To Dwell on Dreams

Chapter Four

Dumbledore's Man

"Do you, William Arthur Weasley, take this woman to be your wedded wife?"

There was not a dry female eye in the rows of seats. Harry exchanged a glance with Ron, who looked quite uncomfortable in his golden robes. Harry felt quite lucky to be allowed to attend the wedding as a normal guest; at least he and Hermione didn't have to wear indecently shiny clothes.

"I do."

Mrs. Weasley gave a dry sob at this, and then wept into the shoulder of Mr. Weasley, whose eyes looked a little misty. Ron sighed in impatience and shifted into a slouch. Hermione threw an urgent glare at him. It was quite noticeable.

"And do you, Fleur Antoinette Delacour, take--"

"I do," interrupted Fleur.

Now Mrs. Weasley was openly weeping. Ron shot a look at Harry that clearly said he wished Fleur had bothered to do that - hurrying everything along - during the rest of the ceremony too. Ginny pulled at the tight waist of her dress robes. Gabrielle watched her coolly, then smirked at Harry, as if she thought he would find this crude and amusing. Ginny scowled down at her.

"Very well. I now pronounce you man and--"

Bill had decided, evidently, that the marriage wizard's statement afterward was unnecessary, for he descended upon Fleur and kissed her. Fred let out a whoop of admiration, and the guests cheered. The marriage wizard deflated, giving up, and smiled. After a full thirty seconds, when Bill and Fleur were still attached at the lips, Ron called out, a grin plastered on his face, "Get a room!"

"I think I'll go change," wheezed Ginny, as she passed Harry and Hermione. "I don't want to spend the next few hours in this monstrosity." She jabbed viciously at the dress robes. They made her look like a bell, with the tight golden top covered in glitter and the skirt that flared out dangerously. She struggled her way toward the house, followed by a triumphant-looking Gabrielle, who hadn't seem to have even broken a sweat.

Harry gazed out at the crowd of guests. There weren't that many: just family and close friends, since it was safer to have fewer people, and only those that were trusted. "So... a banquet now?" he asked, puzzled. He glanced at the sun, high up in the sky. "It's only three in the afternoon. That's a little early, isn't it? I thought the wedding and everything weren't over 'till ten."

Hermione looked exasperated. "There's the banquet, but then there's a dance," she said. "Mr. Weasley's planned it. It's all Muggle-themed. It'll be like a barbecue. Personally, I don't know if--"

But Harry was still frozen in horror at her first piece of information. "Dance?" he repeated, paling. "Dance?"

"Yes, and you should go, as you're..." Hermione caught a glimpse of his face. "Anything wrong, Harry?"

"No one told me there was going to be a dance!"

Hermione sighed, as if speaking to a toddler who was having an exceptionally hard time understanding her. "There's always a dance, Harry. I don't think anyone told you because we all assumed you know."

"B-But... my dress robes are too small." Harry smirked inwardly. Perfect. An excuse.

"Harry." Hermione looked annoyed now. "Muggle themed. I'm sure you have plenty of Muggle clothes. Just find something relatively nice. I doubt anyone will notice." Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You aren't thinking of skipping the party, are you? Because that'd be really rude."

"Er, no," lied Harry.

An hour later, a rather grumpy Harry was leaning against the wall of house, glaring at the other guests, who seemed to be having fun. Next to him, Hermione chattered happily, seemingly unaware of her captive's annoyance. Right after the ceremony, Harry had gone up to the room he shared with Ron, stayed in it for a while, then came out and told Hermione that no, he did not have anything decent.

He was rather unlucky. Hermione had pushed past him and searched through his trunk, immediately emerging with a green button-up shirt that "matched his eyes" and a pair of slightly wrinkled but decent black trousers. Then she had waited outside his closed door as he changed. He had contemplated climbing out the window, but then decided he'd be dragged into the party anyway. Then he thought about climbing out the window in his boxers, Ron's Chudley Cannons hat on his head, covering his face. The guests might think he was a random madman. But that would have been embarrassing if he was caught. So unwillingly, he'd come out of the room the normal way and followed Hermione into the party.

"Harry!" Hermione turned toward him, looking excited. "Bilius has just told me something."

"What?" Harry snapped.

Hermione frowned. "Well, there's no point in taking that tone of voice," she said innocently. "I was just going to tell you about how Bilius mastered nonverbal spells. See, he'd been having trouble, and..."

