Harry Potter and the Soul of Chaos

Harry Potter and the Soul of Chaos

Chapter 4 - Weddings & Demons

Time is making fools of us again.

~~Albus Dumbledore

July 20^th

Looking sharp in his formal dress robes, Harry tried unsuccessfully to straighten his unruly hair as best he could in the mirror. Today was the day of the wedding, so Harry thought it best he shaved off the fuzz and try to make himself look at least marginally presentable.

The last few days, since he had brought Dobby back to the Burrow, had gone by in a blur of studying, of preparing for today's wedding, and of just spending time out of each day with his friends.

Dobby had been a huge help wedding-wise. He had decorated the yard to Mrs. Weasley's and Fleur's specifications, magicked all the tables and chairs into place in a fraction of the time it would have taken most of everyone else, and was even now helping prepare the food in the kitchen with Mrs. Weasley and a load of Fleur's relatives, plus a few of the culinary inclined Order members.

Straightening his collar on the black silk robes, Harry shrugged them on his shoulders and smoothed out a few creases. There, he supposed, he was presentable enough. It had taken four hours yesterday, with Ginny and Fleur, to pick these formal robes and Harry was fairly certain that beyond today there would never be another chance for him to wear them. And while that solved the problem of worrying about getting food stains on the damn thing, it had seemed rather pointless to spend so much time choosing them.

Time I could have spent memorising dark curses, he thought, casting a look in the mirror from across the hall in Ron's room and eyeing the trunk of surprises Dumbledore had left him. Amongst the pensieve and a few bits and bobs there had been quite a few texts on highly advanced spells - including the dark arts.

You must know what you are fighting, Harry, a small note atop of the books had said.

Still, he wasn't seventeen yet and as such couldn't practice any of the spells, either light or dark, without tempting fate to incur the wrath of an already overstressed Ministry. Shaking his head, Harry clasped the collar of his dark shiny robes shut and abandoned his hair to the impossible.

"Wow," Ginny said from the doorway, on her way down the stairs, "you're looking sharp."

"You scrub up nicely as well," Harry commented, looking at her reflection in the mirror as he squirted a blob of toothpaste onto his toothbrush.

And Ginny did look nice - very nice. Traditionally the bridesmaid's dress was supposed to look terrible in order to make the bride look stunning. However, when that bride was Fleur the usual rules didn't apply. She could come wearing a dustbin bag and still light up the room. Anyway, Ginny's dress robes were strapless and more of a Muggle dress really.

Her creamy pale shoulders were bare and the dress trailed only an inch or so across the floor. It was a light pink colour and she had had her hair done up in an impressive auburn twist. Two sticks were caught in the back, holding her hair up, and Harry found himself smiling at her without being aware of it.

"Perhaps I'll see you later for a dance, Mr. Potter," Ginny smiled, inclining her head regally.

"I don't do dancing," Harry said through a mouthful of toothpaste. He spat it into the sink. "Death Eaters, Dark Lords, Dementors... sure. But dancing, that's one enemy that's got me beat."

Ginny just continued to smile, a glint in her eye. "We'll see," was all she said before disappearing down the stairs.

Wiping his mouth on his towel, Harry tossed it into the laundry basket and walked back across the hall into Ron's room. He picked up his glasses and placed them on his face before collecting all of the loose books and parchment on his bed and dumping it into Dumbledore's trunk. The sword of Gryffindor, gem encrusted hilt shining in the sheath, rested lightly on top of the pensieve. Harry frowned at it before closing and locking the trunk.

Breath minty fresh and robes on straight, Harry headed out of the room and down the stairs. That sword was a problem for another day. He couldn't really use it to any affective means... stabbing a basilisk through the brain didn't count when it was sheer dumb luck that had presented the opportunity, but still... no, for another day.

Downstairs the house was packed near to bursting with Weasleys, Delacours, Order members, other guests and a bunch of serving folks. The kitchen was off limits to everyone save the select few Mrs. Weasley was allowing to help cook - that included Dobby - and every few moments someone either came or went in the fireplace. Most everyone was holding a flute of champagne, having started the days drinking promptly as the clock had struck twelve.

Harry couldn't put names to at least three quarters of the lower floor of the house, but they all knew him. Despite his fringe covering the cursed scar, dozens of pairs of eyes followed him across the room and out into the backyard under the warm summer sun.

