Four Weddings & A Funeral

Ronald Bilius Weasley's wedding day dawned fine and clear and he woke feeling as though he'd drunk a cauldron full of Felix Felicis. As he stretched the stiffness of sleep from his body, he heard Harry, still asleep across the room, make a snuffling noise which sounded suspiciously like a mumbled "Hermione" as he turned over. Ron smiled; his Mum wouldn't relent - only the married couples were able to share rooms!

As he lay there, uncharacteristically contemplative, Ron heard a gentle knock on his door, watching as it slowly opened to reveal Luna. She peered into the room, her face lighting up with a dazzling smile when her eyes met Ron's.

'Ronald! You're awake!' she whispered as she ran lightly across the room and threw herself onto him.

'Ooof!' Ron found himself thankful Luna wasn't any heavier as he wrapped his arms around his fiancée and turned so that they were lying on their sides, facing each other. 'I'm so excited!' she told him breathlessly, 'about everything - about us getting married and I'm so looking forward to seeing Daddy at lunch today!' Luna kissed him, her silvery eyes sparkling in the morning sun. 'I love you,' she told him.

Ron laughed quietly, a wonderful feeling of joy sweeping through him as he kissed her back. 'I love you, too, Lady Luna. But isn't it supposed to be bad luck to see each other before the wedding or something?'

Giggling, Luna shrugged. 'It isn't possible for us to be unlucky today.'

'Too true,' came a disgruntled grumble from across the room. 'At least you two will get lucky today.' Harry was thinking that he didn't want to stay at the Burrow again before he and Hermione were married; this waking alone - and frustrated! - wasn't a good start to a young and virile wizard's day.

'Harry!' Ron lifted his head to look over Luna. 'Are you being suggestive?'

Harry swung his legs round and put his feet on the floor, stretching and yawning. 'Me? Suggestive? What d'you mean?'

'Oh, Ronald, of course he's being suggestive and of course we'll get lucky - it's tradition - I can't wait!' said Luna. 'What about you Harry,' she asked, turning on her back to look over at Harry, a devilish gleam in her eye, 'are you going to get lucky, too?'

'Absolutely, if I've got anything to do with it!' replied Harry, laughing, as he threw his pillow at his two friends. Ron caught it and threw it straight back, 'Take that, Potter! Dare to attack my fiancée!'

'Pillow fight! Ron's room!' yelled Ginny from the doorway - she'd been on her way downstairs - launching herself at Harry and wrestling his pillow from him.

Hermione ran along the hall in answer to Ginny's summons, stopping momentarily in the doorway, laughing as she took in the situation before waving her wand in the direction of her room and calling, 'Accio pillow!'

Ginny's loud announcement travelled well and somehow Dean, Neville, Priscilla, Fred and George all managed to squeeze into Ron's not overly-large room together with their pillows before Mrs Weasley gave up yelling at them from the bottom of the stairs and stormed up to stand in the doorway, her hands on her hips and a furious look on her face. 'Would you all stop acting like CHILDREN!'

Not one of the pillow-swinging, cushion-dodging children took a scrap of notice and despite herself, Molly Weasley felt her heart soften as she watched them, realising how wonderful it was that they were all here, unhurt, whole and happy - and able to "act like children". Smiling, she shook her head, rolled her eyes and unnoticed, slipped back downstairs to begin breakfast preparations. Now that will get them out of there, she thought smugly, a few whiffs of bacon and eggs frying and they'll stampede!

It was Ron, of course, that caught the first whiff of bacon and eggs.

'Breakfast!' he bellowed, bringing a halt to the mayhem as pushed Dean aside, yelling, 'We're outta here!' and taking Luna's hand, ran for the door.

'Last one down's a rotten egg!' cried Fred as he bolted after them, George close on his heels. Dean and Ginny were in front of Neville, who grabbed Priscilla's hand and followed them leaving Harry on his bed, leaning against the wall - his knees bent, still laughing. Hermione dropped down beside him, tucking her legs underneath her, laughing with him. 'We're going to be rotten eggs, you know,' she told him with a grin.

