Mrs. Weasley's Sugar Pills

Due to the inspiration of Mr. Granger, the band had apparently decided on an all-muggle musical play list for the end of the night. They had spent the last hour and a half playing nothing but old muggle songs, including several renditions of "The Electric Slide."

It was 11:20 PM now and the band had been scheduled to pack up in a few minutes. However, they decided to play for an extra hour after their scheduled time. Harry had gotten them to stay late at Mrs. Weasley's request. Having just paid them an extra twenty-five galleons, courtesy of Fred and George, the band agreed to stay on. Per Mrs. Weasley's request, the band was playing only slow songs.

"You know, Harry dear, something for young couples," Mrs. Weasley had said with a wink.

Harry stood at the side of the bandstand in the shadows and felt terrible. Dreadful. Lonely. Sad. Jealous. Lost. Melancholy. Harry wrapped the shadows around him. He felt a sense that he was trapped again in that cupboard under the stairs with his two pitiful broken toys. These emotions were not the joy you were supposed to feel at a wedding.

Harry could tell that he was sort of...wallowing in it, actually. On some deeply perverse level, Harry could tell that he was fully accepting of this role for himself. Harry welcomed it, in a way.

What had Hermione said to him once? She had told him that he had a "saving people" thing. Perhaps this loathsome feeling of loneliness was simply his way of bearing the burden of who he was: The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen Prat, or whatever. Maybe this was his way of being a...hero or something. Maybe this was his way of preparing for death.

"Or maybe I'm just sick of watching my bloody girlfriend dancing with a bunch of French gits!" thought Harry morosely.

Harry looked up and saw Ron and Hermione enter the dance floor. They walked up from the garden path that led down to the lake. Ron held Hermione by the hand and he was leading her determinedly to the dance floor.

"Are they still angry with each other?" thought Harry.

Harry could not be sure from the way that Ron awkwardly positioned himself in front of Hermione. He was apparently preparing to dance, but it sort of looked like he intended to start some odd grappling contest.

Harry thought about quickly running over to Ron to deliver the cryptic message that Mrs. Weasley had asked him to give Ron, but decided against it. He did not want to interrupt what was occurring. Besides, the message was just about the lake's enchantment. It wasn't pressing, despite its oddity. Harry mentally wished Ron luck, and hoped he did better than Harry had done with Ginny.

Harry had left Ginny about a half-hour ago. They'd had a good conversation, and had even danced The Electric Slide next to each other. Harry had made a couple of strategic missteps. The most notable of those was the fact that he had accidentally managed to mention Godric's Hollow three times.

"If Ginny didn't know where we were going before, she sure does now," thought Harry ruefully. "And the part where she told me that I couldn't stop her from following me was really good."

Harry glanced across the dance floor towards the ale bar. He had expected Ginny to be dancing with yet another Delacour, but she was instead talking animatedly with her brother Charley. Well, at least she didn't dance these slow songs with every male Delacour in sight.

"That's not really fair," he thought with a sigh. "I made my bed, now I'll sleep in it."

Unfortunately, despite all of Harry's well laid plans this summer, he had felt some kind of inexorable force pulling him out of that comfortable bed of misery that he had made for himself. He felt like he was tied to a train that was slowly starting to roll downhill. It wasn't moving fast enough to hurt him yet, but it was accelerating. It would soon pull him off his feet. It would move with ever-increasing, crushing speed. He would not be able to control it any longer. Indeed, he could not control it now.

Sometimes, somewhere deep in his psyche, he felt that trying to control that train was...dangerous. Maybe not now, but it would be. It reminded him of something Dumbledore had told him once, but he couldn't call it to mind. At times he felt a deep instinct telling him that he needed that inexorable force...somehow he needed it.

Was it so bad for him to want just one thing for himself; just one normal, beautiful, wonderful thing?

An image of Dumbledore's dead, staring eyes swam before his mind's eye. Harry squeezed his eye's shut, hoping the image would pass. He heard his father telling his mother to take Harry and run. He saw Cedric's ghost asking for his body to be returned to his father. He saw a young girl with bright read hair lying lifeless on stone in the Chamber of Secrets. He saw Sirius flying backwards through a veil of death.