Harry tuned her out. He was more than a little annoyed with her at the moment. Where was Ron, anyway? There was a small explosion. Harry's head whirled toward it, his hand immediately reaching for his wand. Mr. Weasley was at the grill, his face black and sooty, chuckling. Harry scowled. Get a grip on yourself, Potter, he told himself scathingly. Not everything's a bloody attack.

Ron appeared a minute later, looking thoroughly miserable. Harry's anger at him subsided. Auntie Muriel was dragging Ron along the dance floor, a glass of firewhisky in her hand. By the look of her, she was absolutely drunk. Ron's eyes were pleading with Harry. Harry sighed, then inclined his head the tiniest bit.

"Hey, Auntie Muriel," said Ron, clearly delighted. "This is Harry Potter. My best mate." Silently, he mouthed, She's drunk.

Harry rolled his eyes. "Your mate, you say?" Auntie Muriel replied, giggling. She hiccuped. "Is that what you call them these days? Funny, Ronnie, you never struck me as someone who'd follow in the footsteps of your great-uncle... er, was it Joseph? Well, anyway, I remember the day I saw him kissing his 'best friend' Dewey in the broom cupboard..."

Ron turned the color of a tomato. "Auntie Muriel, I meant 'best friend,' not--"

"'Course you did," she said, probably trying to pat his shoulder but patting his nose instead. "That's what they all say. No need to hide things from your Auntie Muriel, Ronnie. Auntie Muriel always knows." She tried to tap her nose knowingly but put her finger up her nose. "Oopsies!"

The boys exchanged grimaces. "You're a fine figure," continued Auntie Muriel, sizing Harry up. Then, without warning, she reached out and pinched him in the bottom. Ron's eyes widened. "Nice arse," she commented. Harry was frozen in horror. Hermione had a hand over her mouth in shock.

"Th-Thank you?" Harry managed, his voice an octave higher than usual.

"Let's dance, you sexy beast!"

A sound halfway between a gasp and a scream escaped Harry's throat as he was pulled onto the dance floor. Ron, who'd seemingly got over the arse-incident, guffawed loudly. Hermione slapped him lightly on the arm.

"Er... don't you think you ought to put that glass down?" Harry asked. His voice was still not back to normal. The firewhisky was threatening to slosh out of the glass as Auntie Muriel led Harry around in a very sharp and twisted tango.

"Nope. I'm just fine." Auntie Muriel giggled, took a sip, and then sloshed firewhisky all over Harry's shirtfront. She shrugged and threw the glass aside, grabbing both of Harry's arms. "Twirl me!" she shouted.

Around them, other guests were starting to stare. Most looked amused. Harry saw that one of them was Fred Weasley, who had a rather ominous glint in his eye. Harry hoped fervently no one had a camera. "Twirl me!" repeated Auntie Muriel. "Twirl me in your strong, manly arms! Love me! LOVE ME!"

Harry was ready to sink into the ground. Fred was now smirking. "May I have a turn?" asked a quiet voice behind Harry. Harry turned around. Cho Chang stood there, looking forlorn and tired. Any confusion over why she was at the party was quashed by relief.

Auntie Muriel grumbled and stalked in her direction. "You may have his body, but you will never have his heart, you scarlet woman." She slapped the air in front of Cho's face, then, apparently satisfied, pushed into the crowd.

"Thanks," Harry said gratefully as he and Cho began to dance. The others soon lost interest, preferring to snicker over the memory of Harry and Auntie Muriel. "I, erm, heard about your parents."

"Yeah." Cho didn't say anything else for a long time. "It was Greyback," she added suddenly. "Greyback and a few other werewolves. My parents were packing for their trip up to Scotland, to visit my aunt and uncle. I was over at Marietta's house. You know" - her eyes filled with tears - "they were looking forward to this wedding. Mum was a friend of the Prewetts... that's Mrs. Weasley's family, for the longest time."

"Oh." Harry wasn't sure what to say.

Cho pulled her hand away and wiped away her tears furiously, as if disgusted with them. "I promised myself I wouldn't cry," she said, half to herself. "I've done enough crying; I've been Cho-the-Walking-Hosepipe long enough. That's why Michael broke up with me, you know. Because I was a bloody hosepipe."

"Oh." Harry was feeling slightly stupid and uncomfortable now. The last time he'd spoken with Cho, they hadn't exactly been friendly.

"Are you only able to say 'oh?'" snapped Cho, looking annoyed. Then she sighed. "I'm sorry," she added after a long and excruciatingly nasty pause. "I just... I don't know what to think these days. My parents, and now the thought of Michael. I thought I came here in place of my parents, but maybe - look, Harry, I'm sorry about what happened in my sixth year. Just don't think that was me."

