Four Weddings & A Funeral

Ginny looked at the large pile of gifts sitting in the middle of Dean's lounge room. Harry had very kindly Apparated them all here so that she and Dean could open them at their leisure. She and Dean, along with her parents, had seen everyone else off after breakfast that morning at the Burrow and then the four of them had enjoyed a quiet, leisurely lunch together before she and Dean had also left, leaving Arthur and Molly to a well earned quiet evening alone.

Dean had already gone to bed as he needed to be up before sunrise the next morning to attend a special training session with his team, but Ginny wanted one last cup of tea before turning in. She'd taken her tea into the lounge room and was checking the neatly stacked presents, looking forward to the following evening when she and Dean would open them together. However, as she looked them over, one very small package, neatly wrapped in silver paper, caught her eye. She put her cup down and picked it up, noticing there was no card, no indication of who it was from. She found she couldn't resist, her curiosity getting the better of her and so she opened it; the paper had been sealed magically, no Spellotape in sight, and it simply fell away as soon as she pulled at the edge. A small green velvet jeweller's box was revealed and feeling intrigued, Ginny opened it then gasped, every drop of colour draining from her face. She almost dropped the box on seeing what it contained: a tiny, beautiful, perfectly wrought glass rose.

She quickly snapped the box shut then crumpled the silver paper into a ball, shoving both into the pocket of her jacket. She stood there, her tea forgotten, unable to think straight. This looked almost identical to that rose Malfoy had given her - was this also from him? She took a deep, shuddering breath. It was. She knew it was. Which meant she had to get rid of it. She wanted no reminders of him. What did I do with that other one? she wondered. The one he gave me the night he - he... left London. And unbidden, the memory of that night she had so successfully - until now - put from her mind, came rushing back, sending her reeling back in time to relive the feelings and sensations... The night he left London. The night you kissed him, you mean! a stern voice in her head reprimanded her. But he kissed me! she cried silently. And you kissed him right back, said the implacable voice. She slowly sunk to the floor where she was. I did, she thought miserably, I did kiss him back. I don't know why... but I've put that all behind me now - I won't be seeing him again. Damn him! I successfully put him completely out of my mind and now this - this bloody reminder of him has brought it all back! Why? Why does the memory of that kiss make me tingle all over? She felt despair wash over her. I don't understand! How can I be thinking about this - how can I feel like this when I love Dean? Why? And that first rose - where was that first rose? Somehow she felt it was desperately important that she remember... she tried hard but it seemed to elude her for the moment and she found herself instead once more reliving that night - the night she'd been given the first rose...

She'd sunk to the floor that night too, feeling shocked and horrified after Malfoy had left, telling her he'd never forget her. The rose had been in her hand - she hadn't even been aware of Malfoy giving it to her. On finding it in her hand, she'd finally gotten up and gone straight to her bedroom - that's right! I put it in the top drawer of my bedside table! She stood up eagerly, intending to retrieve it - until she remembered Dean was in bed asleep. Tomorrow, I'll get it out tomorrow and I'll get rid of both of them, she thought resolutely, feeling better having made the decision.

She went to bed then, throwing her discarded clothes on the floor before slipping as quietly as she could into bed, not wanting to disturb Dean, but it took her a very long time to fall asleep because every time she closed her eyes she saw him...

When she was eventually unable to fight her own exhaustion, she fell into a restless sleep, only to dream, of him...over and over...that night he'd come to say goodbye for the last time... in black silk robes, looking at her with a deep, poignant sadness in his eyes - his hands, not cold or even cool, but soft and warm as they gently framed her face - his lips briefly pressed to hers - she couldn't move - she heard a soft moan escape him, then his lips were crushing hers, his arm wrapping around her and holding her hard against him - one hand tangled in her hair as it wrapped around the back of her neck, holding her there - then she opened her mouth to him and heard a low, soft growl in his throat as his tongue swept over hers - he turned them both around so that she was up against the door and he was pressing the whole length of his body against hers - she could feel the extent of his arousal - he was hard - yet still she couldn't move - but did she want to? Did she want him to stop? No! YES! And then she heard a faint voice, a voice coming from somewhere far away - telling her to go, run, escape, get away! She tried to struggle but she was trapped - she tried so hard but she couldn't move -

'Ginny! Ginny, wake up!'

'I can't! I'm trapped!' she cried aloud, her arms flailing as though trying to push someone away.

'Ginny!'

Suddenly she opened her eyes, looking around wildly, her heart pounding, panting as though she'd been running. Dean was sitting on the bed beside her, holding her wrists and leaning over her, his anxiety and concern evident on his face.