He saw that young girl, older now and beautiful, lying in his arms, gasping for breath and coughing her last.

"No!" he whispered fiercely. "Not that!" he thought, feeling fear and rage bubbling within him.

He wished desperately that he had someone with whom he could discuss this recurring vision that had plagued him all summer. The only person that could understand this was Ginny, but he couldn't tell her. How could Harry tell Ginny that he had regular nightmares about her death. It was too horrible.

Harry patted his back pocket and felt the little photograph that he kept there. Colin Creevy had taken it. It was a picture of him with Ginny, Ron and Hermione. It was taken during those few blessed spring days before Dumbledore's death, when their biggest worry was whether Ginny would pass her O.W.L.s. In the picture, the four of them smiled and waved at the camera. Harry hugged Ginny close, and Hermione and Ron surreptitiously cast glances at each other when the other was looking at the camera.

During the summer, Harry had begun to take the picture out and stare at it when he was thinking about his troubles. His gaze always fell upon Ginny, and she always smiled up at him reassuringly. It was like she knew what he was thinking, even in the photo.

He began thinking again of what Mrs. Weasley had told him just a few minutes earlier. She had told him about her clock; her clock which told the state of each of the members of her family. The clock that still had all of the Weasleys locked at "Mortal Peril."

Harry wished that Mrs. Weasley had not reminded Harry about that. Now Harry feared that he was leaving Ginny in mortal danger. What if not being with Ginny meant she died because Harry was not with her. What if she followed Harry, Ron and Hermione and got killed trying to find them. Ginny had earlier told Harry some nonsense about getting some sort of underage permit for the use of magic or something, but the trio would be apparating during their journey and Ginny did not know how. She had no license. What if she splinched herself and nobody was there to put her back together?

Harry had thought that the simple way to stop Ginny from following would be to tell her family. He was pretty sure that her brothers would lock her in the broom shed and throw away the key.

On the other hand, Harry remembered Ginny's fame for the bat-bogey hex. Furthermore, she had acquired four "outstanding" and five "exceeds expectations" O.W.L.s at the make-up exams held this summer. These marks attested to her undoubted competence as a witch. Harry was not sure that her brothers could hold Ginny for long.

Harry had also thought that telling Mrs. Weasley would have done the trick, and he had tried. Mrs. Weasley had just smiled at Harry with a sad expression and quoted some Bible verse at him. This was odd since Mrs. Weasley was not particularly religious. Something about abiding faith, hope and love.

Harry knew about love, now. He knew it when he looked at Ginny. But the problem with Ginny is she could not be his. The thing about being with Ginny was that it was like somebody else's life. It was happy. Harry's life had never been happy.

Things had made Harry happy in instances throughout his life. His friendships with Ron and Hermione made him happy when he was enjoying their company. Quidditch made him happy when he was on his broom or after he had just won a match. Being at Hogwarts used to make him happy, until the horrible events at the end of last term. Now he had little desire to return to that place

But Ginny was more than that. She was like when he was eleven years old, and he saw his reflection with his parents in the Mirror of Erised. He was content. It was like he had found what he most wanted. It was like he had come home.

Before they had spilt up, Harry had been happy when Ginny was nearby, but not only then. He was happy all of the time. He was happy at all instances because Ginny had been with him at all instances. She had been with him even when she wasn't physically present. Harry's heart had carried Ginny with him, even when she was away.

"And that's why I can't leave with her angry with me," thought Harry. "I need her to be with me, even if I can't be with her."

Harry sighed, wondering if he was making any sense, or if he was just making excuses for himself. Yet again, Harry began walking across the dance floor towards the ale bar. He knew that this was going to break his heart, but he had to give Ginny one dance. He had gruntingly promised to do so earlier, and he couldn't disappoint her.

One dance would not derail his plans. One dance would not break his resolve. He was allowed to have one happy memory before the road that lay ahead, wasn't he? Not every happy thing had to be from someone else's life, did it?