Harry put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him and with his free hand brushed her hair back from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. Her face was slightly flushed from exertion, her lips curved in a happy smile and her eyes glowing as she looked up at him. 'Maybe we should have a shower so we don't smell like rotten eggs, what do you think?' Harry had a lustful gleam in his eye as he remembered the last time they'd taken a shower together at the Burrow. Hermione, whose hand was resting lightly on Harry's chest, could feel the vibration in his chest as he spoke, loving the potently masculine combination of his deep voice and firm, muscular chest.

For a second, Hermione closed her eyes, a small "mmm" escaping her as she absorbed Harry's voice, full of desire for her and revelled in the wonderful, familiar smell of him and the feel of him... her hand slid down over his hard stomach as she slowly opened her eyes... Harry's legs straightening as her fingers skimmed the band of his boxers. The look in his eyes as he gazed at her made her breath catch in her throat and just as she closed her fingers around Harry's extremely hard evidence of his lust for her, causing his head to drop back and a low growl to form in his throat, they heard Ron pounding up the stairs, probably two at a time, his voice echoing along the hallway. 'Oy! You two! Get a move on! Mum says breakfast'll get cold!'

Harry groaned and grabbed the closest pillow and threw it at the door. 'Bugger off, Weasley!' he called out good-naturedly.

Hermione giggled, removing her hand and pushing herself off the bed just as Ron appeared in the doorway, bending to pick up the pillow.

'Unlucky, eh, Potter?' he smirked, waggling his eyebrows and giving Hermione a wink as he tossed the pillow back to Harry.

'I can't imagine what you mean, Ron,' said Hermione imperiously as she swept past him and out of the room.

Ron laughed, then held out his hand to help Harry up and the two friends found themselves standing there, their hands gripped in a frozen handshake, their eyes locked, suddenly serious.

'We made it, mate, we're here today,' said Ron, 'you, me, and all the others - thanks to you.'

'And I did it thanks to you,' replied Harry, his grip tightening.

Then a smile broke across both their faces and they grinned foolishly at each other.

'C'mon - my bloody breakfast is getting cold,' said Ron.

As they neared the kitchen, they heard Ginny's voice.

'What I want to know is, how come we got tea and toast on our wedding day,' she complained as she dipped her toast into her egg, 'and for Ron's we get the works?'

'And would you have eaten all this on your wedding day, dear?' inquired Mrs Weasley as she passed the strawberry jam to her husband.

'Not the point,' said Ginny stubbornly, suppressing the urge to smile as Dean gently nudged her, knowing her mother was right.

Harry sat down next to Hermione who was already buttering some toast and as he helped himself to some bacon, eggs, tomatoes and sausages, he leant over to whisper in her ear, 'You haven't gotten back to me on my offer of a shower.'

Hermione glanced around the table then turned and smiled at him. 'I don't think we'd get away with it today, Mr Potter.'

She couldn't help but laugh softly as Harry pretended to look very put out. 'Don't worry, I'll make it up to you tonight!' she promised him.

'Tonight?' came Harry's agonised whisper, a forkful of food frozen halfway on its way to his mouth as he gazed at her. 'Tonight! I don't know if it's possible for me to last that long!'

'I'd say you're about to find out,' replied Hermione, leaning forward and kissing him lightly on the mouth.

'Cruel beyond belief - I had no idea!' Harry rolled his eyes as he put his fork into his mouth.

'You think you're the only one that'll be suffering, do you? Shows how little you know, Harry Potter!' Hermione replied, wrinkling her nose at him as she swiped him playfully on the arm.

Their banter was interrupted by Mr Weasley getting to his feet and clearing his throat to gain everyone's attention.

'As you all know,' he began, smiling at Ron and Luna, 'we have the happy task of getting ready for another wedding today. We'll be having lunch at one and the ceremony begins at four thirty. We aren't having quite as many people this time - mainly due to the fact that Dean's family outnumbers Luna's by about fifty to one I think! Now, I believe everyone's familiar with what they need to do: any problems, come and see me, any hunger pangs, come and see Molly.' This remark caused general laughter and earnt Mr Weasley a friendly swipe on the arm from his wife. 'Otherwise, I'll see you all at lunch, missions accomplished.'

*

While Arthur Weasley was making his impromptu speech at the breakfast table, Albus Dumbledore was greeting Draco Malfoy in his office at Hogwarts.

'Good morning, Draco. Please, come in, sit down. Tea?'