'Dean?' Her voice sounded scared to her own ears.

'Ginny, sweetheart, that must've been one helluva nightmare!'

'I - I - can't remember - but I was trapped and I couldn't move -' What had happened in her dream? She couldn't remember - just that horrifying feeling of being trapped...but there was something else, just out of reach of her memory...a feeling, a desire...

Dean pulled her up into a hug. 'It was just a dream,' he said soothingly, 'just a dream.'

Wrapping her arms around his waist Ginny held on tightly, the aftermath of her dream - nightmare? - slowly leaving her.

'And you know what, you've slept in - it's nearly eleven! Come and have some breakfast, you must be starving,' Dean said, sitting back, smiling gently at her. 'I have a surprise for you, too!' Which will hopefully take your mind off your nightmare, he thought to himself.

As Ginny followed him into the kitchen, Dean went to the sink to make some tea. Ginny froze with her hand on the back of the chair she'd been about to pull out. Dean had set the table and on the soft blue placemat lay a necklace, a delicate silver chain with an exquisite glass rose held in a silver clasp.

Taking Ginny's speechless stare for surprise, Dean chuckled. 'I found it when I picked up your clothes this morning - it fell out of your jacket pocket - onto the bed luckily!'

Ginny lifted her head and stared at him. 'But -'

'It's all right! I know you obviously couldn't resist opening one present last night - I found your tea cup in the loungeroom; you didn't drink it all, by the way. Anyhow, it's so lovely I thought you might like to wear it as a necklace so I ducked out this morning and had McFadden put it on the chain for me.' McFadden was the wizard jeweller from whom Dean had bought Ginny's engagement ring. 'Who's it from?' Dean asked, 'I couldn't find a card.'

Ginny's gaze fell on the rose once more. Holy shit and sweet Mother of Merlin! 'I - well - there wasn't a card with it.' She stretched out a trembling hand to pick up the necklace. What horrible, ghastly irony! Dean setting Malfoy's rose in a necklace for her! She thought she felt sick. 'It looks beautiful,' she whispered, staring at it, feeling horrified at the turn of events. How could she get rid of the damn thing now?

Dean walked back to her, setting their cups down and taking the necklace from her. He held it up, waiting as Ginny automatically turned, holding her hair off her neck so that he could put it on for her. She was still stunned by the turn of events then she became aware of the soft touch of Dean's fingers as he did the necklace up, turning and hugging him, burying her face against his chest.

'So, you like it?' asked Dean, a smile in his voice as he kissed the top of her head.

'It's beautiful!' was all she could say, a strange coldness seeping through her as she pushed away the thoughts of Malfoy that were once more snaking their way insidiously into her mind.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

In the south-west of England, a tall wizard was pacing in a large room of an old, immaculately kept mansion. He had long, white-blonde hair, tied back with a length of green velvet; his expensive robes billowing out behind him as he stalked from one side of the room to the other. The expression on his face revealed little. It was a face that was still recognisable as belonging to Lucius Malfoy although there had been marked changes. In the last days of his master's reign he had learnt more than he'd ever known about the methods his master had employed to increase his powers, strengthen his defences and survive. And he'd since employed many of them himself. Such things, steeped in the Dark Arts, inevitably leave their mark.

A timid creature slunk into the room, hoping to be noticed without the need to speak and indeed, Malfoy stopped pacing when he noticed the shadow of his house-elf on the wall.

'What do you want Latro?' His voice was no longer smooth and mellifluous - it was harsh and cracked; a legacy of his newly acquired skills.

'Master, please, your dinner is ready, sir,' whimpered the pitiful creature, creeping backwards out of the room as he spoke.

Malfoy nodded and the house-elf scuttled away.

He'd been busy the last few weeks, putting into effect those Dark Arts he'd learnt from his master, and now he was able to look to the future and make decisions as to what he should do next.

Draco, he thought bitterly, no longer my son. A traitor. He will pay with his life.

Narcissa. No longer my wife. Kill her? No, a waste of time. She will die in time. She matters not.

Harry Potter. Lucius' fists clenched so tightly at the mere thought of this wizard that he drew blood.

He will suffer! I know how to make him suffer! He calmed himself. A cold, unpleasant smile stretched his mouth. And now I know how to draw out the traitor, Draco. And then I will kill him. And Potter's suffering will be the bonus. Belated revenge for my late master. Revenge he'd enjoy taking immensely...

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Draco Malfoy placed the two bowls of steaming soup on the small, round table before seating himself.

As he picked up his spoon he looked across the table at his mother who was simply staring straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to her surroundings and her son's presence. She was a mere shadow of her former self in all respects.