When Ginny looked up from her conversation with Charley and saw him approaching, her bright green eyes made Harry feel like that train had just picked up a little more speed.

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

Harry's one dance with Ginny had become three and it was about to become four. He couldn't tear himself away. He felt like it would be tearing off his own arm to leave Ginny standing there.

As he danced with her, he felt better and worse. The dark thoughts that had been plaguing him all summer seemed to be dissipating like steam from a cauldron as Ginny danced with him. For the first song, they stood formally in front of each other. For the second song, Ginny stood with her body close to him and her arms resting lightly on his shoulders. By the end of the third dance, Ginny's head was on his chest and her arms were around his neck.

And each moment, as it got more wonderful, it got more terrible. He knew it would be over soon. This dance had been a bad idea. It would be that much more traumatic for both of them when he pulled away from her, and left her for good.

The band began to play an old muggle favorite; a sad song of longing and loss that fit Harry's mood. The song seemed to be a very simple tune, really. The band's bass player had put his bass away, and he sat on a stool next to the piano and sang the song in a rich voice. One of his band mates tickled the ivories perfectly, for the simple and sad piano accompaniment. The rest of the band sat on the stage adding discordant harmonies to the bass player's melancholy rendition of the lyrics. The arrangement was perfect.

"Just one more. This is definitely the last song," thought Harry, holding onto Ginny a little tighter.

As the music and the glowing fairies drifted through the reception, it seemed that drops of golden sound floated around the pair of them as they held each other close. He felt the tug of the tune on his heart.

"Gone is the romance that was so divine.

It's broken and cannot be mended.

You will go your way, and I will go mine,

Now that our love dreams have ended.

What'll I do

When you

Are far away,

And I am blue?

What'll I do?

What'll I do

When I

Am wond'ring who

Is kissing you?

What'll I do?"

Harry felt Ginny stroke her hand on his neck as she held him closer. She was listening to the words and they were affecting her.

Her red hair shimmered as the magical creatures overhead twirled in time to the music. The smooth skin of her face was shadowed as she rested her cheek against his chest, a sad smile curving her lips. He watched the light play tricks with her long straight locks.

Harry had never known that "red" could encompass so many colors. There were the shadowed almost-browns, the reflective tendrils of almost-white, the jarring brilliance of sunlit flame, the warm embers of the hearth's fire, and a hundred more. Harry could stand here and count them for...for years.

It was like the brilliance and fire of her courage, the almost white-hot joy she could show when amused, the dark and shadowed memory of her possession by Voldemort. It was the warm glow of the hearth that made any place home, so long as Ginny was there.

"Someone else's life," thought Harry sadly.

But when he held Ginny, he felt life. He felt it course through him, and he felt the vitality that animated him, and the hope that pulsed with his enlivened heart. He felt like he could do anything.

But if she was lost from his life...he was sure that all happiness would be banished from him. He felt sure that this soaring feeling in his chest would entirely disappear from the world; that he would be crushed utterly.

He should end this dance. It had been stupid of him to ask her, actually. His plans could be ruined. His plans might already be ruined. He was angry with himself. He could feel his resolve breaking like a rock ground to dust beneath the inexorable progress of a locomotive. The trouble was that part of him - perhaps most of him - wanted to dive under that locomotive and be pulverized.

Looking around the dance floor, he saw the other couples. It was a much thinner crowd than before because of the late hour. The crowd included Hermione and Ron swaying back and forth in time to the gentle music, their row obviously forgotten.

"How did all of this happen?" thought Harry shaking his head.

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

As they danced, Ginny felt Harry shake his head slightly. She wondered what he was thinking. He was probably thinking that he should not have given in to her.

The muggle song that the band was playing had touched something in Ginny, and she could feel a lump in her throat as she listened to the simple feelings of loss it expressed, and the hopelessness of that loss. She had not let herself become hopeless, but she had felt the tickle of that particular emotion; the threat of it. If Harry did not come back to her, as the song said, she did not know what she would do.