Draco nodded as he sat. This meeting with Dumbledore about his mother had been put off a number of times due to various circumstances. It had been frustrating, waiting, watching as his mother deteriorated in front of his eyes, day by day.

As Dumbledore sipped his own tea, he looked across his desk at his guest, his eyes revealing a deep sadness which Draco recognised. Putting his cup down with a trembling hand, he asked the old wizard, 'What's wrong? What have you found out?'

Dumbledore gently replaced his cup and steepled his fingers beneath his chin before speaking gently.

'I'm afraid it's not the news we'd hoped for, Draco. It's unlikely that your mother will recover, despite our best efforts. Neither myself nor Professor Snape have been able to find a way to negate the effects of your father's curse. I believe Lucius was aiming only to affect your mother's state of mind - he probably gave no consideration to any side effects such as her loss of appetite or - spirit.' Dumbledore sighed, his gaze sympathetic. 'You've told me your mother's memory seems to be "slipping away" - sadly it will continue to do so, I'm afraid.'

Draco came to his feet, hatred and rage boiling through him. 'No!' He looked around wildly as though something or someone in the Headmaster's office could help but the occupants of the portraits were assiduously feigning sleep. Without thinking, Draco moved to a nearby table that held some of Dumbledore's strange instruments and viciously swept his arm across it, sending the contents smashing to the floor. He stood hunched, his breathing ragged, staring at the broken pieces scattered all around his feet bringing a memory into sharp focus for his former headmaster - that of another student doing the same thing in a fit of despair...

'Please, Draco,' said Dumbledore softly as he rose to his feet, remaining behind his desk. 'Think of your mother. It would be best if you could spend as much time with her as you can - make her as happy and comfortable as possible.'

An overwhelming sense of blackness and despair took over Draco, bringing a draining weakness with it, forcing him to collapse back into his seat with his head in his hands. His hatred for his father reached newfound depths within him, searing his soul. I'll kill him. I'll kill him with my own hands, he swore to himself. On my mother's life, I swear I will end his.

*

There were some similarities and a number of differences between Ginny and Dean's wedding day and this day. For one, Mr Lovegood had arranged for Terrific Transfigurations, Inc, to do all the setting up for the wedding saving everyone a lot of work, although Mr Weasley found himself in charge of de-gnoming the garden once again; at least this time he had helpers, freed from other chores thanks to Mr Lovegood's arrangements.

Being autumn, the weather was much cooler than it had been for Ginny and Dean's wedding and so it would take place in a marquee-style structure, although not one that most Muggles would recognise. The wizards and witches from Terrific Transfigurations worked hard to create a towering structure of bluebell-coloured canvas with pennants flying from the peak. The entrance was a wide sweep of shallow, stone steps leading up to a high archway-shaped opening which was swathed in yards of more bluebell coloured silk, held in place by magic. Inside was the guests' seating and at the end of the aisle formed by those seats was where Professor Dumbledore would once more preside. The guests would be facing what looked like a wall of flowers made up of so many varieties it was almost impossible to name them all. At the centre of the "flower wall" was a large heart made of green foliage, across which, with the aid of magic, "Ron" and "Luna" glowed in flowing, silver letters.

Once again, a stone archway had been created in the side of the house leading out to the garden along with a white stone pathway which curved its way to the marquee.

Molly and Arthur stood just inside the archway, talking in low tones with Luna's father before he made his way upstairs to see his daughter. Behind them, Harry, Fred and George were watching as Ginny, Priscilla and Hermione made their way down the stairs.

Harry couldn't take his eyes off Hermione and felt a familiar tightening sensation at the sight of her. It certainly didn't help that he'd earlier seen what she was wearing underneath the lovely gown she now had on - entirely by accident of course...

Earlier, they had all been moving between bathrooms and bedrooms getting ready, the Burrow having once more been magically expanded to cope with the increased number of occupants. Harry had left the bathroom after showering, his towel wrapped tightly around his waist; he remembered he'd hung his suit and robes with Hermione's clothes in the room she was sharing with Ginny. He'd seen Ginny run up the stairs to her mother's room, no doubt to give Luna a hand, so he felt quite safe in simply opening the door and walking in without knocking. He reflexively closed the door behind him as his eyes took in the sight of Hermione, her back to him as she stood with one leg raised, her foot perched on the end of her bed as she smoothed her stockings over her legs, having just put her shoes on. She turned her head and looked over her shoulder at Harry and the sight of him, naked to the waist with just a towel wrapped around him, gave her a sudden rush of desire. Harry knew only too well what it did to her when he walked around wearing a towel like that...