'Mother, you need to eat something, please,' he told her gently, despite knowing her answer before she spoke.

She turned her blank gaze to meet his. 'I'm not hungry thank you Draco.' As always these days, her voice was a flat monotone, her usually haughty tones absent.

Pulling his chair closer to his mother, he picked up her spoon and filling it with soup, held it to her lips. She drank it automatically, so he did it again. And again. And again. Until her bowl was empty. Then he returned to his own bowl of soup, now almost cold.

It had taken a little while, but Draco had begun to understand that his mother was suffering some sort of magical malady, no doubt inflicted by his father. Yet he couldn't bring himself to take her to St Mungo's, it somehow seemed shameful and he felt as though he would be admitting defeat. To what, he didn't know. Besides, in his heart he didn't believe they'd be able to help her nor would they look after her as well as he could. So here, with him, she would stay.

His mother wanted to go to bed after that, although he knew she would spend most of the night simply lying there, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep and uncaring of the fact.

As he washed up the few things they'd used in the small kitchen, having seen his mother off to bed, his thoughts once more revisited the same ground they'd been travelling for weeks now. When he'd received news of his mother's condition, he'd gone to her immediately, leaving Hogwarts where he'd been staying for his own protection - from his father's wrath, no less. My father. The bitterness and hatred swelled within him until he didn't think he could contain it. Because his mother had stood up for her only child, her husband had abandoned her, leaving her in no fit state to care for herself. The least he could do for his mother now was to look after her for whatever time was left to her. She was wasting away before his eyes and he could do nothing about it. The little food he managed to get into her didn't seem to be making any difference. Her soul was dying, he thought; in his opinion, she was effectively being murdered by her husband - his father - slowly and painfully.

He'd come to a decision earlier: after his mother died he would go looking for his father. He would avenge his mother's death. Her murder. If he died in the process, so be it. As long as he took his father with him. He had nothing else to live for now. Ginevra was engaged to fucking Thomas - a bitter smile crossed his face; I wonder if she knows who the rose was from? A harsh chuckle escaped him. Of course she will. She'll remember the first one. It was a stupid, useless, pointless thing to do, sending that second rose, just as giving her the first one had been - but he'd done it nevertheless. He admitted to himself he'd done it simply because he wanted to know that he was in her thoughts - however briefly, for whatever reason - but in her thoughts nonetheless. She was rarely out of his.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

A few weeks later saw Hermione leaning back from the book she'd been studying, one of many that were scattered over her desk, interspersed with rolls of parchment and Interdepartmental Memos from Neville. Rubbing her eyes, she sat up straight in her chair and stretched her arms above her head before massaging the back of her neck to relieve a little of the tension. She'd been reading far too much for far too long every day for a fortnight now. But what she'd found out!

She looked up as Priscilla walked into the room, another stack of books in her arms.

'I don't think there's a book or parchment left on either Death Eaters or the Malfoy family covering the last twenty centuries that you haven't bloody well read!' said Priscilla in exasperation on reaching Hermione's desk and ridding herself of her burden. 'And it's lunchtime now, Hermione, you should go and eat!' she admonished.

Hermione nodded. 'I am. I'm having lunch with Neville,' she said, looking at Priscilla with a small smile.

Priscilla frowned slightly. 'So that's why he turned me down today!' But there was a definite twinkle in her eyes as she added, 'Should I be jealous?'

Hermione laughed and Priscilla joined her after Hermione said, 'Oh yes, right! Neville is so totally besotted with you it's beyond funny and I'm the same about Harry - but yeah, sure, Neville and I could find it in ourselves to have a serious snogging session over lunch!'

'I suppose it's about all this research you've been doing the last few weeks since the party,' said Priscilla as she waved her hand indicating the contents of Hermione's desk. Thinking about Ginny and Dean's party had her almost asking about the "glowing" incident again, but she stopped herself just in the nick of time. For some reason Hermione always ignored her when she brought that up, as though she hadn't heard her. She'd asked Neville about it and he always looked a little uncomfortable and simply said it was "still under investigation". She found it all rather peculiar, to say the least.

'Yes it is,' answered Hermione, answering her question, 'and I'm rather concerned about some of the things we've unearthed. I knew the Malfoy family have always been involved in the Dark Arts, but Lucius Malfoy is almost as evil as Voldemort - just not as powerful, thank Merlin. Sorry I can't tell you more but I didn't get very far into it before Neville stamped "Keep Secret" on this particular file. I haven't even been able to tell Harry.' On this last note, her voice held weariness. She so wanted to talk to Harry about this, but as yet she couldn't. Not until Neville said she could - or told Harry himself. It was the one thing she nagged Neville about - telling Harry. And there was something else that seemed to niggle at the back of her mind about telling Harry...or Neville telling Harry...and both of them...talking? It seemed to slide away from her even as she thought about it...