The simple piano accompaniment to the song had reached a muted crescendo of sorts and Ginny's heart ached for the loneliness in the singer's voice, the mournful disharmony of his band mates, and the melancholy tinkle of the piano.

"What'll I do

With just

A photograph

To tell my troubles to?

When I'm alone

With only

Dreams of you

That won't come true

What'll I do?

When I'm alone

With only

Dreams of you

That won't come true

What'll I do?

What'll I do?

What'll I do?"

Ginny felt Harry's arms steadily tighten around her as the last verses of the song progressed. She felt him starting to enfold her in his strong embrace and they began swaying only imperceptibly, as they were holding each other too tightly to dance.

"Someone else's life," muttered Harry into her hair as he held her. His voice was shaking and hoarse.

It was more than melancholy. She heard desolation in his voice, and defeat. She heard the sound of the orphaned infant crying inconsolably for his mother who would not come again. She heard the sound of a child who was locked in a cupboard under the stairs and who did not understand why he was not loved. She heard the sound of a teenaged youth who had been marked for death and who had lost his innocence much too soon. She heard the sound of a young man who had suffered the horrors of his protectors being ripped from him and killed, one by one.

And she heard the voice of a young man that was willing to give up the girl that he loved, in order to protect her.

Ginny gently pulled herself back so that she could look up at him. His normally brilliant green eyes were shadowed and haunted. His face hung almost gauntly and she could see repressed emotion battle with fear on his face. She felt her heart break for him because of the burdens he had borne for so long; burdens that he had borne for all of them. He was to be the Chosen One and to save their magical world; a burden he had borne partly for her.

A tear glistened in a corner of his eye, and her finger brushed it away as her hand cupped his cheek. She would not let him bear it alone.

Gently, she took his right hand in her left and kissed it, and pressed it over her heart. She pressed her right hand over his heart. She willed herself not to cry.

"Your life, Harry. This is your life!" said Ginny firmly. She was lightly squeezing the hand she held and patting him over the heart with her right hand. "This," she said again squeezing his hand that rested over her own heart.

Harry looked at her. He looked dumbstruck and speechless and...hopeful.

"You hold my heart...in the palm of your hand," she said softly with a tremulous smile, patting his hand splayed over her heart. She attempted a little laugh that came out as something very close to a sob. "And I feel like I will surely die if...if you let it go."

Harry stared at her, emotions warring on his face, and made a small confused sound in the back of his throat. Ginny couldn't stand the indecision in his gaze, and she lowered her eyes to stare at her hand that she had placed on his chest.

Suddenly she felt his finger on her chin. Harry lifted her face to look at her. Ginny felt the tears she had tried to fight flowing down her cheeks. She saw his eyes again, still sad but with an ember burning in them. An ember which she knew could be turned into a flame.

He was hers again.

For a brief instant, Ginny thought of the night so far, and how things that had earlier seemed hopeless were now so poignant and wonderful.

"How did all of this happen?" thought Ginny as Harry leaned towards her.

Harry's trembling lips met hers as the fairies twirled their illumined dance above.

And the band played on.

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

Despite the pain in her feet, Hermione was enjoying her dance with Ron immensely. He was trying to dance with her in a formal manner, like they had learned at Yule Ball back in their Fourth Year. She could tell that he couldn't quite remember how to do it, however, so they had ended up dancing at arms length with his hands on her waist and her hands resting on his shoulders. It was an extremely awkward stance that had led to more than a few painful foot encounters, and had carried them back and forth across the dance floor until now they were across the dance floor from where they had entered at the garden path. The stance also made it so that they were not dancing close together, and they were forced to look uncomfortably at each other from an arms-length away.

Hermione didn't have the heart to correct Ron because he was trying so hard. Every now and then, she would catch his lips moving as he counted the steps for a formal dance, which was completely inappropriate to the soft music being played. His nerves did seem to be getting the better of him again.

Hermione suppressed a yelp as Ron's toes caught the instep of her left foot again. She couldn't help jerking her arms a bit as they rested lightly on his shoulders. She felt his hands jerk, as well, where they rested on her waist. He was definitely getting nervous again. Ron now looked miserable and his ears were turning bright red.

