Scarlet Woman

Back at the marquee, the party was in full swing. A stream of enchanted lights replaced the sunlight, glowing blue, pink and green. The band had obviously been playing for quite a while, looking sweaty and disgruntled as they struggled to get the geriatric contingent on to the dance floor. It looked as though the singer had already given up- the karaoke had started. On my arrival Hermione, understandably worse for wear, was singing a hideously sentimental ode to her husband with her veil lopsided. Those who were dancing had paired off, lost in each other. Those who weren't cried into their champagne, stewing in alcohol and self-pity.

I, of course, was too love struck, too hopeless to join the masses. Instead, I shuffled over to a seat in the far corner and fell into a dreamy trance. How had I failed to notice how amazing she was? Was there anybody more beautiful in the world than she? All this time I had been so convinced it was Ginny.. Sweet Virginia. Molly was my sordid lover, a symbol of all that was wrong. Now I had trampled my morals to the ground. My realistic demons had been slain! I wouldn't need them any more. Not with her.

We could run away together. We'd find a tiny little island where nobody knew our names. It'd be great- at first, we wouldn't even have a house or any money. We'd live the romantic life of the fugitive, living for the moment and nothing else. Together, we'd slowly but surely build a house. It wouldn't be much, but it would be ours. All ours. We'd take evening walks along the coast, collecting all the special things that the sea had left behind to decorate our house with. I'd make her necklaces of seashells and coral whilst she waded in her beloved ocean. I would do anything for her- I'd climb trees that reached the sky for the sweetest fruit. I'd learn to catch fish and in the evening, we'd light a fire and watch the sun set together. And we'd never get lonely- it would just be Neville and Molly, two extraordinary people in love.

Perfection.

I kept seeing flashes of Ginny's orange satin twirl before me. She kept catching my eye, shimmering in those lights like that. With her head buried in Harry's shoulder, I waited for the imminent jealousy. The feeling that she could never go for a sad little boy like myself; that longing for her to be with me instead. But that feeling couldn't, or wouldn't come. I half wanted to feel that burning passion for her I used to have. I felt like something inside me had crumbled into ashes. Only from those ashes had risen a phoenix of new devotion, hotter and wilder than before.

If I had it in me to be sensible, I would never have stopped to talk to Molly in the first place. Then I wouldn't be stuck on this daft cloud nine, imagining us to be Mr and Mrs Robinson Crusoe. "Daft as a brush", as Gran liked to say. I wondered what she would tell me now.

"Gran," I'd say, with that charming little smile of mine, "I think you should know something about me."

To which she might reply, "You've decided you're gay, have you?"

I'd laugh slightly, taking her hand in mine. She always had her suspicions, dear old Gran.

"No no, but it is a matter of the heart as such. You see.. I've fallen for a lady."

At this, her eyebrow might quirk but the rest of her face would stay still. She wouldn't want to show too much interest in me.

"Yes," I'd continue, "but I think she might be a bit... out of my league."

"Out of your league?" Gran would reply, face still set in stone.

"Yes. Well, she's married. And she's fifty-three." I might notice the look of shock and utter disgust on her face here. But knowing me, I'd have shot myself in the foot and be halfway through digging my own grave by now.

"But that doesn't really matter very much, because I think I'm in love with her. I'm going to ask her to run away with me halfway across the world. I know she'll say yes because she loves me too. Never mind Arthur or the kids- they'll understand. We're doing it for love, Gran. We're doing it for love!"

Gran would frown, look down her nose at me in the way that I always feared. She'd speak in a sniffy kind of way, making her consonants extra harsh.

"That's the champagne talking, boy. You're to go straight home and we'll have none of this nonsense tomorrow, thank you very much."

Maybe it was all nonsense. Perhaps I needed a bit of discipline. It could be that my confusion over Ginny and Molly, my lust for a woman three times my age was a result of trauma in my childhood. I just didn't know. All I knew was that I'd had enough of reasoning and analysis. I was going to throw caution to the wind.

I noticed Ginny still staring at me from over Harry's shoulder. Her eyes wore a very particular expression, but I couldn't place it. It seemed like disappointment but there was something else there, almost a kind of pleading. I didn't know what it could all mean. Besides, what could want from me now she had the delectable Harry?

Hermione started up another number, making wild gestures to those on the dance floor. I watched as a about a dozen girls clattered up to the stage in their heels where they started to sing raucously. It was a catchy song, so much so that I allowed myself to tap my foot.

You have to understand that foot-tapping is as far as I'll go with dancing. I, Neville Longbottom, am not the world's worst dancer, but the galaxy's. It's a co-ordination thing. Just when I master the left-together-right-together, the beat changes and I don't know what to do with my arms. I worry about moving my hips and being too provocative. And then I start to panic and end up flat on the old arse before you can say 'lambada'.

It was around that point that I noticed Mr Weasley and Molly moving across the dance floor. Mr Weasley seemed to be having trouble keeping up with the music and looked generally quite flustered.

"Look, Molly.. I'm a bit old for this lark," he wheezed, "I won't spoil your fun." He turned around to go, but Molly stayed there.

"Oh Arthur, stay. I'm not much use either." She grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. "But it would be like old times."

Mr Weasley laughed, fiddling with his bow tie.

"Now, Moll. You'd have a lot more fun with a younger model."

Fun with a younger model? Little did he know she'd already traded her rusty old banger in for a shinier one with a better motor.

Molly caught my eye then, and began to laugh falsely.