Hermione's gaze travelled slowly down over his chest and hard, flat stomach, still glistening with water from his shower. When she raised her eyes again, his expression made her smile and she straightened up, half turning towards him, aware that she wasn't the only one feeling a surge of desire.

As their eyes met and locked, Hermione found couldn't she resist - the temptation to tease was just too great; she placed her hand on her hip and said in the most provocative voice she could manage, 'How do I look? Do you like it?'

Harry felt his mouth go dry as his eyes dropped, travelling over every delectable part of Hermione. She was wearing the palest blue bra and knickers - both appearing to consist of nothing but see-through lace - with an even paler-blue pair of stay up stockings. Her shoes were silver although Harry couldn't have told you that as his eyes were having trouble deciding which was the most riveting sight - what little he could see of Hermione's cleavage or... 'You're wearing a g-string. To a wedding. A bridesmaid.' For some unknown reason he found this both a little surprising and arousing at the same time and he knew that now he'd seen this, he was going to have a devilishly hard time keeping his mind off Hermione that whole day...

Hermione, enjoying herself immensely, pretended to pout. 'Oh, you don't like it,' she said in a small, sad, voice.

Harry's eyes snapped to meet hers and Hermione drew in a quick breath. Harry looked as though he was contemplating crossing the room and simply taking her, then and there. It was Hermione who now felt her mouth go dry; it was a tantalising and arousing prospect and she wondered if he would... found herself half-hoping...

The spell was broken when Harry suddenly thrust his hands through his wet hair, a shuddering sigh escaping him.

'Jesus, Hermione - you make it hard for a man to keep his self-control.' Harry's voice was hoarse with suppressed desire and Hermione felt the warmth pooling between her thighs at the sound of it - so masculine and sexy.

When he received no reply, Harry glanced up in time to see Hermione's gaze slide down the length of his body once more, coming to rest on the outline of his now achingly hard erection beneath his towel.

'And you know exactly what it does to my self-control when you walk around like that, Harry,' she told him, her voice husky, her eyes coming back to rest on his, swimming with need and desire.

With an agonised groan, Harry took a step back towards the door. 'Damn it, we can't - not now,' he whispered, although in truth he felt more like whimpering - it was taking every ounce of self-control he had not to walk across the small distance between them, wrap his arms around Hermione and fall on to the bed with her.

'I know. You're right.' Hermione's voice was full of regret as she leant over to pick up her dress off the bed - the sight this presented making Harry wonder whether it was possible to be this bloody hard and not suffer some sort of rupture or injury - and held it up in front of her as she turned to face him.

'There, you can't see anything now,' said Hermione softly.

'Oh, that helps,' said Harry in a choked voice. 'Don't you realise there is now a permanent image burnt into my mind? No escape.' His eyes travelled helplessly over her once more, his fists clenched by his sides.

'Turn around,' Hermione told him and when he reluctantly obeyed, she stepped into her dress - a flowing silver cascade of silky material that pooled around her feet with long sleeves and a wide, rounded neckline; the sleeves and neckline were both edged with a fine, soft, white faux fur. Her hair, as was all the girls', sat in soft, loose curls over her head, a few strands trailing down her neck and around her face. Luna had given the girls silver earrings, one in the shape of an "L", the other an "R" ('is that for Left and Right?' Ginny had asked, giving all of them, including Luna, a case of uncontrollable giggles) and a fine silver necklace, just a simple chain.

Hermione walked over to Harry and not daring to touch him, asked him to do up her dress, which he turned to do with trembling fingers. 'You look - I just don't have words, my love,' he said softly as she turned to face him once more, lifting his fingers to caress her cheek but dropping his hand to his side before making contact. He thought that even such a small touch would cause him to lose the scant control he was maintaining. 'I'd better go before someone comes looking for me,' he said and Hermione nodded in mute agreement, moving away to get Harry's clothes for him. As she handed them to him, they shared a smile when Harry looked down at his distended towel and said, 'Thank God we're wearing robes for the ceremony!'

