it," he said. "But, really, Harry, I've seen my brothers get married plenty of times. It's not that hard." He gave Harry's shoulder a bracing shake. "You stay upright for the whole thing and don't say the wrong name during the vows, and you're all set. Even if you trip over your feet during the first dance, everyone will just think it's funny and a good story. We all know you're rubbish at dancing, anyway."

That managed to get a small, genuine chuckle out of Harry. It was at times like these that he was most grateful for Ron. His best mate's unshakable sense of brotherly humour could diffuse the tension in even the most stressful situations.

"Well, I still hope that won't happen," he said. "But..."

His momentary relief subsided back into a dull anxiety.

"It's not just the wedding, I guess," he said. "It's... everything afterwards, too, you know?"

"What do you mean?" Ron asked.

"Well, it's not like you just get married and everything's perfect from then on, is it?" Harry said. "There's a lot of work after, as well. It means a lot, being a husband."

He felt his mouth go a little dry with the word.

"More than just being a boyfriend, at least. And it's just... Well, you know I don't like to trot out my orphan sob story," he continued, rubbing the back of his neck just to do something with his hands, "but the fact is I didn't have parents to show me what a married couple is supposed to be like. It isn't as though my aunt and uncle were the best example, either." He glanced to the side, uncomfortable venturing into such territory even with his best friend. "I barely know what I'm doing. I guess I don't want to mess it up, is all. She deserves better than that. Hell," he said, throwing his hands up in desperation, "she deserves better than me, honestly. And-"

"Harry," Ron said, cutting him off. "She loves you."

"I know that, but-"

"No, listen," Ron interjected again. "Seriously. Because, honestly, I don't know if I'm going to be able to repeat this."

Indeed, he had gone a little red. Close as the two best friends were, and as much as they would each be there for the other when needed, they still tended to avoid discussing emotions in any detail.

"Look," he said. "Hermione loves you. She always has. Even I could tell. Why do you think I was so jealous of you two, back then?"

It had been a very, very long time since anyone had brought up the things that the Horcrux locket had once used to torture Ron, years ago in a frozen forest.

"You know I don't feel like that anymore," he said quickly, "but it drove me mad back then, because I knew that, deep down, you would always be the one she chose. There was always something between the two of you that went beyond just being friends, even if you swore up and down that there wasn't. And when something like that has lasted this long... You're not going to be able to mess it up just by making a few little mistakes."

He gave Harry's shoulder a firm squeeze.

"Hermione knows what happened to you as a kid," he said. "She knows how your aunt and uncle were. She's not going to expect you to be the perfect husband. She's marrying you because she loves you and she's willing to give you the chance to learn." He gave Harry a knowing grin. "When has Hermione ever passed up an opportunity to teach anybody anything? So let her."

Harry found himself quickly turning his face away in order to wipe his eyes. It was enough for Ron to bravely face the challenge of talking about his best mate's feelings; Harry would not subject him to dealing with crying as well. The sun continued to rise, warming them as he took a moment to compose himself. He was still exhausted, to be certain, but he felt a little steadier.

"I knew there was a reason I picked you as my best man," he finally said, offering Ron a grin and a light punch on the shoulder as silent thanks. Ron grinned back.

"You might take that back when you hear the toast," he said. "Come on," he added, turning back to the front door. "We'll get some breakfast into you and try to make you look a little more human before anyone sees you. You'll give Mum nightmares at this rate."

"All right, all right," said Harry. With another quick swipe at his eyes to ensure that he really would not look as though he had been crying, he took another deep breath and followed his best man into The Burrow.