"Sorry," said Ron. "Look, let's just go sit down, all right? I don't want to cripple you." There was a note of mortified pleading in his voice.

"It's okay, Ron. I barely felt it," said Hermione, trying to suppress an amused smile and a grimace of pain at the same time. "If only his feet weren't so large," she thought.

"No, it's not okay," said Ron angrily. "I shouldn't have asked you to dance. I'm pathetic at... Sorry!" He hissed the last as the heel of one of his giant hooves landed heavily on Hermione's toes.

He had an adorably apologetic look on his face and he tried to take his hands from her waist and pull away. "I'm going to sit down," he said, his whole face turning red.

He had definitely lost the calm and confidence he had exuded earlier when they met unexpectedly by the enchanted lake. Thinking of that encounter still made Hermione tingle. A pity she couldn't bottle some of that enchantment and take it with her.

"It's okay, Ron," said Hermione, smiling up at him through clenched teeth. She gripped his shoulders tightly to keep him from pulling away. She wasn't going to let him get away now. She had waited almost three years for this.

"But..."

"Look, Ronald, if I say it is okay for you to step on my feet, then it is okay. I am enjoying dancing with you too much to worry about a few taps on the toes!" said Hermione huffily, scowling now. In truth, she thought she might have a little trouble walking the next day.

For an instant, he looked like he was going to argue with her in typical Ron fashion. Instead, he suddenly broke into that infuriatingly cute grin he always used when he really wanted to annoy her.

"All right," he said with a shrug. "They're your toes."

"Yes, they are," said Hermione, a smile belying the bossy tone in her voice. "Look, why don't we dance like Harry and Ginny are dancing? It might be less dangerous that way." She nodded in the direction of the couple, who were swaying against each other on the other side of the dance floor near the ale bar. Ginny's head was resting on Harry's chest and her arms were twined around his neck.

Ron looked towards Harry and Ginny. Ron had to crane his neck to see past Hagrid and Madame Maxime. They were revolving slowly around each other in the center of the dance floor like male and female planets. Hagrid said something and Madame Maxime laughed.

When Ron finally caught sight of Harry and Ginny, he said, "Well, all right. We could give that a try. You don't think it's too obvious to dance like that, do you?" Hermione noticed Harry look in their direction. Harry shook his head slightly, a bemused expression on his face.

"We'll only be dancing, Ron, not snogging in the middle of the dance floor," replied Hermione with a little laugh. Ron's ears turned brighter pink and he grinned.

"All right, then. You know, I'm not sure that I like what's going on over there. They are supposed to be broken up," said Ron frowning and peering over at Harry and Ginny.

"Once again, Ron, not snogging," said Hermione impatiently. "Here let's try it."

There was an awkward moment as they tried to adjust themselves while still moving to the music, arms tangling and elbows bumping into one another. Ron tried to bend down so that Hermione could put her arms around his neck, but went a little too far in his nervousness and butted her forehead. He looked mortified for a second, but she burst out laughing. It took him a few moments to smile too.

"Honestly!" thought Hermione. "Does he think he's going to scare me off now?"

Ron could be like an onion sometimes and a bit exasperating. He would reveal different layers from one moment to the next. One minute he would be awash in self-doubt about his athletic ability, and the next he would be ready to muggle-duel Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle all at the same time because they had said something rude to her. He could be so brave about physical danger, but then turn into a nervous wreck when asked to do something as simple as dance. By the lake, he had acted like he could sweep her up and carry her away, but now she felt like she had to tell him how to do the simplest thing.

Not that she minded, of course. When she had need of him, she had no doubt that he would be her knight in shining armor. Sometimes he just needed her to show him how to do things, or he needed a little help when something made him nervous. She smiled at the thought. It seemed like a good trade for both of them when she analyzed it properly. In fact, she felt that such a give and take between them might be...important in some way... or at some point.

"Wait, Ron," said Hermione as Ron tried to bend down again to let her put her arms around his neck. Hermione put her hands on his chest to keep him from head-butting her again.

"He is starting to get muscular," she thought, feeling his chest through his dress robes.

