Scarlet Woman

The sun had come out for Ron and Hermione's wedding, bathing the grounds of St. Emphysema's in a warm, sweet light. I searched for a trace of scarlet hair, but it was barely possible to see through the crowd of witches and wizards, all clad in pastel robes. We looked like a sweetshop, a swirl of frosty pinks, dusky mauves, lemon and sunshine yellows, mint greens and soft, subdued greys.

The first thing I did when I woke up that morning was put on my brand new, ever-so-nice smile I had been perfecting of late. I wanted to radiate the innocence and sweetness that Neville Longbottom used to have, but got lost along the way.

I couldn't quite forget what Ariadne had said at the Hag. 'I hear you've been a very naughty boy'. I had initially panicked, and begged her to tell me what she meant but there's only so much you can out of a surly mute. She just smiled that cat eyed, half smile of hers whenever I asked and on some occasions, winked. My more optimistic side tried to persuade me that she was joking, but the pessimist overruled. Today was the test- I would see where, if anywhere, the gossip had got to.

I snapped out of my pensive state to see that the crowd was moving towards the church. I started to follow them, stumbling slightly so as not to fall behind. It was quite funny, really. All my life I had tried to follow the crowd and never quite got there!

I entered the church, slightly wary of the repulsive sweetness we were about to witness. I scanned the rows of heads at the pews for Gran's lilac, peacock-feathered hat, finally finding it next to a lime green bowler. I said my "excuse me"s, shuffling along the row until I reached my place.

Ron was looking extremely green at the alter, not sure whether to stand still or pace in pointless circles. I could vaguely see Harry trying to calm him down, and at the same time trying to get to grips with his best man's speech. And then I saw Mrs. Weasley, hanging on to her husband's arm for dear life, looking worse than the Groom. She looked delicious in creamy chiffon robes with blue embroidery and a matching blue hat with a silk flower, letting the material flow off her sumptuous curves. It was only when Mr. Weasley caught my eye that I realised I was staring rather openly- perhaps even drooling, God forbid. I choked with embarrassment, telling myself what a dirty, dirty boy I was. I shuffled my feet, averted my eyes and suddenly became very interested in my newly polished black lace up size tens.

Luckily, Hermione's prompt arrival took my mind off the certain voluptuous redhead. Unfortunately, though, it wasn't the bride I was oohing and aahing over. My attentions were brought to a certain flame haired beauty instead. I had barely looked at the bride before my eyes wandered to Ginny, walking behind her in saffron satin. Her bright hair, flowing down her back to meet that warm shade was more than I could take. She was like a goddess, a beholder of the flame and I could feel her fire alive in me.

The church bells rang out, awakening me from my reverie and the ceremony began.

*

The sun hit the roof of the pale marquee, bringing in a hazy, shaded light. I was blissfully unaware of the wedding reception around me, having taken to the champagne quite quickly. I was watching Mrs. Weasley drag a reluctant Ron around the dance floor. Her skirt twirled out behind her as she executed some complicated criss-cross with extreme vigour.

I couldn't spot Mr. Weasley anywhere. Although I was dead scared he might know our little secret, his absence didn't reassure me at all. In fact, it made me very nervous. Very nervous that he would suddenly come storming in like some wild thing, robes torn and hanging off his lean shoulders screaming my name. Perhaps he was so broken by his wife's affair he couldn't bear to attend his own son's wedding.

I poured some more champagne, watching the small bubbles with real intent. The more I thought about my problems, the worse they would get Come to think of it, ignoring my problems wouldn't solve anything either, but I'd rather be blind drunk than frustrated any day.

I couldn't remember how many glasses I'd had when I saw the Groom moving across the floor towards me but I suppose I was just a bit past tipsy. Ron looked a little bit worse for wear himself, if not incredibly uncomfortable. I barely noticed him sit down next to me and I didn't acknowledge the awkward silence between us. It was only when Ron stood up, paced a few steps and sat back down that I really noticed him.

"Nice wedding," I offered, not being sure how to make wedding small talk. Ron nodded, smiled falsely, got up again and then sat back down, opening his mouth as if to speak and then stopping himself in a deep frown.

"Um, yeah. Thanks."

He poured himself a glass of champagne and we both stared at the bubbles for a while.

"How's.. er.. Hermione?" I asked after a long pause, tracing my finger around the edge of my glass.

This seemed to relax Ron a little. A small smile spread across his face as he looked down at his ring.

"It's.. weird, Neville. She's my.. well, she's my wife." He broke off, shaking his head in disbelief.

I gave him my charming I'm-happy-for-you smile in return and offered him a top up of champagne.