"Don't be silly, Arthur dear."

"That's enough of that, Moll.," he began, finger pointed at her ceremoniously, "you wanted to dance and dance you shall."

His eyes began to dart around for an eligible bachelor. By this time, Ginny had stopped dancing and was watching them suspiciously. Ron, who was sitting nearby, was also watching them through narrowed eyes.

Mr Weasley's eyes swivelled in my direction, and I realised why Ginny, Ron and Molly were all looking so horrified. She couldn't dance with me! Not in front of the husband!

Not me, I begged him silently, not me, not me, not me!

But his eyes fell upon my face, steely gaze hanging over me. Not me.

"I know," he said; not me, "have a dance with young Neville."

Not me, not me, not me! No! What was I going to do? I couldn't dance with my mistress for the pleasure of her innocent husband. That was wrong- wrong with a capital w. My eyes searched around desperately for an excuse. Think, Longbottom! Come on brain, I told myself, don't give up on me now!

Molly stepped forward, eyes darting back and forth in desperation.

"Um, no, Arthur, I'm alright. Really."

"Why don't you sit down, Mum? Have some champagne!" Ginny took her by the shoulders and began to steer her away, not daring to look at me.

"No no, Virginia," Mr Weasley said, removing Ginny's firm grip on his wife, "Mum wants to dance, she told me so herself."

Ron, who was looking daggers at me, stood up.

"No she doesn't. She doesn't want to dance," he said, still glaring, "do you Mum?" He looked pointedly at her, forbidding her to say anything but "no".

"Yes, that's right," she nodded her head animatedly, "besides, Neville doesn't want to dance with an old bag like myself!"

In our discomfort, Ron, Ginny and I laughed falsely. My laughter seemed to continue for too long as Ron gave me his fantastic shut-your-face-Longbottom look. I stopped immediately, clearing my throat to disguise the laugh as a choking fit.

The situation was becoming very tense.

"Rubbish!" Mr Weasley boomed, clapping his hand on my shoulder. I wished more than anything that he would move it. It stayed, a heavy reminder of our immoral deeds. "You'd like a dance with my lovely wifelet, wouldn't you, lad?"

Oh God, oh God. I couldn't say no, it would sound rude. But if I said yes, I would embarrass us and have Ron and Ginny after my blood. It was time for my appallingly bad lying mechanism to kick in.

"Well, of course I'd like to dance, Mr Weasley, but," I hesitated, staring around wildly for an excuse, "I'm recovering from the effects of a nasty curse."

A curse? Why in the name of all that is sacred did I say a curse? Foolish, foolish, foolish Neville!

"Yes," I continued, looking to see if he was buying it, "it's quite a rare one. You lose all feeling in your legs and well...." I was lost. What would Hermione have said? "You never quite recover from it. Much as I'd love to dance, I'd probably collapse and embarrass your, er, lovely wifelet."

Ron and Ginny nodded, making sounds of false sympathy.

"Well, I wouldn't want that," bumbled Mr Weasley, "but it would only be a little dance. We could swap partners halfway through if you liked. You'll be my partner, won't you, Ginny?"

The prospect of being a part of this sick game almost made Ginny choke. She was turning a shade of red to rival my own.

"Me? I've got two left feet, Dad, don't be silly!"

You could tell that the four of us were silently willing Mr Weasley to shut up and leave the whole thing alone. But he was quite persistent.

"What are you all up to?" he asked, a bemused little smile on his face. We listened as a new, familiar melody began, knowing full well what was going to happen next.

"This one's a classic!" he grinned. "It would be a crime not to dance to this." Then theatrically, he extended his hand to Ginny, who could do nothing but take it. Molly and I looked desperately at each other. What could we do now?

Like I was walking to my death, I held out my hand for her. In deathly slow motion, she took it. We didn't look at each other. One look could reveal everything in this poisonous tango.

I noticed that beads of sweat were forming on her skin. We were close, dangerously close. So close that I wasn't even sure if it was her heart or mine racing.

All the while, Ron glared. Hermione came up to him at one point, wanting a dance but he just stood and watched us silently. High on wedding day emotions, Hermione made a point of storming off. Ron, however, didn't even notice.

The time came to switch partners. Ginny held me rigidly. She refused to look at me, and when she did it was that disappointed glance.

And then, it happened.

"Molly!" Arthur explained. "The bottom of your dress is all wet."

He didn't know how near he was to the truth. One look at the bottom of my trousers could reveal it all. Why the hell hadn't we thought to dry them? A simple spell was all it would have taken. One tiny spell could have saved our skins!

His eyes roamed the floor. Please, I begged him inwardly, don't look at me! Please! I watched Ginny take a fleeting glance at my feet. Her expression turned to one of horror and betrayal. Don't give me away, Ginny! Don't catch her looking at me!

Only he did. And in a split second that seemed to last a thousand years, he looked at me from head to toe. His eyes lingered on my feet, his face initially blank. Then-

"Neville, you're wet too."

Oh dear God.

Ron's head whipped round and he was staring at me with utter contempt. I'd said I wouldn't see her again. I'd lied.

"What.." Mr Weasley was beginning to understand. "What have you both been doing?"

Together. What have we both been doing together? You could see the word turning around his brain. In just a few seconds, he could know all about us. We would be ruined. He would be ruined. Everything, as we knew it, would be ruined.

One look from Molly was all it took. That meaningful look, the one which tells you that danger is imminent and straight ahead.

The look which tells you to run.