Glancing around for his friends, Harry spotted Hermione and Ron ducking into the pavilion that had been erected on the large empty field just opposite the Burrow and about a half mile from the woods where they had all gone swimming the other day. He made his way over the field, feeling quite warm in the black robes as the sun beat down upon him.

Not surprisingly, in fact he had expected it, Harry found Ron at the buffet eating his way through the majority of the nibbles and dips. Hermione stood nearby, looking both amused and bemused as Ron loaded up his plate with at least two of everything.

"Looking good, Harry," Hermione smiled, dressed in a sky blue dress of her own that was very flattering. Her hair had been done up all nice for the occasion as well. Harry knew she and Ginny had been getting ready since about eight that morning. "You missed a spot shaving," she tsked, stabbing the side of his face with her finger. "Ron did the same. You two are hopeless."

Removing her wand from the small bag she was holding, Hermione muttered a small spell and Harry's cheeks felt warm before all stray strands of stubble fell away. He had cut himself twice using his muggle razor.

"You'll have to teach me that spell," he said, glancing around at the cloth covered tables complete with silver dining ware, ornate candle holders and glasses with a bouquet of white flowers in the centre. Surrounding the pavilion were three long tables, one for each side save the entrance, and these were packed with food of all sorts from all places.

It was more than even Ron could munch his way through, but it wouldn't be from lack of trying.

"Grab a plate, Harry," Ron said, taking a bite into a small raspberry tart. "And fill it up with food from the far wall for me. Then get yourself something and await further instructions."

Hermione smiled. "Slow down, Ron, save some room for later."

"Is Ginny anywhere about?" Harry asked, with as much indifference as he could muster. He must have failed however because Hermione grinned again, this time knowingly.

"She's in the bridesmaid's tent with Fleur getting ready. Everything is getting underway soon," was the reply.

"Shouldn't Ron be in some tent somewhere with Bill?" was the next question. Harry raised an eyebrow in Ron's direction. He just shrugged and dropped a dollop of cream on his sponge cake.

"He should be," Hermione frowned. "But he escaped."

"Bill already ran me through it," Ron said. "I'm to stand there looking devastatingly handsome whilst the show unfolds. That's it. Charlie's the best man so I don't have to do much."

Outside the pavilion, Harry knew, rows of white chairs were arranged before the centrepiece of the ceremony. There were at least a hundred and fifty chairs. He knew, from Mr. Weasley, that he was seated up front with the rest of the immediate family. That had made Harry smile, and moreover feel accepted, when he was told.

"Devastatingly handsome?" Hermione chuckled. "Were they his exact words?"

"More or less," Ron shrugged again and poured himself a goblet of pumpkin juice. "That's what I heard, anyway."

Harry picked up a raspberry tart of his own from the table of food and took a bite. "Let's go sit out in the sun," he suggested. "I don't want to be standing around when the rest of the guests come out - they're already staring at me."

Ron chuckled but nodded, heading for the exit. "That's because unlike me, Potter, you are pig-ugly," he said, laughing at his own 'wit'.

Harry grinned, taking the insult with ease. "Your sister doesn't think so," he replied smoothly.

Harry and Hermione had seats in the front row on the left about halfway down the row. Ron took a seat next to Hermione for the time being and worked his way through the pile of food he had brought with him from the pavilion. A few dozen of the other seats were already taken as well, for the ceremony was soon to start.

"Half an hour," Hermione said, fanning herself with a fan she had conjured. "Ginny did look nice, didn't she, Harry?"

Harry nodded, staring at the grass in thought. "Aye, she did," he said. "Very, very nice."

Hermione smiled, satisfied, and dropped the subject by turning to Ron. "Do you want to dance later on, Ron?" she asked him.

Ron choked on his piece of pie and his eye bulged. Harry leaned over and patted him on the back until he could breathe again. His face had turned red and he coughed. "You handled that well," Harry commented as Ron looked at Hermione.

She was still smiling - Harry wondered if women knew how much power she had over a man when she was smiling - and Ron slowly nodded. "Sure thing," he said, clearing his throat again. "Um, sure thing...."

*'*'*'*

Matt Tristan stepped out of the shop and into a dingy backstreet in Paris, his rubber soled shoes silent on the cobblestone streets of the older parts of the city. He carried in his left pocket an illegal Portkey to London, whilst his right held his wand which was wrapped tightly inside his fist.

It was early in the afternoon and yet Matt felt cold on this warm summer day. He always hated going into places like the one he just left. They were cold, usually home to a few questionable characters. This one, the 'shop', had been entertaining several vampires and a few other creatures.