"Stuff gives you a bloody awful hangover," Ron remarked. It was then that I started to realise that Ron was procrastinating about something. It was obvious from his somewhat incoherent babble and his unfocussed, darting eyes. I broke him off halfway through his fascinating spiel about French nineteenth-century vineyards, staring straight at him. I told him what he wanted to hear.

"I'm not seeing your mum anymore."

Ron just stared at me, a little taken aback.

"Er, yes, well.. I know," he muttered, scratching his ear uncomfortably.

"How's Ginny?" I asked, not feeling like skirting around the subject. The wonders of alcohol. "I told her I shagged your mum."

Oh, that was wicked. I watched him cringe at the word 'shag', enjoying it far more than I should. He began to twist the yellow gingham tablecloth in his hands, wearing that frown that not even his own wedding could remove.

"You can never tell with Ginny. She's a strong person," said Ron, more to his hands than to me. Had I not been under the influence, I might've shut up and allowed him to enjoy the best day of his life. But the fact was, I was becoming less and less myself with every sip. I just wanted to make him squirm.

"Did you talk to your mum about it?" I was most curious about this. Even if she did try to tell him, would he want to know?

"She.. Yeah. She told us about it. I think I understand." Ron suddenly stiffened and gave me an almost haughty look. "Though that doesn't make what either of you did right."

I almost laughed. State the obvious, why don't you Weasley? I began to plan my exit before this excruciating, long contained chaos broke loose. However, I suddenly remembered Ariadne and the supposed gossip. Maybe Ron had something to do with it? Only four of us really knew about it, after all.

"... Buying us that pretty, shiny plant thing- Lucifera- doesn't redeem what you did. I appreciate it and all, but you don't expect me to forgive you, do you? Please tell me you're not that shallow."

No, Ronald, I am unfortunately that shallow. I cut him off, looking straight at him. My plan to be charming and lovely for the day had fallen flat very quickly. But as Ron said, quite rightly, being nice didn't redeem what I did. Perhaps I wasn't a very nice person. I was never good at self-judgement.

"Ron, did you tell anyone about this?"

Ron looked up from his hands, laughing slightly.

"Couldn't," he said softly, "not even Hermione."

So it wasn't Ron. One down, two to go.

"Well.." I muttered, almost to myself. I felt more than a little lost. "Enjoy your wedding, Ron. Don't let me spoil it, will you?"

I patted his shoulder and left in a flash, making my way into the fresh air. The sun was beginning to set now and a cool breeze had set in. I kept on walking, not even questioning where I was going. It was all too confusing, too awkward- the story of my life. I laughed bitterly to myself and started to self-indulgently list all my failures.

I stopped at a car park for the muggle relatives on Hermione's side. The tiredness and the champagne began to set in properly, and I lay down on the bonnet of a pale blue Ford Anglia to watch the clouds engulf the sun.

I was just drifting off when a voice from nowhere scared the living daylights out of me.

"Do you come with the car?"

I opened my eyes, blinking in the dim light to see Ginny standing there. She was still perfect in that dress. So perfect and I had tainted her with sordid details of my deceitful affairs!

"No," I muttered, half drowsy, "the car's usually first, screaming my name as I rev her up."

Ginny laughed, but I wanted to kick myself. I'd shagged her mum and here I was making sexual innuendos as if it was nothing to me.

"Er.. Sorry. Sorry. Bit drunk." Her face swum out of focus again and I pulled myself into a sitting position so that she could join me.

"That's two of us," she said, squeezing in beside me, "everyone keeps giving me champagne. Not that I'm complaining or anything."

I gave her a weak smile. At least she was talking to me. Hang on, why was she talking to me? Why would she give me valuable time after what I did?

"Shouldn't you be off burning effigies of me?" I asked her, not daring to look at her face. The heat jumping between us was already more than I could handle. Ginny laughed again.

"Probably. I wish I could..." She trailed off suddenly, watching the seagulls circle overhead.

"Could what?"

"I wish I could hate you for this. For what you did. I think you and Mum must be pretty perverted. If my dad found out.." She trailed off again. I watched her saffron dress pool out on the blue bonnet in a rich blaze of colours. "Mum tried to justify it- it doesn't make sense to me, though. I don't think it ever will." She sighed quietly and began picking at a piece of wedding cake.

"Ginny, I'm sorry for what I did. To you, to everyone. I didn't think I could screw up anyone's life besides my own." It was my turn to sigh. She passed me a piece of wedding cake and we began to break it into crumbs for the seagulls. "It's weird, you know. I keep thinking that this isn't me. Like I'm reading about some other Neville Longbottom. What was I doing, Ginny? Sleeping with her.. It didn't mean anything then, but.."

"Stop," Ginny said, putting a finger to my lips, "I don't want to talk about this. What's happened's happened, Neville. Maybe one day you can tell me about it.. But not now."