'So, where are you going to eat?' asked Priscilla, dropping into an armchair in front of Hermione's desk.

'It's a new café,' said Hermione, reaching out and taking her wand from the special drawer in her desk before continuing. 'Lila told me about it - it's called "Esca". It's not for Muggles so we can Floo there.' She stood, Priscilla following suit and as Hermione walked around her desk and out the door with Priscilla behind her, she continued, 'I think Neville's using me for a guinea pig - if I like it, he'll take you there!'

Priscilla laughed. 'I have heard of it - and I've heard it's really good, too. By the way, is this Lila the same Lila that's working over in Neville's department that's been in and out of here a lot lately?'

'One and the same!' replied Hermione. 'She's been here a couple of times each week lately with some research replies from Neville for me and we get on really well; she's really lovely. And Neville's right - she can't choose between Sunny and Lucky and they're both apparently quite nuts about her!'

Priscilla, who had been bypassed by Lila each time she'd come to see Hermione, raised one slightly sceptical eyebrow. 'I know Neville thinks it's very funny but I think she's rather devious playing them off, one against the other, actually.'

'Hey, how awful would it be to have two really lovely men chasing you? I think she's enjoying it for as long as she's able.'

Priscilla shrugged as she said, 'Perhaps. I wouldn't know, never having been in that situation myself!'

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Hermione was repeating all this to Neville as they waited in the queue for the Floo network; it was always busy at lunchtime.

'I'm just glad she's not upset about us going to lunch,' replied Neville.

Hermione patted his arm. 'I think she's quite secure about her place in your affections,' she told him.

'As she should be!' retorted Neville, a lovely warm feeling spreading through him as always at the thought of Priscilla.

'Oh good - our turn!' said Hermione, stepping forward and reaching for some Floo powder, Neville close behind.

They emerged at one of two fireplaces in the café and were shown to a table in the central courtyard. The whole place was reminiscent of a Roman villa and in the warm, summer sunshine, was very inviting.

'Drinks?' asked their waitress once she'd taken their order.

'Hermione?' asked Neville.

'I'd like a glass of white wine, please,' said Hermione.

'Bring us a bottle, thanks,' Neville told the young girl who then left to fill their orders.

Once they had their meals and wine, Neville touched his glass to Hermione's, saying, 'Here's to truth, justice and the wizarding way!'

'Hear, hear!' replied Hermione, laughing and sipping from her glass.

'Neville, I know you must be thoroughly sick of me asking this, but -'

'It's all right, Hermione - I know what you're going to ask me and yes, I think it's time to tell Harry. And perhaps Dean - I'm not sure.'

'Really? Oh at last!' Then Hermione gave Neville a quizzical look as she asked, 'Tell Dean? Is that our place?'

Neville shrugged, his mouth full of piping hot shepherd's pie.

He swallowed quickly, saying, 'I'm not sure really Hermione - but speaking of Dean, at the moment I'm more worried about something else - something that's been going on with Ginny lately, since their party. Dean's been really worried about her. She keeps having all these dreadful nightmares that she doesn't remember - except that they're about her being trapped and being unable to escape. They're both quite distraught about it and I don't really know how to help them.'

Hermione let her knife and fork go so that they landed on her plate with a clatter. 'I didn't know about this!'

Neville gave her a crooked smile. 'How could you when during the last few weeks all you've done is read at work, write reports for me then hurry home late to spend time with Harry! You've been working far too long, doing way too much overtime.'

Hermione sighed. 'True.'

Neville put down his knife and fork and reached across the table to take Hermione's hands in his.

'Listen, Hermione - I'd like to come and see you and Harry tonight. I can tell Harry what we've both found out -' he hesitated, then continued, his face set in tense lines, 'and, well, there's something else, too, that I believe Harry should tell you.' There! He'd said it!

'What do you mean, something Harry should tell me?' There was that slippery thought again, about...well, it didn't really matter... 'Why would Harry keep anything from me?'

Neville swallowed nervously. Harry may never speak to him again - after he'd hexed his backside off!

