Hi everyone!
I would like to apologize for the lack of updates these past weeks. Midterms had taken over my life... Glad that's over.
Anyway, here's a new chapter, which is, to compensate for my absence, a little longer than usual! It's part 1 of 2 of George and Addy's trip to France.
I hope you'll enjoy it. Thank you for all the support. Don't forget to review :)
Marianne xx

wildest dreams
VOLUME II

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

The announcement of Don's wedding was in the Daily Prophet the next morning. Of course, the article was filled with false information – notably that Myron would be there with his girlfriend, but I knew very well that they had broke up back in June. There was also a list of notable guests – neither I or George were mentioned, at his great despair.

We didn't receive any news until the next Wednesday – I was leaving Muggle Studies class when a first year told me Dumbledore wanted to talk to me and George in his office. I set out to look for George, who was either in the Common Room or in the small room on the second floor where he and Fred did their testing – since he wasn't in the first one, I walked to the second floor and opened the door.

Inside I found George, who was puking his guts out in a bucket. I immediately ran to him.

"Bloody hell! Fred, we have to take him to the infirmary, he –"

"He's fine."

"What?"

I looked at Fred, who was watching George with a small smile. He then showed me what was in his hand - a Puking Pastile wrap. I let out an annoyed sigh as George kept throwing up next to us.

"Well, congratulations, you got me."

"Don't look at me like that – no, actually, keep doing it. I like this look on you. It's very 'I'm going to strangle you in your sleep'."

"Funny. Will you give him the antidote now? I need to talk to him."

He handed George the other part of the candy, who quickly swallowed it. He straightened up, looking pale and sweaty – but at least he wasn't puking anymore.

"I don't think she'll want to snog you in a while, mate."

"Not until you've brushed your teeth, that's for sure."

"Give me another," said George weakly.

"You sure?" frowned Fred.

"Just do it!"

Fred quickly handed him another antidote – as soon as he took it, the colors on George's face returned and he smiled brightly.

"Much better. We have to double the recipe both ways," he said as Fred nodded. "How was your morning, gorgeous?"

"It was all right," I answered hesitantly. "I thought the Pastiles were done. You've been selling them."

"Yes, but we got a few comments that the puking wasn't convincing enough. So we decided to give them a little more… intensity," explained Fred.

"Well, you better eat a mint or something, George. Dumbledore wants to see us."

"What for?"

"Probably about the wedding."

"Right. Just give me a minute, I'll run to the bathroom and I'll be ready."

When he was gone, Fred smiled at me, handing me a Puking Pastile.

"Want to try it?"

"Maybe some other time, in an alternate universe. I've seen enough vomit for today."

"Speaking of vomit, how is our dear friend Montague? You haven't told us how your new partnership with him is going."

"Ugh," I sighed. "I try to forget he's there. If I deny his existence, maybe he'll actually disappear."

"Nope, doesn't work. I've tried that several times on Percy."

I couldn't help but smile.

"Anyway, I think he really wants to impress Umbridge, or at least, stay in her good graces, so he hasn't tried anything funny. Yet."

"Constant vigilance. Lovely."

George re-entered the room.

"You ready, Adds?"

"Yeah, let's go. See you later, Fred."

"Yeah, yeah."

I followed George outside, and we walked to Dumbledore's office hand in hand. I muttered the password the first year had given me, and when we reached the top of the stairs, the door to the office was already opened. We heard Dumbledore's voice from inside the room.

"Miss Harlowe, mister Weasley, please come in."

We entered the vast office – Dumbledore was sitting at his desk. We approached it quietly.

"Ah, good afternoon to you two. How are you doing on this splendid day?"

I arched an eyebrow as I glanced outside – it was raining.

"We're doing great, Professor. What about you?" asked George.

"Good, very good. You see, I have recently acquired a box of these new candy from Honeydukes…"

He showed us a bright yellow box that read 'Happy Sweets'.

"'Sweets that make you happy', as it says," continued Dumbledore. "Well I don't know what they put in that, but it certainly works. Please, take one."

We both grabbed one from the box – it was a small, yellow candy with a smiley face on it. I took it and instantly felt better. I exchanged a glance with George.

"Clever, isn't it? But it's true you are already familiar with this kind of magic."

I looked at George who was smirking. Dumbledore always knew everything.

"Now, I believe your uncle must have told you he would be contacting me about this wedding at the end of the month?"

"He did, Professor," I answered.

"Well, I must tell you I am myself quite thrilled about this wedding, it's been a long time since I've been to one, and your uncle had the kindness to invite me. Perhaps I will drop by."

"That would be great, Professor! I'm sure Don would really appreciate it!" I said, smiling. "But… what about us leaving Hogwarts?"