Still, the wizard proprietor was an old contact of Matt's, and he had supplied the Portkey at a reasonable enough price. It would take Matt and Courtney directly into a cheap flat he owned in his home city. It had been many years since he last stood in London, let alone the United Kingdom, but he couldn't help but feel excited about going home.

He had been a long time on the road, a long time spent in awful motel rooms and dodging curses and worse. With any luck the demon at Merton's place had lost him altogether, or even better someone had destroyed it, and he could relax for a few days before approaching Harry Potter, the Chosen One.

Matt clicked his teeth in thought at that as he stepped out onto a busy street; blending in with the crowd seamlessly and moving down passed a row of Muggle shops and a few coffee houses. In the distance he could see the tip of the Eiffel Tower where Courtney was waiting for him. She had been to sell the car and should have gotten a fair price for it.

Harry Potter was a problem he had not completely gotten his head around yet. If Merton was to be believed, and he had to be because of where he had gotten his information - a place where no lie could be told - then the Chosen One could open the gateway to the Source... the Source.

Matt's thoughts strayed from Potter at that. As they always did when he dwelled upon the greatest treasure in history. The Source of Magic, the Font of Power - the stone upon which entire worlds had been built... and eternal life and glory. The gateway to it was also another problem, as he didn't know where it was, but that would probably be the easy part.

Getting near Harry Potter, however, could be difficult. Chances were he was protected better than the Minister for Magic... but there would be a way, there always was. Potter would be of age soon enough and, as he was orphaned, there was a chance he could strike out on his own.

Hustled by the crowd, Matt crossed a road and made for the tower in the distance. His Sensitive sense was still warning him of danger, of impending doom, but it had been constantly like that for days now. Matt felt that he had lost a great advantage because of that. Now he couldn't know ahead of time if he was going to be attacked - some greater danger was affecting his extra sense.

What that was most likely meant pain in the future, and a lot of it, but he wished it would stop so he didn't have to keep looking over his shoulder. But look he did, just as he turned onto a lesser used narrow street to come at the tower from behind, and what he saw made him stop and gasp.

Merton - recently deceased - was standing only twenty feet away on the sidewalk and grinning at him. He was pale, his hair clung to his head, and his eyes didn't seem real. Matt drew his wand, never trusting Merton even when he was alive, even though now he was clearly not.

Stumbling across the street, which suddenly seemed to hold very few people and vehicles and grow a lot smaller, Merton lurched at Matt, still grinning insanely and limping to one side. He was wearing different clothes than those he died in, but Matt suspected the heavy black jacket he currently wore was to hide the rather large hole where his heart had been.

"Tristan...." Merton growled, and a trickle of blood fell from his mouth down his chin.

Any doubt Matt had had that this thing before him was human vanished in a heartbeat. "Stupefy!" he cried, brandishing his wand down through the air. It fizzled and stuttered, issuing nothing more than a few red sparks. "Oh... shit," Matt stated, staring down at his wand.

The thing that had taken over Merton's body grinned and then, with devastating ferocity, the body of the old man erupted into white hot flames - flames that had burnt Matt recently - and destroyed all flesh and bone. The demon, the creature of fire spawned in Hell itself, stood in Merton's place.

Magic had ceased to work yet again in the presence of this creature, and Matt slowly began to back away, his thoughts instantly jumping to the Portkey in his pocket. He couldn't use it for a few reasons though - One, Courtney wasn't with him and he wouldn't leave her. Two, it was magic itself and wouldn't work now.

The white hot flames roared and thick tendrils of the flame coming from the beast suddenly whipped out across the ground towards Matt. Cursing, Tristan jumped backwards onto the bonnet of a parked car. The tires burst as the white hot flames drew near and the cobblestones were scorched.

Still moving back, Matt knew he had one advantage over the demon. Speed. He was faster and if he got far enough away he could Apparate over to the tower and Courtney. He hadn't before because of the heavy Muggle presence and he didn't need the attention - he was wanted in this country for stealing a few artefacts in the past, but that was neither here nor there right now.

Turning on his heel, Matt jumped back off the roof of the stationary car and bolted up the street of houses and shops which curved around at the top back down towards the tower. Behind him a wall of flame reared up and shot after him, eliciting screams from those unfortunate enough to be nearby. Thankfully most were diving into shops to avoid the heat and fire.

"Tristan...."

Matt did not know what he found more frightening. The fact that the creature could talk or that it knew his name.

