Harry sipped his wine, mulling over Remus’s words. Hadn’t he said himself that he’d never felt stronger than that brief time he and Ginny were together? Hadn’t his own parents decided that living and loving were worth all the risk?
“Come on, Harry. Let’s dust off your dancing shoes,” Tonks said, grabbing his hand and dragging him onto the floor. He danced with Tonks, Mrs. Weasley, Hermione and even Fleur before insisting he needed a break.
A disturbance near the entrance of the tent caught his attention, and he walked over to investigate. Fred and George stood there with arms akimbo, glaring at Percy, who was standing at the entrance, looking extremely uncomfortable. With him stood the Minister of Magic, dressed in his finery and bearing gifts. Harry was reminded of a similar scene this past Christmas.
“What are you doing here, Percy?” Ron demanded, storming across the tent and stopping within inches of his elder brother.
“I was invited,” Percy said, lifting his nose and adjusting his glasses.
“Yeah, and you didn’t reply,” Fred spat.
“Mum had a good cry over it, as I recall,” George said.
“Unfortunately, my busy schedule didn’t allow my prompt response, and I do apologize for my ill manners,” Percy said stiffly. “I’ve come to deliver a gift to my eldest brother, so if you’ll excuse me...”
“Mr. Potter,” Rufus Scrimgeour said before Harry could slip away. “I wondered if we might have a word while Percy here discusses a private matter with his family.”
“Harry is family,” Ron snarled. “More so than this sod,” he said, jerking his head in Percy’s direction.
“Percy? Is that you?” Mrs. Weasley cried, interrupting them all. “Oh! You did come; I knew you would. Come over and see the newlyweds. Bill will be so happy to see you.”
As Mrs. Weasley led Percy away, Scrimgeour stared pointedly at Harry. “A word, Mr. Potter?”
Harry crossed his arms across his chest but didn’t move away from Ron and the twins. “We have to stop meeting like this, Minister. I suppose old habits are hard to break.”
A flicker of annoyance crossed Scrimgeour’s face. “Things are dismal, as I’m certain you are aware. Now that some time has passed since Albus Dumbledore’s death, I’m wondering if you’ve taken the time to reconsider my proposition?”
“Your proposition?”
“About Ministry protection, Harry. I’m certain you’ve read the reports of Muggle casualties. Just last week there was another attack in Diagon Alley, where several shops were destroyed.”
“I’m aware of them. What are you doing about them?” Harry asked.
“The Ministry is doing everything within its power—”
“Released Stan Shunpike yet?”
“That is not going to get us anywhere,” Rufus Scrimgeour said, his voice rising slightly.
“No, what’s not getting us anywhere is your refusal to accept that I’m not going to be your poster boy,” Harry said, snarling. “If you want my approval for the way things are being done at the Ministry, then earn it. Start doing what needs to be done. Skip these useless handbooks on how to protect yourself and start teaching people something useful. Teach them how to cast a Patronus, or how to deflect the Inferi. Stop terrorizing people you know are innocent just to make it look like you’re doing something.
“You can start with questioning those former suspected Death Eaters who claimed to be under the Imperius. Hell, any Death Eater worth his salt knows to claim he was acting under the Imperius, and you’ll release him. The fact that Stan Shunpike never thought to claim it should tell you he’s no Death Eater.”
“This is getting us nowhere,” Scrimgeour said irritably.
“No, and I can see from your refusal to accept some cold hard truths that it’s not going to. You might have once wanted to help people when you first became an Auror, but now you’re just like Fudge, more concerned with politics and public perceptions. That isn’t the kind of leader we need in this climate, Minister. So, you go right ahead and do what you’ve got to do, while I’m going to go and actually get something done,” Harry said, fuming.
“Exactly what is it you think you’re going to be doing?” Scrimgeour asked suspiciously.
“Oh, a little of this, a little of that,” Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders.
“You know what Albus Dumbledore was doing before he died, and I intend to find out,” Scrimgeour accused, his eyes narrowing dangerously.
“As I said,” Harry replied with dead calm, “you do what you have to do. Right now, I have a wedding to enjoy, and your presence is neither needed nor wanted here.” With that, Harry walked away from a spluttering and very angry Minister of Magic, Ron following closely in his wake. Harry was amused to see Fred and George remain behind to escort Scrimgeour from the tent.
“Whoa, Harry,” Ron said, grinning appreciatively. “You just dismissed the Minister of Magic. I’m glad Hermione didn’t hear that, though. She would have started hyperventilating.”
Harry smiled. “Are you two having a good time?”
“Yeah, we are,” Ron said, watching Hermione chatting with Viktor Krum.
Harry tensed, waiting for the explosion. “Ron.”
“She came here with me. She wants to be with me,” Ron said firmly, keeping his eyes fixed on Hermione as she walked across the dance floor.
He could hear that slight measure of uncertainty still in Ron’s voice. Deciding to tease a bit, he asked sharply, “Did you get a nice look at her bum?”
Ron jumped. “What? I- I- I didn’t.”
Harry couldn’t hold the stern face any longer. “You did so! I just watched you. You can’t take the mickey out of me anymore about Ginny unless you want to get it back about Hermione. She’s the closest thing I’ve got to a sister, you know.”
“Sod off. Don’t let her hear you say that, either, or she’ll cry all over you. We all know how well you handle crying girls,” Ron said, elbowing Harry in the ribs.
Harry shoved Ron’s shoulder. “Git.”
“Would you like to dance, ‘Arry?” Gabrielle asked. She’d walked up behind them without his noticing.
