Due to an unfortunate (but unavoidable) imbalance in the guest list, there were more males than females in the assemblage. Female dance partners were thus at a premium, and none was more sought after than the bride herself. Hermione was forced at last to beg off and sit out one dance, to the dismay of every wizard not yet lucky enough to have partnered with her.
Hermione found Harry standing alone at the punch table, so deep in thought that he seemed not to have noticed that the goblet in his hand was empty. The flash of brilliant white that was Hermione's wedding robes caught his eye, and he smiled sympathetically as he saw the slight drag in her step. If his own feet had begun to grumble like a pair of surly Gringotts goblins, Hermione's must be screaming like banshees right about now. Drawing his wand, Harry Summoned a pair of folding chairs and steered his new bride into one before dropping beside her. Hermione expelled a long, low breath as she lay her head upon her husband's shoulder. Harry leaned in, pressed his cheek against Hermione's hair, in which bushy corona a single rose petal remained in testimony of their morning's ordeal.
"Knut for your thoughts?" Harry said.
"I'm trying to remember the incantation for a foot-massaging Charm I learned last year after the Halloween Ball," Hermione said. "I looked it up in the library that night...just after I danced with Neville."
"That's one incantation you can retire," Harry said. "You have a husband for that now."
Hermione sighed gratefully and nestled more closely against Harry.
His lips pressed against her ear, Harry said softly, "Do you know how much I love you?"
Looking up, Hermione curled her lips mischievously and said, "We'll find out tonight, won't we?"
Harry jerked back, and Hermione chuckled under her breath as she reached up to touch Harry's face. He took her hand in his, caressing her fingers as he leaned in again.
"Parvati is definitely having a bad influence on you," Harry said, his reproving tone entirely undermined by a decidedly devilish smile.
"There's bad," Hermione said, her eyes dancing with dark fire, "and there's bad."
Harry was still searching for an appropriate response when, as if the speaking of her name were a Summoning Charm, Parvati appeared, along with Dean, their faces set with purpose.
"I believe this is my dance," Dean said to Hermione, extending his hand. Resigned to the unavoidable, Hermione returned to the dance floor with Dean as she valiantly attempted to put some spring into her tired feet.
For her part, Parvati did not solicit Harry's participation, as Dean had Hermione. In much the same manner as she had during the Yule Ball in Fourth Year, she merely took charge of the situation, grasping a fistful of Harry's robes and pulling him to his feet before he could utter a sound of surprise or protest.
"You may be a married man now, Potter," she said in a musically seductive voice. "But for today, you still belong to the whole wizarding world. And I'm taking my slice of the pie right now."
They exchanged a look of mutual affection before sharing a brief hug. Harry then raised an admonishing finger and announced, "But I'm leading this time, got it?"
The two friends and schoolmates made their way arm-in-arm to the dance floor just as another couple approached the now vacant chairs and sat down.
Giving no hint of warning, Ron bent and reached a hand under the hem of Ginny's sky-blue dress robes. He swung her right leg up and across his knees, slipped off her matching blue pump, and proceeded to massage her foot in a manner that brought a moan of ecstasy from the back of her throat. Ginny lay her head gratefully on Ron's shoulder and murmured, "You're a good brother, Ron."
"Too right I am," Ron agreed as he kneaded the bones in his sister's foot with enthusiasm if not expertise.
Working mechanically, Ron allowed his eyes to drift across the dance floor, moving back and forth, but always coming to rest at last on Harry and Parvati.
"She's right, you know," he said, as if thinking aloud.
"What?" Ginny said, lifting her head. "Who?"
"Parvati," Ron said, his eyes still staring straight ahead. "All his life, Harry's belonged to the whole wizarding world. Had his name in the history books before his second birthday. The Boy Who Lived. The Child of Prophecy. The One ordained by Fate and to save the world from You-Know-Who. Well, he's done it, hasn't he? So now I reckon it's time for the whole bleedin' world to just bugger off and let Harry start living for himself. Not for Dumbledore, or for the Ministry..."
"Or us," Ginny said almost painfully, her head returning to her brother's shoulder as if seeking sanctuary thereon.
"Or us," Ron agreed.
After a pause, Ginny said softly, "It still hurts, Ron."
"I know," Ron said. He heaved a deep, cleansing sigh. "But I'm not the first bloke who lost a bird to his best mate. I bloody well won't be the last, either."
Ginny knew that Ron's flippant use of "bird" in reference to Hermione was merely his attempt to lessen the ache in his soul, which she knew would not entirely depart, even with the passage of time. She knew this because her own ache was still acute, no matter her bravado. She gave her brother a reassuring squeeze around the neck.
"We'll get through this, Ron," Ginny said with a confidence that once would have surprised her. "You and I. I couldn't talk about this with anyone else. Not even Mum and Dad. But you understand. You're the only one who does."
Ron nodded. The gesture was meaningless to Ginny, who could not see her brother's face from her point of vantage. It was an affirmation of self, indefinable by speech or text, engraved in uneraseable script upon the tapestry of his soul.
"They'll need us," Ron avowed. "I don't give a fig for Merlin's ruddy ceremony. Marriage isn't easy. Takes a lot of work, and a lot of support." He paused. He had been about to quote Dumbledore's exhortation from the old wizard's speech, but the words would not, could not, make the transition from his brain to his tongue. With a mental shrug of resignation, he said simply, "We're their best mates, you and I. Whatever happens, we need to be there for them. And we will. No matter what, whenever they need us, we'll be there."
Ginny's response was a firm squeeze on her brother's neck. It was all the answer that was needed.
"Let's change chairs," Ron said. "Can't reach your other foot from this side."
Ginny laughed, hugged Ron with both arms, then allowed him to roll her across his lap as he slid into her chair and eased her into his. As Ron lifted Ginny's left ankle up and onto his knee, he stared unwinkingly ahead, his blue eyes sharp as cut sapphires.
"All the way, mate," he said under his breath, his jaw set firmly in an avatar of unshakable resolve. "All the way."
Author's Note: To gal-texter: It's always a pleasure to respond to a reviewer who endeavors to ask thoughtful questions. Regarding Brit-speak versus Yank-speak, I am a longtime fan of British telly, beginning with Monty Python. I strive to use British terms when I can, but, like J.K. herself, I hedge sometimes in favor of clarity. We have our own football, so I use soccer here for clarity. But I will continue to use as much of Harry's native tongue as possible.
Concerning the Ron/Sirius thing, to quote my remarks at FanFiction.Net, this story is nothing more than a personal vision, justified. I wanted to eliminate Ron as a romantic threat, leaving Harry and Hermione totally free of emotional baggage. This was the most convenient method. To address the situation in detail would have taken time, and that time must needs be stolen from the primary thrust of uniting Harry and Hermione utterly. I chose to sacrifice reality for expediency. One more reason why I'll never be a professional writer. I write for fun, and if others enjoy it, so much the better.
To everyone: Thanks for reading, and keep asking questions. I need all the help I can get.
See you next time.