Dashing up the street, Matt felt the familiar heat of the demon on his back. He glanced once over his shoulder and gasped at what he saw. A roaring wall of pure fire was washing down the street after him. A wave, even, of liquid hot flames that were eating up the very air he was struggling to breath.

"Good god...." he managed, imagining the charred and broken street behind that wave. Who on earth could destroy this monster?

It had the power to steal away magic itself, and probably further talents in its arsenal. Matt had to stay ahead of it - he knew that much - if he could just get off this street....

His clothes beginning to singe, Matt ducked down a side alley and jumped a slotted fence, feeling the rush of flames fill the alley behind him and also continue on up the street, destroying anything in its path. Sirens and screams assaulted his ears from behind as he hopped across a garden hidden away between the buildings on all sides. He could still see the tower ahead and to his left.

Not sparing a second to look over his shoulder again, Matt dashed over a dumpster and smashed through a window, entering the back of an old terraced house and cutting his right forearm open. He tried to Apparate but felt an insurmountable wall guarding the magic. He growled in frustration and ran through the deserted home. Unlocking the front door, he dashed back out into the streets of Paris and beheld the Eiffel Tower about a quarter of a mile away.

Turning to look over his shoulder, Matt glimpsed the garden he had just run through. It had become a raging inferno - the flame demon still pursued him. "Resilient bastard," Matt growled, breathing heavily, looking around for options now... it wasn't over until it was over - he had learnt that a long time ago.

His eyes fell on one of those Muggle taxis parked alongside the road. Racing across it just as the glass in the house exploded behind him and black smoke began to billow up into the sky, Matt shouted to get the driver's attention and then pulled open the passenger side door, slipping into the seat.

"Drive!" he shouted at the surprised man. Quickly, Matt dug into his pocket and removed a handful of notes, dropping them into the man's lap. "While we're young!"

"Wee, monsieur," the driver said, releasing the handbrake and pumping it into First, sensing Matt's haste.

Glancing once again over his shoulder as the taxi began to move, Matt watched the front of the house he had just been in explode outwards, shattering brick and glass alike and raining it down upon the pedestrians and other traffic.

"Merde!" the driver exclaimed, swerving as a brick came down on his windshield, shattering it. He began to slow down.

"Keep going!" Matt cried his eyes wild. "Drive! Drive! Commande! Allez or something like that...."

"Merde, merde, merde...." the now pale driver cursed under his breath.

Using the side mirror, Matt watched red flames engulf the street behind him. Cursing as well, he began to check the bonds on his magic, not caring in the least if he disappeared in front of this Muggle. The barrier preventing him from spellwork began to ebb away as the taxi sped through the traffic lights and overtook a people mover.

Visualising the Eiffel Tower up ahead, Matt closed his eyes and was sucked away in the compression of Apparation. A moment later the taxi driver began to curse again, swerving across the road dangerously as his passenger disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Matt surprised one or two tourists as he appeared out of thin air at the base of the Eiffel Tower. Smiling sheepishly in the direction of the old folks with the camera, he winked and immediately began to scan the large open area for Courtney. Off in the distance he could see thick plumes of black smoke rising over the city. He shook his head and dashed over to the nearby public tables.

Courtney, bless her, was sitting alone with two bottles of cold water and her backpack slung over her shoulder. Dressed in hiking boots, cut-offs and a travelling vest, she looked every part the Muggle tourist surveying the fabled tower.

She saw him coming, took one look at his face, and sighed. "What did you do?" she asked resignedly.

Matt, his throat sore, ripped the cap off a botte of water and drained it quickly. He gestured to the smoke in the distance and the sounds of rushing sirens - the emergency services.

"You started a fire?" she asked.

Matt shook his head, tossing the now empty bottle aside. "Not me," he said, reaching into his pocket and removing the small hoop that was the portkey to London. "Grab a hold, babe."

Courtney blinked, clearly shocked. She looked around nervously at all the magically ignorant people seated nearby. "Right... right out here in the open?"

All of a sudden people were screaming. Matt and Courtney turned back towards the fire in the distance just in time to see a thin bar of pure white fire roar up into the sky, lashed red with hot flame, and disappear with a tremendous bang that rocked the ground they stood upon.

"Grab a hold," Matt repeated, clearly eager to be away.

Courtney didn't argue this time, quickly grabbing her half of the silver ring.

Scowling, Matt glared at the smoke over the buildings and then activated the portkey. "Activate," he growled, and next to no one saw the two of them disappear.