After a few seconds of admiring Ron's upper body, Hermione looked up and realized Ron was staring at her, confused. She felt her face grow blazingly warm and she quickly moved her hands to both of his shoulders to hide what had distracted her.

Hermione said briskly, "You are taller than Harry and you have broader shoulders. Why don't you do this ..." She took Ron's arms and placed them around her waist behind her back. This became a little difficult as he puffed out his chest and stood up straighter after her comment about broad shoulders. She also noticed he was flexing his arms.

"Honestly! Boys!" thought Hermione, amused. His arms were getting rather nice, though.

"And I will do this..." said Hermione as she tossed her unruly hair aside and pressed against him and snuggled her head against his chest. She lightly rested her arms along his arms with her hands resting lightly on the front of his shoulders. She heard him blowing wisps of hair out of his face, and spluttering slightly.

"See, now you don't have to bend down for me. How's that?" she asked as they began to sway lazily sway back and forth to the music. The band was playing a melancholy little number called "What'll I do?" that Hermione's parents had always liked. The bass player was singing to the piano's sad accompaniment. It was nice, but it was almost over.

"Uh...that'll do," said Ron. "Can't really step on your feet if we just sway back and forth, can I?" Amusement tinged his voice at the last.

"Exactly," said Hermione with a giggle, giving his shoulders a light squeeze. She felt Ron rest his cheek against the top of her head, still making puffing sounds to keep hair out of his nose, and he held her a little tighter. This was nice...

"Oi!" exclaimed Ron suddenly and he jerked his head up, looking across the dance floor at Harry and Ginny.

"What?" said Hermione, feeling annoyed at the interruption. "Oh!" she said, as she saw Harry holding Ginny, who was obviously crying. Harry was kissing her tenderly.

"What's that git playing at?" said Ron fiercely. "I let it go when he split with her. I figured he had his reasons, but if he is trying to play with her..."

Hermione was alarmed. Ron's whole body was tensed and he seemed poised to go and begin expressing his anger to Harry personally, and with a bit of muggle-dueling thrown in.

"Ron!" said Hermione reprovingly, giving Ron her best don't-be-an-idiot look. "He's our best friend. Do you really think he would try and play games with Ginny's feelings?"

Ron still looked angry, but he said, "Well, no ..."

"And you saw how Harry was acting when we went to meet him at the Dursleys. He looked terrible! And he must have asked you about Ginny's state a hundred times. I know he asked me about her at least twice a day while we were there."

"Yeah, but..." said Ron, his angry expression softening slightly into intense concern. "Yeah, but...but I don't think Ginny can go through that again, Hermione. I heard her crying by herself in her bedroom for the week after we got home from school; before we went to stay with Harry. I can't let him just bounce my little sister around like a yo-yo, can I? I won't allow it even if he doesn't mean any harm. I don't care if he is my best mate..."

"I don't question your sentiments, Ronald, but..." began Hermione.

Ron interrupted Hermione with a satisfied grunt at what he perceived as her agreement. He began to move towards Harry and Ginny. He forgot to disentangle himself from Hermione, however, and they made a disjointed crab-step sideways and nearly fell over.

"But I do question your tactics," Hermione said reproachfully, starting to get more annoyed as they regained their balance.

Hermione gripped his shoulders as hard as she could to hold him back. She had a moment to think approvingly of how solid Ron's shoulders had become.

Hermione then said in her most sensibly stern voice, "What we need to do is to sit down with Harry and find out why he did it and what his intentions are and to discuss the situation with him. We must do this later. If you go over there now, Ginny will not thank you for it."

Ginny's head was nestled against Harry's chest again and she was smiling. Harry was smiling too.

"Well, Hermione," Ron said mulishly, "what do you make of it, then? Just going to let it happen because Ginny might be upset? She'll be a touch more upset if this goes too far and then he just leaves tomorrow."

Hermione hissed impatiently. She would not row with Ron anymore tonight.

She said in a soft voice, "Ron, what I make of it is that, after the weekend, I think Ginny will probably be coming with us to Godric's Hollow."