*

Hermione brought him back to the present when she stepped off the last stair and moved to his side, squeezing his hand gently as she took it in hers. Fred and George were making an exaggerated fuss of Priscilla, causing her to giggle and blush in embarrassed delight as they pretended to fight over which of them would be her escort.

'Cut it out, Fred,' his mother called from across the room, rolling her eyes. 'You know very well you're Hermione's escort and George is Priscilla's.'

Fred and George exchanged a defiantly mischievous grin and winked at the girls as if to say, 'What she doesn't know won't hurt her!'

'Come on, Harry, give her up!' said George facetiously, holding his arm out to Hermione as Fred did the same to Priscilla.

'You are George, aren't you?' asked Priscilla, not confident that she'd received a truthful reply.

'There's a fifty-fifty chance I am!' came the cheeky reply, accompanied by a wink.

Ginny waited behind her parents while Harry went upstairs to get Ron, who, a minute later, walked down the stairs ahead of his best man managing to look blissfully happy and awfully nervous at the same time. He kissed his mother, who hugged him fiercely, then shook his father's hand long and hard before setting off to wait for his bride.

As the strains of the traditional Wedding March were heard, Luna appeared at the top of the stairs, her father beaming proudly behind her. She walked slowly down the stairs, her long, white silk dress making a soft, rustling sound; it was fitted to the waist and from there flared out to the floor with no train. She had long sleeves and the same rounded neckline as her bridesmaids, although no fur trimming. Her long, blonde hair had been curled and piled on her head in the same manner as her bridesmaids. She wore silver and diamond jewellery - her earrings were small, delicate, diamond studded silver radishes which made everyone smile - and her necklace held three silver charms: a lion's head with diamond eyes, a Butterbeer cork and what appeared to be the head of some strange animal. Hermione found out later it was a Crumple-Horned Snorkack charm that her father had had made especially for this day.

In accordance with Wizarding tradition, Luna's father led the procession, followed by Molly and Arthur, all three parents seating themselves in the front row. Molly watched as Priscilla and George (or was that Fred?) were next, followed by Hermione and Fred (or George?) and finally, Ginny and Harry, so that Harry came to stand beside Ron as he waited for Luna and Ginny stood ready to take Luna's long, trailing bouquet of white roses. Of course, Ron had eyes only for Luna once she appeared and that didn't change for the rest of the evening, through the ceremony as Professor Dumbledore named them husband and wife, the lovely dinner and right up until the moment they left for their honeymoon. Harry commented to Hermione with great amusement that Ron didn't even look for left overs he was so caught up with his new wife.

The marquee, once dinner was over, was Transfigured to hold a large dance floor - Luna loved dancing - with comfortable seating and occasional small tables placed around the perimeter. And it was during the dancing that Harry felt the first pangs of something he wasn't accustomed to when it came to Hermione: jealousy.

You see, Harry Potter could dance. Passably well.

Seamus Finnigan could dance. Brilliantly.

This guaranteed that Seamus had the girls fighting over a chance to dance with him, much to the resentful disgust of most of the other men present.

So why was it, thought Harry bitterly, he seemed to keep choosing to dance with Hermione more than any of the others?

He sat and watched as Hermione and Seamus once more swept majestically around the dance floor, Hermione laughing breathlessly up at Seamus as they went, her eyes aglow with pure enjoyment.

'Who would've thought the bastard could dance?' grumbled Dean as he plonked himself down next to Harry. He'd already watched Ginny eagerly take the floor a couple of times with the dancing wizard who was one of his best mates, and it had definitely put his nose out of joint.

'When's he going back to Ireland?' asked Harry through clenched teeth. He couldn't believe the size and tightness of the knot in his stomach. As well as that, it felt as though Hagrid was sitting on his chest, instead of dancing with his fiancée, Madame Maxine.

'Not for a week,' ground out Dean. 'And Ginny's already talking about organising a night out later this week - to go dancing.' He was also feeling somewhat neglected what with Ginny going from dancing with Seamus to fussing over Luna and not spending as much time with him as he'd like.