*'*'*'*

With Hermione on his right and Mr. Weasley on his left, Harry watched the wizarding marriage ceremony unfold with a mild curiosity. He had never seen a wedding in the wizarding world, and whilst many aspects were similar to its Muggle counterpart, others were completely foreign and were solely the providence of magic.

There was no religion in the wizarding world - magical folk believed in magic and knew there was a life beyond death. The fact that ghosts existed were testament to that, but still possessed and respected the awesome power that had been used to create and fashion the world. If there was a God, He existed not as a single being - but in everything, in energy itself.

So as it stood no priest or religious figure presided over the ceremony, but the bride's father stood in that place. Mr. Delacour was a handsome dark haired man, with a narrow gaze and a tough jaw. He seemed kind hearted however, as he smiled reassuringly at Bill, who stood in his formal robes in front of his father-in-law-to-be, and seemed, as most grooms do, a tad nervous.

Charlie, Ron, Fred and George all stood behind Bill - all in equal dress robes - smiling and looking out over the full rows of seats. Ginny, Gabrielle Delacour, and two of Fleur's cousins made up the bridesmaid's line, and any moment now Fleur herself would walk down the grassy aisle between her friends and family.

Harry knew that the wedding was originally supposed to be in France, but the sheer number of guests that were eventually invited made that impossible. More than half lived here in the United Kingdom, which made the wedding more practical to keep it in England. In the crowd Harry knew were various Order members including Tonks and Remus, so it was also one of the most secure weddings.

It wasn't likely that they would be attacked, with so many hundreds of wands all in one place, but it wasn't impossible either. Harry, personally, did not think Voldemort would bother, not so soon after his victory at Azkaban.

Harry sighed silently as he recalled the public outcry of dismay as news of Azkaban's fall reached the ears of the world at large. Fear had ruled that day - it could almost be felt in the very air - and Harry was sure that Voldemort had greatly enjoyed that.

The island fortress was held fast by his army of Dementors, Death Eaters, and Inferi... nothing was getting either on to it or off it without Voldemort's permission. That made Harry feel very, very angry... But today was not supposed to be about anger, and Harry unclenched his fists as the musicians, a wizarding band, began to play a soft tune and the mutterings in the crowd fell silent.

He turned, as did the rest of the crowd, and many gasped as Fleur began her walk down the aisle, head held high and a small smile on her lips as the long flowing dress she wore shimmered and sparkled in the changing rays of light. Turning back to Bill, Harry saw him close his mouth - which had opened in shock - and collect himself as his future wife floated down towards him.

Mr. Delacour smiled at his daughter and, a moment later she stood under the arch next to Bill, each strand of her hair shining and her eyes alight with joy. Bill whispered something and Fleur laughed, patting his beard which hid his war wounds, before turning to her father.

"We are gathered here before Magic," Mr. Delacour began, putting a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "We are gathered here to marry Bill Weasley to my daughter, Fleur."

Harry zoned out at that - he couldn't help it. His scar began to sting and prickle, making his eye twitch. A surge of emotion rushed through him and he swayed in his chair, feeling... feeling something that wasn't his own. Black spots appeared before his eyes and this bright summer's day dimmed.

Harry wasn't aware that he had raised a hand to hold his scar, but he had, and Hermione noticed. He couldn't see her - he couldn't see anything as the world around him faded to black. The feeling of... of curiosity - yes, he was sure that was what it was - deepened and then he saw something before his eyes that no one else could.

A great gout of flame rushed up towards the sky over an unfamiliar city, but with a very familiar landmark. The Eiffel Tower. Harry only got a glimpse of what Voldemort had seen, but that glimpse was seared into his memory. Like the Dark Lord, he recognised that that flame was not natural, that it was of magic - had to be - and thousands of Muggles had seen it.

He shook his head and his vision returned. Holding his burning scar, he looked to his left and right and met Hermione's concerned eyes. She raised an eyebrow in question but he just shook his head. Thankfully it appeared he had not screamed out, and the wedding was proceeding as planned.

In fact, he had missed the entire ceremony. Fleur and Bill still stood under the flower covered arch, both had drawn their wands and crossed them and a thin beam of white light connected the two sticks of wood. Fleur was crying tears of joy, Mr. Delacour announced them married, and Bill kissed her. Ten or so minutes had passed in that last... vision.