'He has his reasons,' he said carefully, 'but I think - well, I just think he's wrong not to tell you.' He sighed as he felt doubt flood him. For a moment he was transported back to his first year at Hogwarts when he'd stood up to Harry, Hermione and Ron, telling them he wouldn't let them do the wrong thing - now he was standing up to Harry, truly believing him to be wrong. Smart move, Longbottom! Standing up to Harry Potter's about as clever as cuddling up to one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts! Actually, Harry would probably make a Skrewt look lovable once he'd found out what Neville had done... He gave Hermione a crooked smile. 'I'll just tell myself that one day he'll thank me for this. Now, tonight is okay, isn't it?'

Hermione gave his hands a small squeeze before releasing them. 'Of course it is. Why don't you and Priscilla come for dinner?'

Neville smiled. 'I'll have to take a rain cheque on the dinner, Hermione. If I don't see Priscilla alone for dinner after standing her up for lunch I'll be in big trouble!'

Hermione managed a laugh. 'And you wouldn't be a little desperate to see her alone, now would you?' she teased.

'Well, there's that, too,' he said a little sheepishly.

This time Hermione laughed out loud. 'Oh Neville, I think it's just brilliant that you and Priscilla have found each other! I am so happy for the two of you!'

'Thanks, Hermione.'

'All right, come round after dinner - actually, I don't suppose you'll bring Priscilla?'

Neville shook his head emphatically. 'It's nothing she really needs to know just yet.'

As she swallowed the last of her food, Hermione wiped her mouth with her serviette, hiding a small smile at Neville's obvious protectiveness of Priscilla.

When she arrived back at her office, she decided she'd leave on time today as she wanted plenty of time to have a leisurely dinner with Harry before Neville came over that evening.

***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****

Although Harry had asked her a number of times over the previous fortnight or so what she was working on that took up so much of her time, Hermione had simply said that it was something for Magical Law Enforcement which she wasn't allowed to talk about just yet. Over dinner this night, however, Hermione told Harry about Neville dropping in later that evening to finally tell him about her research. And then, naturally, she dropped one little pearl of a question into the conversation...

'Harry, by the way, Neville says there's something he thinks you should tell me, something you've been keeping from me. Now what would that be?'

Harry's eyes snapped to meet Hermione's questioning gaze for a second as he felt a horrible sinking feeling take hold of his stomach. Shit! Bloody Neville! Harry's eyes fell to the table in front of him. He'd have to tell her now - he knew her - she simply wouldn't give up until he did. Neville had done this on purpose, he was sure - he'd been nagging him to tell Hermione ever since the party. He chanced a quick look at Hermione; she'd sounded nonchalant when she'd asked him but he knew from the way she was pushing her food around her plate and the small frown she wore that she was long way from feeling nonchalant. He felt an uncharacteristic surge of anger towards Neville. At least he was coming over a little later - he could damn well help him placate Hermione! After he'd returned him to his normal form that was...bit hard for a large, rubbery, limbless glob of goo to placate anyone...

Just before Dean and Ginny's party at the Burrow, Harry had told Neville what he'd done, wondering if telling him was a smart move, but given Neville's position, decided it was. Ever since, every time he'd seen him, Neville had been at him to tell Hermione, saying he was wrong to have done it in the first place without her consent and to then not tell her? Madness! he'd told Harry repeatedly. He was better at nagging than Hermione had been during their Hogwarts days! Harry took a deep breath as resignation swept through him. In his heart he'd known all along Neville was right. Dumbledore, who held the same views, had been right, too. His heart sank and he felt afraid - terribly afraid that he wouldn't be able to make her understand...

'Now what would that be?' Hermione's question seemed to hang suspended in the air and as Harry once more raised his eyes, his intense green gaze meeting hers; Hermione knew he was indeed keeping something from her. She'd thought perhaps Neville had been mistaken, but obviously not. She felt cold fingers clutch at her insides. What was it? Why would Harry keep something from her? She wondered then if she really wanted to know, feeling an unnamed dread settle around her heart.

However, when Harry falteringly told her, unable to do more than glance at her once or twice while doing so, she felt fury and hurt mixed with bewilderment rip through her. When he finished, having tried to justify his actions but failing miserably he knew, she stood slowly, staring down at the back of Harry's head, speechless. Then she turned and left the room, knowing in that moment exactly what she was going to do: firstly, she wrote a note to Neville cancelling his visit that evening and sent it off with Hedwig. Secondly, she packed a few things in a soft carry bag and went back to the kitchen where Harry was still sitting, his elbows on the table and his head in his hands. Crookshanks followed her into the room and began walking slowly around her feet, looking up at her. For a second, the sight of the man she loved in such a despairing attitude almost broke her resolve, but before it could, she said tersely, 'I'm going to my parents'. I'm not sure for how long. I need to think. I'll owl you,' then Apparated to her old home, taking Crookshanks, leaving a devastated Harry behind.