'Over my dead body,' replied Harry, his eyes never leaving Seamus and Hermione. Damn it but he was holding her close! She was pressed up against him the way she was usually pressed against him! It didn't help that he'd spent all afternoon with that image of a barely-clad Hermione dancing in his head and thinking about that night - imagining when he and Hermione would be alone. This fiasco was souring his anticipation. Hermione was his damn it!

'Over your dead non-dancing body,' retorted Dean sourly.

Harry stiffened when he saw them slow down, enabling Seamus to Accio a pale pink rose from the "flower wall" and present it to Hermione with a flourish, not a missing a step as he did so. Hermione's tinkling laugh of delight, followed by her placing a quick kiss of thanks on Seamus' cheek, brought Harry to his feet, jealousy roiling through him.

Dean grabbed his arm, urging him to sit down, but Harry shook off the restraining hand and stalked away. That's my woman you're flirting with, Seamus Finnigan! he thought furiously as he moved passed Priscilla and Neville who were standing beside the dance floor; they exchanged a knowing look - they had overheard Harry and Dean's conversation and had been aware of Harry's escalating anger. Neville had wagered Priscilla that Harry wouldn't last out this dance before he went to claim Hermione.

'I win!' said Neville triumphantly.

But Priscilla was taken with something else. 'Wow!' she whispered as Harry rushed by them and the air around them seemed to become electric in his wake. 'What was that?' She looked up at Neville, her blue eyes questioning.

'That,' said Neville succinctly, 'is Harry Potter.' Priscilla nodded, understanding what he meant. Harry exuded an aura of power as he swept by them - an aura that affected anyone nearby, evident from the puzzled looks and turned heads. It was entirely unconscious on Harry's part and if he was truly angry, it could be dangerous - something Neville had experienced first hand.

The music ended just as Harry reached Seamus and Hermione, both of whom were laughing and clapping, Hermione still clutching the rose Seamus had given her.

Seamus turned to Harry, instantly aware of his friend's state of mind - something he encountered frequently in other men when it came to dancing. Without missing a beat, he brought Hermione's hand to his lips, thanking her for the dance. 'And now, I think, your fiancée would like to take over,' he finished with a smile at Harry before diplomatically disappearing through the crowd.

Harry hated that Hermione looked so infused with joy because of another man - yet she was so beautiful he felt himself soften.

'Would you like to go for a walk?' he asked her, wanting to get her alone.

'Oh no! I'd like to dance - with you - please!'

Harry groaned inwardly. How could he say no? And how could he possibly compare with Seamus?

Hermione sensed his reluctance and moved into his arms. 'Please, Harry. Just one dance, the two of us.'

Thankfully it was a slow dance and as he held Hermione against him he felt his jealousy begin to dissipate in the wake of the rising heat in his body. Hermione was pressed against him along the full length of their bodies and she was still managing to sway slightly; he became intensely aware of the feeling of her breasts pushing into his chest, the rhythmic movement of her hips against his once again throbbing erection. He buried his head in the soft, fragrant crook of her neck, moaning softly.

'I wanted to kill him,' he murmured.

'What? Kill? Who?'

'Seamus.'

Harry didn't see the smile of dawning understanding that lifted the corners of Hermione's mouth as she said, 'Oh, I see.'

Harry lifted his head and looked down at her, his green eyes darkened with the memory of his jealousy.

'You certainly looked as though you were enjoying yourself,' he said darkly, hoping she would refute it, whether it was true or not.

'Oh, I was! I've never danced with anyone like that before - it was wonderful!'

'Is that so?' Harry's tone was biting. Somehow the fact that he couldn't dance like Seamus was making him feel inexplicably inadequate and consequently rather cross.

However, Hermione knew when enough was enough. She exerted enough pressure with the hand that was resting on Harry's neck to bring his face close enough for her to kiss him - which she did, passionately.

As their lips parted, Hermione looked into his eyes. 'Harry, it's you I want, not Seamus. I don't care how beautifully he dances. I'll always want you and only you.'

Harry felt the knot in his stomach slowly unravel as he gave Hermione a lopsided smile. 'Then do me a favour and ditch that bloody rose,' he said gruffly.

Hermione "threw" the rose back at the flower wall where it settled itself amongst the other flowers once more.