Thunderous applause rang out across the field and Hermione put her mouth near Harry's ear. "Are you okay?" she asked, shouting a bit over the cheering of the crowd, and clapping herself. "You've looked dazed the last few minutes."

"Scar was twitching," he told her the truth, part of it. "Nothing too bad."

It wasn't too bad, as it had not hurt really at all. It was terrifying, however, that the connection with the Dark Lord was deepening. This last vision had been a sure sign of that as anything could be. He was fused closer with his enemy than ever before, and the feelings that used to be just simple happiness or raging anger, were now greater, deeper, to abstract emotions and thoughts - like curiosity.

Bill and Fleur walked arm in arm back down the aisle, all smiles and tears. Harry knew little more about wizarding weddings than he had done an hour ago, but he did feel a surge of happiness that everything had gone off without a hitch. Even Voldemort's brief intrusion into his mind slipped away as he rose from his chair, clapping now, and followed the newlyweds over to the pavilion.

The dozens of circular tables with white silk tablecloths each had a name place and Harry knew where his was. The band, dressed in their fancy dress robes, took up a place on the small stage in front of the large dance floor and began to play softly as everyone found there seat.

Following Hermione, Harry walked over to a table near the centre of the high open walled pavilion, slipping in smoothly onto the white chair and running his fingers along the golden curvy letters of the gilded card with his name upon it. Ron sat down on his other side and Hermione next to him.

Ginny arrived a few moments later, drying her eyes and smiling as she sat down next to Harry. She hugged him she was so happy and Harry returned it, wiping away a tear drop just below her eye.

"Wasn't the ceremony just beautiful?" she beamed, looking at him with her wide eyes. "Bill seems so happy."

"It was nice," Hermione agreed and Ron rolled his eyes, looking once again towards the tables packed with food. The main meals would be served soon, however, within the hour, and then the party would really begin. Dancing, singing, eating and drinking. Harry was looking forward to it, even if he was already being stared at by the magical folk walking passed his table.

A few more of the younger teenagers also sat at their table, including Fleur's sister Gabrielle and a bunch of her cousins. There were a handful of other young wizards and witches as well, obviously offspring of the friends of the families. All of them did a double take at recognising Harry, some of the witches blushing deeply, and Gabrielle smiled and waved at him.

"Looks like you got yourself a bunch of fans there, Harry," Ginny whispered, taking a sip from her goblet of sparkling champagne. It was a special occasion, so pretty much everyone fifteen and up was allowed a drink of alcohol. "Should I be jealous?"

Harry nodded. "Extremely," he said. "Hi, how are you?" He waved to the group across the table.

Fairly soon the afternoon food was served. Harry had a spicy chicken breast with an odd sticky sauce that actually didn't taste half bad. For the next hour or so he made polite conversation with the other people at his table, but some of it was more forced than anything else. The younger kids were shy and the older nervous. Still, it was a good afternoon.

After the food the wedding guests started to mingle amongst one another, leaving their tables and some began dancing. The band struck up a well known wizarding song but it was lost on Harry. The pavilion was full of the happy sounds of conversation, of singing and dancing and the guests attacked the large elongated buffet with ferocity. Ron was glad he had gotten into it early.

Sitting at the table Harry soon realised wasn't an option, as most of the guests seemed to know who he was and where he was sitting. Ten minutes after the meal finished and he had shook twelve different hands and forgotten twelve different names. So, reluctantly, Harry allowed Ginny to drag him out onto the dance floor.

Fleur and Bill had led the first dance and now the floor was packed with couples dancing slowly to a soft waltzing along song. Harry placed his hand on Ginny's waist and she leaned in close against him, shuffling side to side to the slow music.

"Do you think Hermione will get Ron out on the dance floor?" she asked him, gazing over his shoulder with mirth in her eyes.

Harry grinned. "She asked him earlier on and he nearly swallowed his tongue. Sometimes I worry about that lad."

"Me too," Ginny said and then, just to throw him off balance, asked another question. "Do you want to kiss me, Harry?"

Harry didn't flinch. He looked into her eyes and thought about the reasons for their break-up a few weeks ago... it hadn't been fair, on her, and he knew it was incredibly selfish of himself to have done it. But it had been for Ginny's safety, and for his independence. He had to do what he had to do and he had to do that alone.

"I would very much like to," he whispered, gazing down at the floor and his shoes. He was already cursing himself for saying that.

Ginny nodded. Spots of red appeared in her cheeks. "That's good to know," she smiled. "Let's go get some cake."

*'*'*'*