The Other Potter: Book 7

IT MEANS NO WORRIES FOR THE REST OF YOUR DAYS!

George and I danced the whole night long. It was probably the most beautiful night of my existence.

Seriously.

We both knew it could be the last night of our life together, like ever, but that didn’t matter tonight. Tonight was ours.

“George,” I mumbled, my head resting on his chest as we danced.

“Mmm,” he replied.

“You’re a poo poo head.”

“You’re a pee pee head.”

“I’m actually a white shell filled with urine.” I explained, and George let go of me.

“What?”

“I need to pee.”

“Go pee then.”

“Can’t be stuffed.”

“Why’d you tell me then?”

“Dunno. I’m thirsty.” I walked over to the drinks table, and saw in the Weasley’s kitchen window that George was exchanging a look of confusion with Harry.

Ha, they don’t understand me.

I don’t understand me.

Do you understand me?

Understand me you do?

Do me understand you?

The evening drew in, and moths began to swoop under the canopy, now lit with floating golden lanterns.

I fucking hate moths, so I made George zap them with his wand while I stole Harry’s champagne. Fred had long since disappeared into the darkness with one of Fleur's cousins – Fred’s a hoe; Charlie, Hagrid, and a squat wizard in a purple porkpie hat were singing "Odo the Hero" in the corner.

I was laughing at something George had said, and Harry was sitting beside me, drinking my lemonade and staring at Ginny, who was dancing with Mr. Weasley. Ginny was looking over his shoulder at Harry and it was cute.

Naw!

I gave up on sitting down, and lay on the grass a little further away. George joined me and we looked up at the sparkly dots in the sky, holding hands.

“Man I’m stuffed.” George said.

“Me too,” I yawned. “I ate like a pig.”

“Willow, you are a pig.”

“Oh...right.”

We sighed together.

“George,” I said. “Do you ever wonder what those sparkly dots are up there?”

“Willow, I don’t wonder I know.”

“Oh, what are they?”

“They’re fireflies....Fireflies that got caught up in the big bluish black thing.”

“Oh, gee. I always thought they were balls of gas burning millions of miles away.” I said thoughtfully.

“Willow, with you everything’s gas.”

There was a silence between us.

“We’ve got to get out more.” George said finally.

“Yeah, we honestly do.” I grinned back, staring at the stars.

George and I had been about to have a very romantic kiss, but it did not matter, at that moment; something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance floor. Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished dancers. Heads turned, as those nearest it froze absurdly in mid-dance. Then the Patronus's mouth opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."