"Yes, yes, of course. Well it is not in my habits to permit students to leave Hogwarts in the course of a semester, but I will do an exception for you and Mr. Weasley. You will leave the castle with Mr. Filch, who will accompany you to the gates. There, you will meet your uncle."

We nodded, unable to stop smiling. I didn't know if it was the candy, or something else – but I really did feel happy.

"Mr. Filch will be in the hall on the 22nd at eight. Don't be late. And enjoy your time in France."

"Thank you, Professor," said George.

"Now, as the French say, au revoir."

"Er – yes. Thank you again."

The days leading to the wedding went by quickly, and soon, it was time for me and George to prepare. I had gone to Hogsmeade with Alicia and Angelina to get a dress, and the night before, I packed a few things in my bag. We would only stay two nights, after all.

"I'm so jealous," said Alicia.

"Me too," nodded Angelina. "I heard France is beautiful, and much warmer than here."

"Only by a few degrees," I smiled.

"But you're going to a wedding! There's going to music, and dancing, and delicious food, and famous people…"

"That doesn't sound any different from a party in the Common Room when Harry's there," I joked.

"You know what I mean," said Alicia. "And you're going to be alone with George."

To that I smirked – that was certainly going to be different.

"Are you going to share a room?" asked Angelina. "Like… just the two of you?"

"Oooooooh," said Alicia with a smile.

I stared back at her, feeling my cheeks burn.

"Piss off," I muttered, closing my bag, eager to change the subject. "Well, I'll see you on Sunday. Don't do anything stupid – wait until I'm back for that."

We all hugged tightly, and I walked downstairs to meet George in the Common Room. He was already there, his bag next to him.

"Where's Fred?" I asked him. "And Lee?"

"They're testing the Nougat on the first years."

"I thought they would wait for you."

He shrugged.

"That's all right. They can manage. Now, you're ready?"

"Are you?"

"Absolutely," he grinned.

Grabbing his bag and then taking my hand, we walked out of the Common Room and headed for the Hall. The castle was strangely quiet for a Friday Night. We soon reached the Hall, where Filch was already waiting for us, stroking Mrs Norris' ears.

"There you are" he grunted. "Now let's go going, I don't have all night…"

We were more than used to Filch's grumpiness, so we followed him without another word. It was beautiful outside – the sun had not yet set, but the sky was a beautiful mix of pink, purple and blue. It wasn't particularly cold, either, so we didn't even have to put on our jackets. We walked behind Filch and Mrs Norris, hand in hand, and when I glanced at George I saw that he was smiling quietly, too.

I immediately spotted Myron who was waiting on the other side of the gates, but had to wait for Filch to open them before I jumped in his arms. I hadn't seen him since July.

"I'm so happy to see you!"

"Me too, Pancakes. You look radiant."

I chuckled – Myron had a certain talent for compliments. That was probably why he was rarely without a girlfriend – he only had trouble keeping them.

"It's very nice to see you again, Mr Wagtail," said George.

"Oh, please, call me Myron. Likewise, George, likewise."

They shook hands, and I watched as Filch stood not too far, looking at my uncle with his eyes slightly more wide than usual. I was in such a good mood that I thought of introducing them, but when I opened my mouth Filch had beaten me to it.

"Well isn't all of this touching. Hurry along, will ya, I've got more important things to do…"

Me and George stepped outside the gates, and Filch closed them before turning on his heels and walking away, mumbling nonsense.

"Charming as ever, I see," said Myron, arching an eyebrow. "Now, we should get going before it gets too late, I want to show you around the hotel before we head to bed. Because you will need your beauty rest, Pancakes. It's going to be a party."

I grinned, feeling more excited by the second.

"Let's go!"

"Ready, George?"

"When I am not?"

Myron grinned, and extended his hand. We both took it and Disapparated.

When the world stopped spinning, we were standing in what seemed to be another world – it was much warmer, and the air smelled salty. I turned around and there was the ocean – vast, with the sunset reflecting in it. It was magnificent.

"Bloody hell," I muttered.

"Wicked," said George next to me, and I squeezed his hand.

We stayed there for a few minutes, admiring the sunset and enjoying the warm breeze in our hair. I felt so far away from England, and from reality, I had a hard time believing it was real.

"That's our hotel," said Myron, pointing the big, white building next to us."You have the room 809, on the eight floor."

He handed George what looked like a small card – he took it hesitantly, turning it upside down.

"It's a Muggle hotel, you need that to enter the room," explained Myron.

"That explains it," smiled George.

"Now I thought we might explore the area a little, since we won't have much time tomorrow. There are a few spots I'd like to show you."

"That sounds perfect," I said.

"Great. I'll let you get changed, jeans and sweaters aren't any good for the weather here. Let's meet back here in thirty minutes, all right?"