"Hermione, don't be bloody stup..." Ron paused abruptly, and made a visible attempt to steady himself, swallowing hard as he tried to control his tongue.

Ron began again, saying, "That is...I should say...I respectfully disagree, Hermione." Ron looked rather pleased with himself.

Hermione burst into gales of laughter, hugging him tightly around his shoulders. Of course, she was pleased that he was trying so hard to avoid being rude to her, but the look of effort on his face was priceless! His face had briefly turned mauve with the effort of stopping himself in mid-curse.

Still hugging him lightly and giggling, she turned her face up to him. Ron seemed a bit insulted, but after a moment, the tension drained out of him and he was chuckling too.

"All right, then. You win. We'll talk to him, then. He is my best mate, after all," said Ron with a slightly less intense glare at Harry and Ginny.

The band was playing another slow song and they continued to dance, chatting idly. Ron became less and less self-conscious as they discussed Fleur and Bill, or Fred and George's extravagant robes, or whatever topic came to mind. In truth, they shared all of the inane small talk in which Hermione had tried to engage Ron earlier in the evening, when he was rudely grunting at anything that she said. But it did not seem so inane. Ron was his old self. Witty at times, but always brutally, if not tactfully, honest about what he thought.

That was perhaps the best thing about Ron. He rarely thought to lie, and when he did lie, he was terrible at it. That's why it still made Hermione's heart glow a bit to remember how he had just told her by the lakeside that she was more beautiful than anyone else at the wedding. Ron meant it. Of course, he had been under the influence of the lake's enchantment at the time, but it probably still came from the heart.

Hermione was also relieved that her parents were not present in the dwindled crowd. They must have headed off to bed. She hoped her father felt all right in the morning after his Lager intake tonight. Hermione was even more relieved that Viktor was not present when she and Ron returned from the lake. Both Hermione's parents and Viktor were bridges that they would have to cross later in the weekend.

"Hermione?"

"Umm hmm?"

"Why did you say 'after the weekend' earlier? We're leaving for Godric's Hollow tomorrow."

Hermione hid her face in the folds of Ron's dress robes. "I thought that we weren't going to talk about those plans tonight."

"I was just wondering," said Ron earnestly. "We don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

"It's okay. Umm...well, yes, that is, of course because...yes, uh...well, I, um...sort of...promised our mothers that we would stay through the weekend."

"Bloody hell!" muttered Ron, but he did not sound angry. "Harry's not going to like that."

"Sorry. My mum is very good at making me feel terribly guilty about seeing her and my dad."

Hermione looked up at Ron and he was staring thoughtfully towards the wine bar. She looked and saw Mrs. Weasley standing and talking to Bill, Fleur and Percy. Fleur looked a bit bored but she was smiling politely and holding Bill's hand. Bill and Percy were talking animatedly together...and they were laughing!

"Not a bad idea, though," said Ron softly, distracted. "I promised my mum something too. Been a little busy to attend to it, though. Maybe I can get my dad and Perce..." He trailed off.

Ron looked down at Hermione with a thankful smile. "Cool!" he said simply. "And I think Fred and George have really done something great to the hotel in town; something about a big party tonight or tomorrow night, or both maybe."

Hermione looked over at the wine bar and caught Mrs. Weasley's eye. Mrs. Weasley winked at her.

The band made an announcement that the next song would be the last of the evening, and thanking everyone who stayed late. The bassist said that the next song was by a very famous muggle named Ray Charles, and it was once again a piano number.

Hermione recognized the song. It was called "You Don't Know Me." It was the perfect end to the night.

Hermione giggled as the opening piano rift started and Ron looked at her quizzically.

"Listen to the words," she said with a smile. "This should be our song."

Ron cocked an ear with a serious expression on his face, and Hermione suppressed another giggle.

"I certainly do giggle entirely too much around him," she thought. "But look at his face!"

Ron's face was screwed up in concentration as he awaited the lyrics for the tune. Hermione rested her head on his chest again with a smile. He was so cute sometimes.

The bass player began to sing in a rough voice, full of longing.