'So, jealous, were we?' asked Hermione archly as she turned back to look up at Harry, sincere wonder evident in her eyes; since she knew how she felt about Harry, she'd never given a second's consideration to Harry ever being jealous.

Harry shrugged and smiled. 'A little.' Hermione gracefully lifted one sceptical eyebrow. Harry rolled his eyes. 'All right, a lot!' he admitted and then his gaze became serious, his voice roughening, 'I really did feel like killing him. Seeing another man hold you like that, making you laugh, giving you a rose -' Harry couldn't finish. Hermione felt a strangely perverse thrill at the thought of Harry being jealous, a thrill which her body seemed to consider an aphrodisiac to be converted to a heightened level of desire. She placed both her arms around Harry's neck as she slowly and deliberately began moving her hips in time with the drifting notes of the music, knowing the friction must be almost unbearable for Harry but wanting his desire to match her own. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, Harry placed his lips against her ear. 'Please, let's go!' he whispered desperately.

'Not much longer,' she whispered back as she promised, 'Once everyone's in bed, I'll come to you. Wait for me.'

Considering the way he felt at the moment, Harry thought it was entirely possible Hermione would arrive to find he'd expired with sheer frustration by that time. Seamus, who had caught glimpses of the pair as he moved around the dance floor with another eager partner, was full of envy as he watched Hermione kissing Harry and their intimate whisperings. I hope he really appreciates how lucky he is, he thought to himself.

After what seemed like an eternity to Harry, Ron and Luna finally took their leave, both looking supremely happy; they were rapidly followed by everyone else not staying at the Burrow and a tired but happy Mrs Weasley made it known she was very grateful this time that she didn't have to worry about "all that cleaning up" as she and Mr Weasley made their way to bed.

Because Ron and Luna's wedding had started much later than Ginny and Dean's and consequently finished much later, no one felt any inclination to stay up and very soon everyone was in bed.

Harry lay alone in Ron's room, waiting, a sinking feeling in his stomach as the minutes ticked by. What if Hermione fell asleep? He shifted uncomfortably, aware he'd been so horny for so long that day he wasn't sure he'd be able to muster enough self-control to "last the distance". His body tensed when he heard the unmistakeable sound of the door handle being turned, the soft padding of bare feet and then the snick as the door was closed once more. He threw the covers back as he heard her whisper a locking charm followed by a silencing spell and then the faint smell of her perfume reached him just before he felt the bed move as she sat down. Harry reached out for her, desperate to feel his arms around her.

'Lumos,' he heard her whisper and a soft glow was cast by her wand, which she laid on the floor beside the bed.

Harry felt a rush when he saw that she was wearing the same underwear he'd seen her in that afternoon; her hair was still in curls on top of her head although many more strands were now curled around her neck. She stretched out beside him, her arms above her head, her back slightly arched as she smiled seductively at him. 'All yours,' she whispered. Harry found he couldn't speak as he roughly grasped Hermione around her waist and pulled her up so that she was half-lying on top of his naked form, her legs straddling his hips. She leant down and kissed him hungrily at the same as she reached around to undo the clasp on her bra - she was impatient for the feel of Harry's hands and lips - everywhere; she'd waited all day for this.

Harry watched as she tossed her bra aside before she stood above him to take her knickers off, throwing them after her bra. Kneeling over him once more, she threw her head back as he hungrily ran his hands over her hips and up the silky skin of her stomach before closing them around her firm breasts, his thumbs grazing her taut nipples. The deliciously soft, needful sounds she made at his touch had the effect of making his already straining erection even harder and Harry felt his heart racing, his breathe becoming hard and fast.

'Hermione...' it was barely more than a gasp and then she was there, her face barely an inch from his, her eyes looking into his, as full of lust and love as his were - there wasn't enough air in his lungs to speak, but as he looked into her eyes, so close to his, he could see in them what she wanted: him. Now.