I nodded, and Myron walked away, leaving us alone. We exchanged a smile, and then entered the hotel. The lobby was huge, and all made of white marble – it must have cost Don a fortune to get all of us to stay there.

"Bonsoir, comment puis-je vous aider?"

We both turned to the woman at the desk who had addressed us. I looked at her with wide eyes – I didn't speak French except for a few words. I looked at George, hoping he could help – but he looked as panicked as I was. So I only showed the woman our card, and she smiled, nodding.

"Your room is on the eight floor," she said with a small French accent. "You can take the elevator straight there. Do you need help with your luggage?"

"No, thank you," I smiled.

We walked to where she had been pointing – the 'elevators', she had called.

"Do you know how those things work?" I asked George quietly.

"Dad told me about them once. But… I've no idea."

"Stairs?"

"Stairs."

Chuckling, we headed for the door that read 'Stairs' and made our way up to the eight floor. I was breathless when we got there, but we were more than used to climbing stairs – they were everywhere at Hogwarts. Walking to class was sometimes a workout by itself.

We finally arrived in front of room 809 – George pushed the handle, but the door didn't budge.

"It's locked!"

He pulled out his wand from his pocket, but I stopped him.

"What are you doing? We can't do magic outside school!"

"But we're of age," he said.

"I know but –"

I was interrupted by the sound of a door opening – it was the room next to ours. An old woman came out, shooting us an ugly look.

"There are Muggles everywhere," I muttered. "And I think we have to use that."

I showed him the card.

"Right" he chuckled, putting away his wand. "But how?"

"Er…"

I placed the card in front of the handle – maybe it had to read it? As it didn't work, I tried to turn it upside down.

"Let me try," said George.

He grabbed the card and tried to slide it between the wall and the door – without success. We were just about to give up when we heard a high-pitched voice next to us.

"You have to slide it in the handle, you idiots!"

It was the old woman – clearly, she had been observing us this whole time. She had an American accent. I blushed a little, and George did as she said. Then the red light on the handle turned green, and he was able to push the door open.

"Thank you, ma'am" I said, smiling shyly.

"Brits."

She walked away, mumbling to herself. I watched her, slightly amused. George was laughing loudly next to me.

"Aunt Muriel's American doppelgänger," he said, still laughing.

I burst out laughing, and we entered the room, closing the door behind us. My breath caught in my throat – the room was huge! Besides the large bed near the window, there was a small kitchen and a big closet. I walked to see the bathroom – there was a shower and a bath, which I was sure could contain at least ten people.

"Bloody hell, this is huge!" I grinned.

"Meh, could've been better," shrugged George.

I shoved him, laughing, and then we both looked at the bed. Grinning, we ran and jumped on it together. The duvet was soft and we soon engaged in a pillow fight. It was only a few minutes later that we laid down on the bed, breathless.

"I can't believe we're here" I said. "Just yesterday we were trying to survive one of Umbridge's lesson –"

"I seriously considered jumping out the window then," nodded George.

"And now we're here. It's like… paradise."

"And we're together."

"And we're together."

He put himself up on his elbow, and bent down to kiss me. I gave in the kiss in a way I rarely did – there was usually people around, watching, or Fred making sly comments. But now, it was only the two of us, and I could finally enjoy kissing him fully, passionately, and let him know how much I loved him. I smiled as our lips danced together. Loved him – that sounded so good.

His hand had travelled from my cheek to my neck, and my two hands were tangled in his hair, and it felt so good to be right there, at that instant, and savor it wholly. After a moment we were out of breath, and our lips detached, but our eyes were locked.

"I really, really, really like you," I said softly.

"I like you more," he replied, kissing me again.

I suddenly remembered that my uncle was waiting for us, and reluctantly detached my lips from his.

"We have to get ready."

He grunted as I stood up, pulling on his arm.

"C'mon, you lazy arse!" I shouted.

"What did you call me? What did you call me!"

He jumped on his feet, narrowing his eyes at me.

"I called you a lazy arse, 'cause that's what you are."

"Oi!"

He started to chase me around the room, and I ran around, laughing hysterically, until he finally caught me and locked me in his arms.

"That's not very nice," he said softly.

"Haven't you noticed? I'm never nice."

He smirked, and kissed me again. I leaned against him, savoring the taste of his lips, the feeling of me and him, alone, together – until I remembered my uncle was still waiting for us.

"We'll never get ready in time if you keep kissing me like that," I said.

"Are you complaining?"

"Did it sound like I was?"

"Not really, just checking."

I gave him a slight nudge on the shoulder before walking to my bag. I had brought a few of my lighter clothes as Myron had warned me about the weather – the south of France was really much warmer than Scotland. I took out a dress that I had bought this summer, and went to change in the bathroom. I took a few seconds to brush my hair, making sure I looked nice – just for George, of course.