"I know that wasn't you," Harry answered truthfully. "Hermione explained it to me. It was just a little, you know, awkward, and you kept on running away from me last year."

Cho let out a giggle. "I thought you'd be angry. Oh, and tell Hermione Granger I'm sorry for all those nasty looks I gave her when we were going out. I really did think she fancied you." The tension broke, and both teenagers began to laugh, even though Cho's comment wasn't really funny.

"Look," Harry said, after a while, his smile fading. "I'm sorry for being such a prat then. I know Marietta's your best friend, and I know I would have stood up for Ron or Hermione if they'd done the same thing."

"Apology accepted." Cho smiled weakly. "Friends?"

"Yeah." The song ended. "Thanks for the dance." Harry grinned. "So I'll see you around?"

"Bye, Harry." Cho turned and started off into the crowd. Harry watched her go. She looked so worn, crushed by her parents' deaths, but she had a small spring in her step. He was glad he'd been able to do that for her.

"So... the Chosen One," a voice snarled behind Harry. Harry wheeled around, and found himself facing a sneering Amos Diggory. Mrs. Diggory looked worried. Amos wobbled a bit, then steadied himself against a tree. "Shouldn't you be out there, searching for ways to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? After all, we don't want my son to have died in vain, just because the boy responsible is out partying."

"Amos, stop," Mrs. Diggory pleaded, but Harry barely heard her. All the weight that had blissfully departed for the last week came crashing down on Harry's shoulders again. What was he thinking? Amos was right. What right did he have to be out here, when he ought to have been trying to find the Horcruxes, so that Dumbledore and the others would have died for a purpose? He should have left right after the ceremony...

"Quiet, love. Can't you see? He's out here having fun, while Cedric - Cedric..." Amos was unable to complete the sentence, as he had started to weep.

"Please go," said Mrs. Diggory. "He's not himself right now..."

"No, he's right," Harry murmured. "I shouldn't be here."

"Why not?" Ron demanded from behind him. Harry looked over his shoulder to see Ron and Hermione standing there, looking angry. "I swear, if Mr. Diggory's bothering you, Harry, I don't care how many sons he's lost; no one should say things like that to you."

"I'll take care of him, Ron," said Mrs. Diggory hurriedly. "Right now, go, before he gets violent. Oh, I knew I shouldn't have let him out of my sight. He goes straight to the firewhisky whenever I do."

"Come on." Harry motioned toward the Burrow. Hermione started to leave, but Ron stood rooted to where he was, his eyes glinting with fury. "Let's go, Ron."

"We used to have these meetings with Dumbledore, to talk about what happened," said Mrs. Diggory nervously, "but now that Dumbledore's gone and not around to calm Amos down--"

"Dumbledore!" Ron's face was absolutely etched with fury. "Don't talk about 'the greatness' of Dumbledore to me! Dumbledore was nothing: he was a conniving, manipulative bastard at the most. If only you've seen some of the things he's done--"

"Ron?" Hermione looked worried. "Ron... what's going on?" She reached for his arm, perhaps to calm him down, but Harry was quicker.

Ron stopped ranting, and stared at the wand pointed at his chest. "Don't. Talk. About. Dumbledore. Like. That," Harry gritted, his entire body shaking. His anger had flared up without warning.

"You don't know what he was really like, Harry," Ron replied in a whisper, as the Diggorys and Hermione watched, frozen in shock. His voice was half angry, half pleading. "He sent you to the Dursleys, even though your parents were against it. He tried to send Sirius to the Death Eaters once, you know, to be a spy. Never mind they would have probably torn him apart - his words were, 'There's a possibility they'd accept you.' Your dad intervened, said it was ridiculous, and he had to give up after a while."

"You don't know anything about my father," Harry spat. "So how do you know this?"

Ron looked at a loss. "I... I..."

"Exactly," Harry sneered. A little voice in the back of his mind was saying that Ron was acting strangely, that there was something he didn't know, but he squashed it. Right now, all he saw was someone who was insulting Dumbledore, his mentor and his friend.

"Lupin," said Ron finally. "Lupin."

"Lupin told you?"

"No! Look what he did to Lupin, what he forced him to do with the werewolves..."

The Diggorys looked confused now. Other guests were turning, curious. A few looked alarmed. They were starting to come over. "Lupin agreed to do it," Harry hissed back. "He wasn't forced into it." The wand point dug deeper into Ron's chest. Hermione gasped. Harry heard it from a distance; all he could hear was the rage thrumming through his ears, that Ron would dare insult Dumbledore like that.

