Harry took his place leaning against a post leading into the tent, near the back of the assembly. He watched as a small four-piece orchestra started up the march, the wafting melody signaling Rosie to begin her glide up the aisle. Harry noticed how his niece, the Matron of Honor, was distracted by her pack of little ones, attempting to corral them with nothing but her eyes even as her poor husband tried to get the squirreliest ones to sit still with his bare hands, the whole lot seated in the front row.