With a half smile, she got up. The satin made a harsh, unfriendly noise against the metal of the car.

"I'll see you!" I called after her as she disappeared into the marquee.

You never can tell with Ginny.. But for all the strength in her, I knew she had been hurt. Perhaps the worst thing for her was the inability to fit the pieces of the puzzle together. I mean, even I couldn't get any sense out of it. How must it have been for Ginny and Ron, to see their mother fall from grace so spectacularly without any kind of explanation?

What had she told them, anyway? What had distracted Ron from his wedding day enough to share those awkward words? What had left Ginny so unfulfilled?

These thoughts took me on another walk, this time down the chalky steps of the Cliffside. I could see the waves breaking on the rocky shore. I half wanted to be washed away from this place before I caused any more trouble. My feet began to crunch along the pebbles as I walked toward the sea, still lost in thought.

An alien crunching of pebbles told me that I was not alone. I did not have to look up to know who was there, dipping their burgundy painted toenails into the water. She didn't have to look at me either, before she spoke.

"I used to come here when I was young." She sounded sad, floating in and out of her memories. Perhaps wishing herself back there.

"It's so quiet here," I said, picking up a smooth, round pebble.

The sun set completely, leaving behind silver sparkles on the horizon.

"I wanted to feel young again," she said, holding her skirt up as she waded deeper, "another one flown the nest. It's so bizarre.. I can barely remember not being a wife or a mother."

I cast off the robes that had not given me the confidence I wanted, nor the charm and rolled up my trouser legs. I joined her in the water, trying to be a man about its icy cold and failing miserably. I met the sea with a girlish yelp, wanting nothing more than to run back to the shore for a blanket and a nice mug of hot chocolate.

"You want to hang on to your youth. Don't you waste a second of it," Mrs. Weasley told me, "though I may have spoiled it for you, on second thoughts."

My teeth chattered as my ankles slowly went numb. Would I say that she spoilt my youth? Or did I ruin it? Perhaps I would even look back on this affair with pride. I had, after all, had it off with someone aged forty-plus. A housewife, to crown it all!

I asked her what she had told Ginny and Ron, but she would give no answer. Each time I asked, she would say less until I realised that it really wasn't any of my business. I gave up after a while, knowing how stubborn she could be. And besides, she looked so amazing, standing there knee deep in the dusk's chilly water with that dreamy look in her eye.

"You're incredible, Mrs.." I began, not being able to help myself. Although the cold had sobered me up, it had given me this fantastic bravado.

"Molly."

"Molly..." I said softly, barely opening my mouth. Somehow, it was overpowering. I had never called her by her name before. It made her a person- not Mrs. Weasley, the middle-aged mummy who I had knocked off but Molly. Voluptuous, beautiful Molly who owned the oceans at night. Molly with the cinnamon hair. Mrs. Weasley didn't belong to me. But Molly was mine, and mine alone.

I think she shared that revelation, for she called me by my name and looked at me with a light in her eyes. We stood only inches apart in that saltwater, undeniable sparks flying between us.

"Molly," I whispered again as I took her face in my hands and tasted the salt on her mouth. I was nothing but gentle, remembering the kisses we had shared before. Hard, lusty kisses, full of immorality. Clumsy hands clawing at each other like scared animals.

It had been wrong. A seventeen year old and a woman three times his age. Scandalous, perverted as some might say. She was married happily with seven children. It could have caused the family all kinds of grief. Still could, of course but I had switched off my very feeble power of sensibility at that point. It didn't have to be wrong anymore. We could be secret lovers! Like Lady Chatterley and Mellors- she was married and he was just an ordinary lad, after all. With that, my common sense upped and left with a look of disgust.

I was still cradling her face, actually looking at her for the first time. She was looking back at me, this time her being the one assessing the morality of the situation. I take a risk of sounding vomit-inducingly sentimental here- perhaps like Ron or Hermione, but there seemed to be something spiritual between us. The moment was out of this world. We were stood in this freezing water, just looking at each other. Or perhaps we were looking into each other, spiritually speaking.

After some time, the moment was broken by the sound of Ron's inebriated friends clamouring on the cliff. We broke apart, hearing Seamus screech something about skinny-dipping. Without a second look or the smallest touch, she ran up the beach, grabbing up her shoes and pulling them on as she made for the steps. Faster than the speed of light, I pulled on my robes and shoes, going up the other flight of steps so we didn't spark any rumours.

I watched the tide come in momentarily, on a high from the extraordinary emotions she had given me. Shivering, I made my way back to the marquee for the rest of the reception. I wasn't going to come down for quite some time, and that suited me fine. I was almost certain I loved her.

Oh yes, coming back down to Earth would be a very painful landing.