Hermione raised herself slightly on her knees, positioning herself, keeping her gaze locked on Harry's as she slowly impaled herself on his now painfully hard erection. A deep groan was forced from Harry, taking with it his self-control as Hermione's incredible warm, wet tightness enveloped him. When he felt her begin to lift herself slightly off him, Harry instinctively pushed up with his hips, dropping his hands to grip Hermione's waist strongly so that he could prevent her from going any further. Through half-closed eyes, he saw her watching him with her lips parted, her breasts rising and falling rapidly with her heavy breathing. Seeing Harry looking at her, Hermione lifted her hands to push some stray strands of hair from her face, then slowly and deliberately ran her hands down the sides of her neck to her breasts, lingering to caress them softly. Harry was unable to tear his eyes away from her fingers as they brushed over her nipples before continuing down the firm lines of her stomach until they reached the point where he entered her. Then it hit him suddenly: an explosion of ecstasy ripping through his entire body, his back arching as he cried out Hermione's name.

When his breathing had slowed enough to allow him to speak, Harry looked up at Hermione, suddenly feeling desolate that he hadn't been able to control himself longer for her but as he was about to speak, Hermione placed her fingertips gently to his lips with a soft, 'sshh'.

'Harry,' she continued in the same, soft voice, 'I knew you'd need that after today - and don't worry, my turn will come.' She smiled provocatively. 'After all, we have all night.'

'I love you,' he told her as he drew her down so that he could kiss her. Harry felt overwhelmed with an enormous feeling of smug satisfaction. Seamus could keep his dancing. He had Hermione. And Seamus didn't. So there.

Elsewhere in the house all was silent and almost everyone slept. There was one exception, someone who waited until everyone was in bed, laying quietly in the dark for some time before slipping from their own bed, walking silently down the hall, stopping before one of the other rooms and listening for a moment. No sound greeted them and they quietly entered the room and moved to the bed, gently shaking the shoulder of one of the occupants, waiting until they were conscious enough to hold a whispered conversation.

'All right, I'm coming.' The one that had been woken got up and followed the waker from the room.

'Ginny?' came Dean's sleepy voice.

'Go back to sleep, honey - I won't be long,' Ginny whispered as she closed the door.

The next morning when he woke alone, Dean wondered why Ginny had gotten up before him - it wasn't like her at all. He threw on a dressing gown and made his way down to the kitchen, assuming he'd find her there, making tea.

But he didn't. Not then, not there. Not anywhere. There was no trace of her. And after everyone had been woken and questioned it became shatteringly clear: Whoever had come into their room in the dying hours of the night and woken Ginny had been someone she knew and trusted. Appeared to be someone she knew and trusted. And she'd simply gone with them without question, without anyone hearing a thing.

Their nightmare had begun.

In the evening of that same day, two black-robed men approached what appeared to the local Muggles as a small, tangled, untidy copse of old trees. The two black-robed men, being wizards, could see the mansion that was there, although it looked deserted. They stood on the appointed spot and waited. Within a minute an object appeared on the ground at their feet: a Portkey. They picked it up together, seconds later finding themselves facing Lucius Malfoy who was seated at his dining table, his half eaten dinner before him.

He gestured abruptly for them to sit down, calling for his house-elf, Latro, to set another two places and bring some food for the two new arrivals.

Once this was done, Malfoy looked down the length of the formally set dining table at the two Death Eaters, both originally recruited by the Dark Lord himself; he, Lucius Malfoy, had increased the ranks of the Death Eaters of late with a few of his own recruits.

'It's as I told you,' sneered Lucius Malfoy, 'there is no problem without a solution and Potter is not infallible.'

The two Death Eaters, Nott and Carrows, nodded at Malfoy in silent acknowledgement as they began to eat. He had been right - there was a flaw in the protective charm placed around the Mudblood and he had found it, enabling them to execute the first stage of the idea conceived by their new master: taking Ginevra Weasley hostage. She was at this very moment in one of the spare bedrooms upstairs, magically bound.

'Have you sent the owl to Hogwarts? To Draco?' asked Malfoy, his voice hardening at the mention of the man he no longer considered to be his son.

'Yes, Lord Malfoy, it'd been done.'

Lucius picked up his glass of blood-red wine, turning it slowly against the light of the candles sitting at the centre of the table, appearing to admire it.

'Then we wait. He'll be here soon.' He raised his glass in a mocking toast, a look of smug triumph on his face. 'I look forward to having his help in bringing Potter's accursed Mudblood here to join her friend upstairs. Then the fun will really begin.' The two Death Eaters felt an icy chill pass through them as their master's cold, barely human eyes came to rest on them, a cruel smile playing about his mouth.