"You give your hand to me

And then you say hello,

And I can hardly speak

My heart is beating so.

Anyone can tell

You think you know me well

But you don't know me.

No, you don't know the one

Who dreams of you each night,

And longs to kiss your lips

And longs to hold you tight.

To you I'm just a friend.

That's all I've ever been.

No, you don't know me."

Hermione sighed as they continued to sway back and forth. She felt herself getting lost in this moment and gripped Ron's shoulders tightly. She was thankful to whoever got the band to play longer, because this was simply wonderful. This night, both here and by the lake, was better than she had hoped for these many months.

Ron began to run his hands lightly through the hair hanging down from her shoulders. He softly caressed the bare skin of her shoulders, which were revealed by the low cut of her gown in back. She felt her skin tingle where his fingers traced the curve of her shoulder blades, the line of her spine, and the dip in the small of her back.

She moved her hands to the back of his shoulders and held him tighter. With her head on his chest she could hear his heart thudding strongly. She slowly moved her arms up and twined them around his neck. She heard his heart beat faster as she held him. Her heartbeat sped to match his. She stood on tip-toes, resting her head on his shoulder. He bent smoothly now, so that he was nuzzling her neck. Her unruly hair covered his face.

She felt him kiss her neck lightly, hidden by her extravagant curls, and she trembled lightly. He kissed her again where her jaw and her neck joined and she shuddered. She brushed her hands through his hair that hung over his collar. She turned her head so that her face was pressed into his neck. She sighed, inhaling the scent of him deeply. She kissed him lightly above where his pulse beat, and she felt him shiver.

She and Ron continued to sway slowly to the music, and Hermione began to feel as she had at Dumbledore's funeral when Ron had held her. "Safe," she thought happily. "Loved."

"Hermione?" said Ron, straightening up.

"Yes?" she said, pulling back enough so that she could look him in the eye.

Ron's eyes were a deep blue. They sparkled with reflected fairy light, but they burned with a light of their own. His shadowed face was smooth and composed and a small confident smile played across his lips. Ron looked at her, and she felt that his eyes drank her like she was water to a man lost in the desert.

"Ah," she thought, "there is my knight, just when I need him."

Ron began to lean towards her and her breath caught.

"In the garden, you said that we should keep it a secret," she whispered tremulously.

"You should know better then to listen to me about things like this," he said with a smile, his mouth mere inches from hers. His breath was warm and sweet.

She closed her eyes with a sense of wonder filling her, and the moon and stars seemed to spin overhead.

"How did all of this happen?" thought Hermione as Ron kissed her in front of God and everyone.

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

After few brief instants that seemed to stretch for hours, Ron pulled away and looked down at Hermione. He felt himself smiling foolishly.

He was so overwhelmed by his feelings for this girl, he couldn't believe this was really happening. How could he have ever felt unsure of his feelings for her? This was right. This was the way it was supposed to be. This was...important somehow.

Plus, even though they were no longer under the influence of the lake, he felt utterly calm with this girl. This beautiful, brilliant, wonderful young woman.

"Why shouldn't I feel calm around her?" he thought ruefully, remembering his angst by the lake side earlier that evening. "She's my best mate, isn't she?"

And she had picked him. Not bloody Krum, or bloody McClaggen, or some other bloody git. She had picked him!

"Me and you," he said shaking his head wonderingly. "What did I do to deserve it? Why would you bother?"

Hermione ran her hands through his hair, and smiled up at him. "Well, Ron," she said teasingly, "you're the only boy I know who likes to argue as much as I, but is so very bad at doing it."

Ron's smile disappeared for a second as he goggled at her.

"I always win, see," she finished with an overly serious expression.

Ron looked at her for a second then threw his head back with a hearty laugh. He pulled her close and bent to kiss her again.

"Says you!" said Ron grumpily and then his mouth was on hers again, stifling her laugh.

"How did all of this happen?" he thought happily. "But really, who cares as long as it did?"

As he and Hermione continued to kiss and laugh and dance to the last song of his brother's wedding, Ron didn't care who was watching. Sod them all.