Without a word, Daphne took him by the hand and led him to a nearby stone bench, out of sight of the reception. The night air was chilly and nippy for this first weekend of February. Harry had to be at least grateful that Malfoy, the bastard, hadn't scheduled his nuptials for something truly gaudy like Valentine's Day, with the reception in Madame Puddifoot's. Even then and at any rate, that ghastly ambience would pale in comparison to the one here.