"Harry, stop. Ron's just tired." Hermione put a hand on Harry's arm, but he shook it off.

"Fine," spat Ron. "If you're going to persist in being an arsehole..." He pulled out his own wand. Hermione moaned in despair. "Look, I just want you to listen, and if I have to curse you to make you shut up--"

Harry pursed his lips. What should he use? He wanted to teach Ron a lesson, but he wanted Ron to take his words back too. Ron wasn't doing anything. Levicorpus, he thought, and Ron was dangled upside down. "Hey!"

"Harry, I can't believe you used--" Hermione started, but Ron interrupted her, shouting the incantation for Jelly-Legs. Harry dodged it, and Ron fired another jinx. A pair of arms grabbed Harry from behind; from the shouts, he could tell it was Neville. Ginny and Hermione had a hold of Ron. Hermione had performed the counterspell, and Ginny was trying to wrest his wand from his grip.

"Furnunculus!" Harry shouted. Ron dodged the curse and countered it with another one, as Ginny had been unsuccessful.

"STOP!" Mr. Weasley appeared on the scene, looking absolutely livid. Harry had never seen him so angry before. Both Harry and Ron froze mid-struggle. "I cannot believe this!" Mr. Weasley seethed. "Bill and Fleur's wedding, Ron! And Harry, I thought you had more self control! I want both of you in Ron's room! NOW!"

Harry felt Neville let go of his arms. He stared at the ground as he and Ron trudged toward the Burrow, watched by a silent crowd. Behind them, Harry could hear Mr. Weasley breathing, loud and furiously. Ron looked miserable. Harry bit his lip. What had come over them?

It seemed to take seconds for them to reach Ron's bedroom at very top floor of the Burrow. Mr. Weasley jabbed a finger in the direction of Ron's bed, which they sat on without complaint, then slammed the door shut. It was then when he seemed to deflate. Instead of a shout came a quiet and defeated, "Why? Why boys?"

Neither Harry nor Ron could answer the question. Mr. Weasley sat down on Harry's bed, across from them. "I don't know why you chose Bill and Fleur's wedding day to have this fight. Answer my question. Ron?"

"I dunno," Ron muttered.

"Harry?"

"He was talking about Dumbledore."

"I see." Mr. Weasley turned toward his son. "I must warn you not to do that again. Dumbledore was a great man, despite whatever faults you may have discovered by some means or the other. I don't care what those means were; I want you to forget you ever heard these things about Dumbledore. Now. I'm going to leave you two up here to talk it out, even though Molly's going to have a fit. She thinks you'll try to duel again without me up here. But I think you two can handle it. Good night."

And with that, he left, closing the door softly behind him.

"'M sorry," mumbled Ron. "For insulting Dumbledore. But I'd rather not talk about how I know those things, if it's all right with you."

"I'm sorry too, for cursing you," Harry replied, ignoring the part about Dumbledore. He found he didn't want to know, because then he'd want to destroy the source, for telling such lies about Dumbledore.

"Yeah." Ron was silent for a moment. "That was pretty stupid of us, wasn't it?"

"A little."

"Glad it's over, though. One of those things is bound to happen between every pair of best mates, sometime in their lives. And we're through it, without a scratch."

They exchanged glances. Ron was covered in dirt and leaves, from when Hermione had released him from the spell, and Harry's shirt was ripped. Ron was first to grin. Harry found himself in the second unexplainable bout of laughter he'd had that day. "I'm Ron. Ron Weasley. What's your name?" said Ron, sticking out a hand.

"I'm Harry. Harry Potter."

Ron mimicked the shocked look on his face that had appeared the first time they met, and they shook hands. "Well, I hope we'll be friends, Harry."

"Best mates, even." This elicited another laughing fit. Ron chucked a Chocolate Frog at Harry, which he snatched from the air. A few moments later, Ron choked on his own frog, forcing Harry to come over and help him get it out. This led to a louder roar of laughter.

"Bet they think we're hitting each other with Tickling Charms or something up here," gasped Ron between peals of laughter. "Probably think we're tickling each other to death."

"You think?" asked Harry. "That's pretty sinister and evil."

Ron stuffed a fist in his mouth to keep his laughter in. "Hey, I don't fancy going back down there. The party wasn't much fun, anyway, and Fleur'll have my head for ruining her party. Let's play chess."

"All right."

Three hours later, when Hermione came up to check on them, she found them huddled together, their heads nearly touching. Ron smirked and moved his knight forward, crowing with triumph. "Check!"

"That's the fourteenth time," grumbled Harry.

Hermione shut the door with a faint smile. Boys.