Harry groaned inwardly, while Ron sniggered.
“I’d be honored, Gabrielle,” he said gallantly, causing the young girl to beam. He glared at Ron as he led Gabrielle onto the dance floor. As the music played, he caught sight of Ginny, once again dancing with Jean-Luc, and had to grit his teeth in frustration. He tried to steer Gabrielle away from where Ginny and Jean-Luc were dancing, finding it unbearable to watch her. Somehow, however, every few steps Gabrielle managed to maneuver them nearly next to the chatting couple. He knew he was the one who was supposed to be leading, but he’d never quite got the hang of the steps.
Just as they came alongside Ginny and Jean-Luc, the music changed into a slower song, and the couples surrounding them pulled each other closer.
“I zink it iz time to switch partners,” Gabrielle said, shocking both Harry and Jean-Luc. She let go of Harry and wrapped her arms around her cousin. She said something in French as the two began to dance.
Harry and Ginny were left staring at one another.
“So, are you going to ask me to dance, or what?” Ginny asked, raising a finely arched eyebrow. Harry could read the challenge in her eyes. She was daring him to walk away.
Damn it all to hell, but he couldn’t do it.
“Would you care to dance with me, Ginny?” he asked hoarsely, licking his suddenly dry lips. A thin sheen of sweat formed on his upper lip as got a better look at the neckline of Ginny’s dress. His eyes wouldn’t behave and kept trying to look down.
Ginny’s eyes softened as she put her small, warm hand within his own. He wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her firmly against him, inhaling the sweet, flowery scent he remembered so well.
He forgot about his feet and counting the steps and simply allowed himself to be swept away in the moment, loving having her body pressed against his. He ran his hand along the silky material of the dress robes on her back and hissed involuntarily when he reached the bare skin near her shoulders.
“You look lovely,” he whispered.
“Merlin’s Beard, Harry. Was that a compliment?” she asked, laughter dancing in her eyes.
His eyes dipped to the cleavage that seemed to be fighting its constraints, and he swallowed heavily. He could now feel the sweat rolling down his back. “I suppose it was.”
Ginny smiled gently and leaned in to rest her head on Harry’s shoulder. He shut his eyes and placed his cheek against the softness of her hair. He had no idea how long they stood there, simply swaying to the music; he just knew this was where he wanted to be. When Ginny finally looked up and into his eyes, he was mesmerized by the play of lights on her face. He leaned over slowly and her lips parted, but before he kissed her he glanced around the room.
He suddenly realized they were the only ones still on the dance floor. The band had taken a break, and there were several people watching with watery eyes as the two of them swayed back and forth to phantom music.
Harry pulled back sharply, his eyes darting wildly. Ginny giggled and hid her face against his arm. Grabbing her hand, he pulled her off the dance floor, stopping only to grab a glass of wine for each of them, and outside of the tent into the warm summer air. The meadow was lit with hundreds of floating candles, and several other guests had come outside to enjoy the slight breeze.
Harry kept ahold of Ginny’s hand as they walked across the meadow and stopped by the pond that the Weasley children often used as a swimming hole. Ginny leaned her back against a big old oak tree and placed both glasses on the ground.
“Are you going to finish what you started, Harry?” she asked.
Harry knew she meant the almost-kiss on the dance floor, but his head kept screaming that she was talking about so much more. If he did it, if he leaned over and kissed her now, he didn’t think his resolve was strong enough to let him walk away again.
“Ginny,” he whispered, his eyes once again displaying a will of their own and dipping to the ample display of cleavage.
“Harry!” Ginny said, stamping her foot. “My eyes are up this way.”
“Sorry,” Harry mumbled, heat rising to his cheeks.
Ginny folded her arms across her chest crossly. “You should be.”
“You were the one who put it on to make…those…pop out at me,” Harry said, waving his hand in the direction of her chest. “You must have wanted them to be noticed. You can’t get angry with me for noticing.”
“I did want you to notice…but I wanted you to notice the whole package,” Ginny replied, stamping her foot again. “I wore make-up and stockings on my legs. I have a new hair style…not just the boobs.”
“I can’t help it; I like the boobs. I like the whole thing. That dress is snug in places where school robes just aren’t,” Harry said earnestly.
Ginny’s anger began to melt, and her shoulders started to shake with laughter. “How much of that wine have you had to drink, Harry?”
Harry grinned sheepishly. “Enough not to care what I’m saying.”
Ginny wrapped her arms around his neck and began playing with the bit of hair at the nape of his neck. “So, you like the robes, then?” she whispered, sending a shiver of pleasure up his spine.
“I like the robes,” he groaned before crushing her body to him and kissing her firmly. It was some time later before they came up for air, both panting heavily.
“I missed that,” Harry said.
“Me, too,” Ginny replied. “What happens now, Harry?”
“No clue,” Harry responded truthfully. “I really don’t think there is a person under that tent that doesn’t know exactly how much I care about you…except maybe Jean-Lucifer…so what’s the point in denying it?”
“Jean-Lucifer!” Ginny gasped, giggling. “He’s an idiot.”
“Yeah. I think so, too,” Harry responded, thrilled to hear it. He took her in his arms and kissed her again.
When they broke apart, Ginny brushed the fringe from his forehead and rested her own against his. “We’ll work it out, Harry, and we’ll work it out together. For tonight, let’s just enjoy the rest of the wedding, yeah?”
“Yes. I’m finally going to take Hermione’s advice and go back inside that tent, dance with my girlfriend, and even snog a bit if the mood hits me.”
“Hermione told you that?”
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