When I opened the door of the bathroom, George was taking off his shirt. I stopped dead where I was – my eyes glued on him. I had seen him without a shirt a few times, because of Quidditch – but right now was a different setting. One, he wasn't drenched in sweat. Two, we were alone. He caught me watching him - and smirked, like the idiot he was.

"See something you like?"

I made a face at him.

"Stop showing off."

"I'm not showing off, I'm simply seizing the opportunity to show you my dreamy body."

"Well, you and your dreamy body should hurry up, because we're already late."

I pulled my tongue at him, like a child, and looked away. I put my jeans and sweat back in my bag, feeling my cheeks burn. All these years playing Quidditch really paid off, I thought. Merlin's Beard, if only the girls could hear me…

"I like that dress. I haven't seen it before."

I turned around and he was right behind me – he was now wearing a light t-shirt, thank Merlin – or else I might have fainted. I smiled, ruffling his hair.

"I bought it in Peru. And it's not like I have many occasions to wear it in that awful Scottish weather."

"Fair point."

We were already five minutes late to meet my uncle, so George quickly grabbed the key and put it in his pocket and we went downstairs.

When we got outside, Myron was waiting for us with Kirley, Heathcote and Herman – I hugged them all, and we started to walk alongside the beach, exchanging the most recent news. Heathcote told me about a time in recording session where Orsino had been so caught up in one song that he had broken one of his drums, and me and George told them all about Umbridge. Herman remembered going to school with her – she had been awful even then, according to him, treating anyone who was a Slytherin or a pure-blood like slime.

"And what about you, mate? What's your thing?" asked Kirley to George.

A proud smile spread on his face.

"Still at Hogwarts for now. But me and my brother have a business."

"What kind of business?" asked Herman.

"We want to open a joke shop. We already have a variety of products, we've been selling them at Hogwarts and over mail."

"Oh, yeah, I think I saw that in the Daily Prophet," said Kirley, smiling.

"You have?"

George sounded so excited – I couldn't help but feel the same.

"They're doing great," I said. "Already a huge success."

"It will be even better when we have our shop. Hopefully, we'll open next September – so keep an eye out for Weasley's Wizard Wheezes."

Kirley, Heathcote and Herman were really interested in the business, and they kept asking questions to George, about their products, if they had found a place, things like that. George talked about it with such passion, his eyes bright and his smile wide – he really was made for this, I thought. I let go of George's hand to join my uncle who was a bit up ahead, and grabbing his arm, started walking next to him. We were quiet for a while, until he brought up something I had completely forgotten about.

"Have they written back to you?"

I looked at him, confused – but I soon understood who he meant. I felt my smile fade.

"No. I don't think they will."

"I'm sorry, Pancakes," he sighed. "I really wish they weren't such gits."

"It's all right," I muttered.

But then I remembered their faces, and how they had closed the door on me, and how they had told me 'good luck at school'. And I remembered what Sirius had said about family, but it didn't excuse anything my parents had done – or not done, in that case. So I cleared my throat, gripping my uncle's arm a little tighter.

"Well, no, it's not all right. I'm mad at them. I'm starting to think it was better when I didn't know anything about them. When they were just…. shadows. Ghosts. Now that they are actual people, it just hurts more."

I breathed in. It felt good to say that aloud.

"But what can I do? I can't force them to want to care about me."

"I'm sure they do, in their own, odd way. But your mum was always like that, you know."

"She was?"

Myron never talked about his family – well, our family. He had never been really close to them. He had left them as soon as he was of age – they had never understood the wizarding world way of living, or wanted to.

"When we were children, she kept bugging our parents to get a dog. She kept talking about it, for years. So, one day, our parents finally got her one. She took good care of it, for a while. But one day she just stopped. She didn't want to walk him, or spend time with him. She was too busy, she said. The dog became really sick at some point, and my parents decided to bring him to the doctor, thinking she wouldn't care."

"Did she?" I asked feebly.

"She cried for two weeks straight."

I stared back at my uncle.

"But I'm not a dog, uncle Myron. I'm a person, and –"

"I know," he smiled. "But what I mean is, just because a person makes it seem like they don't care, doesn't necessarily mean they don't."

I was quiet for a while, thinking about what Myron had said. If my parents really cared about me, they indeed had a weird way of showing it. But for me, there was no good excuse. I wasn't asking them for much – just for them to answer my letters. If that was too hard…

"Sorry, Pancakes," said Myron. "Didn't mean to ruin the mood."

"S'all right. I'm glad we can talk about this," I said.

"Now get back to that boyfriend of yours, or I think they might eat him alive."

Chuckling, I walked back to George, grabbing his hand, squeezing it. He was explaining how Puking Pastiles worked to Kirley, Herman and Heathcote – but squeezed my hand back. And somehow that was everything.