This was not the best use of a Saturday, he had to admit, but Thom was finding himself rather amused by the entire ordeal. He had no personal investment in the wedding and had only attended out of obligation; Mr. Hoggle had a business connection to Quality Quaffle and Snitch, and Thom tired to keep his business relationships intact as well as possible. Whether or not the man married, however, was none of his concern. He certainly could not bring himself to care whether the marriage began under inauspicious circumstances, as the bride apparently believed it would. He'd heard rumors of a possibly prophetic dream the night before and a murder of six crows on the balcony that morning, but at this point he wasn't sure what was real and what was merely speculation.

The family of the bride was flitting in and out of the house anxiously, and Thom had taken up a seat in one of the garden chairs to watch them come and go, and to speculate about what they might be doing. Going inside to try and convince the bride to leave her room was understandable, but he didn't understand why so many of them seemed to think they needed to check on the guests on the lawn; their nervousness wasn't helping anything, and it wasn't as though they had anything in the way of useful information to provide.

As he sat sipping his cocktail, Thom saw a pair of shutters fly open on the second floor. "Ho! Look at that," he said, loudly enough that anyone nearby would have been able to hear. "I think that's the bride's room, don't you?"

What was she doing? Trying to get some fresh air? Sending an owl? Or perhaps someone had finally succeeded in breaking into her room and they had opened the window?

(Or it was a servant in an unoccupied room doing some very untimely airing-out, but that wasn't as much fun to speculate about).