This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

The fast beat of the drums would entice anyone's body to start moving to the music. Their heavy percussion had gotten most everyone's foot tapping in time with it, including Ron Weasley's, who to himself at least, was the most uncoordinated person alive.

Lifting his drink to his lips, he was just about to take a sip of the potent Muggle alcohol Harry had introduced him to when *she* came into view. Her dark hair was plaited into a single braid running down her back, but Ron knew that it would feel like silk should anyone dare to touch it. He had touched it before, back when they were little more than children. Her hips, encased in the finest shimmering Indian silk, embroidered with silver flowers, and - he squinted hard - yes, there was indeed a raven embroidered in there as well.

One of her arms was bare, aside from a single band of gold across her bicep, highlighting her golden skin perfectly. Her shirt was a little brief, as it left her arms and midriff bare, and she was not wearing any shoes. Her hips were already starting to sway slightly to the music, but stilled for a brief second as she halted in a pose, then with a sudden crash of cymbals, she began to dance.

Ron never noticed that his hand continued to hold his drink less than an inch from his lips. His entire array of senses were caught up in the magic of the dance - the magic that one woman was spinning over an entire room full of men. The only one not caught under her spell, only watching her with an appreciation of movement, was sitting right beside him. Looking over at his best friend for a second, their eyes locked, green meeting hazel, and suddenly, Ron knew. He knew that Harry had seen the desire, the regret - regret of a child harbored into adulthood.

He regretted never asking Padma Patil to dance.

Turning back to watch Padma dance, he was suddenly aware of everything - the drink in his hand, the smell of alcohol from his drink, the sound of the drums, the crashing of the cymbals, his own shortness of breath, the feel of his blood heading incredibly south, and the increasing tightness of his trousers. He hadn't seen any of his classmates, aside from Harry, Hermione, the git who married his sister, and a sprinkling of other Gryffindors in years, and it almost shocked him to realize that even the people whom he hadn't seen for a while had also changed quite a bit. Padma, if anything, had become even more beautiful since he last saw her, hugging her fellow Ravenclaws on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Her movements sped up with the drums, her long, black braid following behind her.

Ron had to stop himself from grabbing his wand and using magic to undo that braid of hers so he could see the full effect of her hair spreading out, just begging any man's fingers to run through the silky mass. He wondered what her hair would look like when it was spread across his pillow... Taking a deep breath, he set his drink back on the table and shifted a bit uneasily. Closing his eyes, he mentally ran through old chess games to try and quell the urge to stand up, grab Padma and take her back to his flat.

Harry touched his friend's shoulder, a bit concerned. "All right there, Ron?"

Ron opened his eyes, and were met by Harry's. Nodding mutely, he felt it far safer to look at his best friend on his last night of bachelorhood than to look back at the faerie dancing to the music that was still playing. He was feeling quite irrational, wanting to lock Padma away into a room where no other man could see her - especially the males in the crowd, who were all, to him at least, giving her a lavacious eye.

"Do you want to go?" Leave it to Harry to be noble. He would be willing to leave his own stag party just so Ron wouldn't feel uncomfortable.

Ron shook his head. "No, I'll stay."

Turning back, he saw that Padma had finished her dance to the thunderous applause and wolf whistles from the other males in the rooms. Bringing his hands together, he joined in the applause, noticing what work it was for her to dance like that for several minutes on end. She was breathing deeply, but not hard, just enough to bring her breasts up and down with each breath.

A fine sheen of sweat shimmered as the light caught it, making it appear as if her dusky skin had been bathed in faerie dust. He had never seen a more beautiful creature. She was looking over the crowd, smiling secretively, and he focused his entire mind to staring at her. Her eyes, so dark, but lustrous, almost skipped over him, but something must have stopped her. Their eyes met and latched on to one another, dark brown meeting lighter hazel. He nearly lost her eyes when her tongue darted out to wet her lips and his eyes were naturally drawn to the movement. Then their eye contact was broken as she turned to answer the person who had just tapped her on the shoulder. Shaking his head, he found that his heartbeat and breathing were far faster than normal and a dull flush spread into his cheeks as he realized that should anyone care to look, the effects of her dance were still visible in his trousers. Reaching for his drink, he downed it one gulp, wincing as the alcohol burned a path to his stomach.

"You sure you're all right?" Harry asked, loud enough to be heard over the hum of conversation, but soft enough so that his voce wouldn't carry.

"I'm fine, all right?" Ron answered back.

Harry nodded uneasily, then bestowed a bright smile on Padma, who had walked up to them completely unnoticed. "That was a lovely dance, Ms. Patil. Thank you."

Padma waved her hand. "Call me Padma. Would you like to know the history of the dance?"

Harry nodded eagerly. "Please. It looked fascinating. You do know Ron, don't you?"

Padma looked back at him, and it looked as if she was mentally upbraiding herself for not recognizing him sooner. "Yes, I remember you, Ron."

He nearly winced. When she said that she remembered, he knew that she remembered everything - including how he had never bothered to dance with her at the Yule Ball, essentially her first date.

"Padma," he returned. "I'll second Harry's opinion that it was a lovely dance. Whatever is the history behind it?"

Sliding into the seat next to Harry, she began explaining the dance. Losing himself in the gentle rise and fall of her voice, a part of him was quite glad there was a table blocking her view of the rest of him. As her musical voice faded away, he was once again brought to the present - a present where he could suddenly smell the alcohol once again, feel the heat of numerous males pressed into one room together, the still-tight fit of his trousers, and the knowledge that he would go to an empty flat - well, not empty since Harry would be staying the night with him. But after Harry and Hermione were married, there would be no one else there to keep him company, aside from Pig. Unfortunately, Pig could no more play chess and talk about recent events than his sofa could.

He once again lost himself in his thoughts, until a simple question from Harry had him holding his breath. "Are you coming to the wedding?"

Padma hesitated. "I hadn't planned on it."

Harry smiled. "Do say that you'll come. I'm certain Hermione would love to speak with you for a while. And," he added, a wicked gleam in his eye, "Ron will probably need to be distracted so he doesn't cry at the wedding."

Ron scrunched up his nose and glowered at his best friend.

Padma's laugh was light. "All right. I don't have to bring a date, though, do I?"

Ron snorted lightly, a smile curving his lips. "No, you don't have to bring a date, as not all of us are fortunate enough to be so blindingly, blissfully happy as our Harry and Hermione are. I'm not bringing a date, either, so you won't be completely alone."

Padma raised an eyebrow. "We'll see about that. Enjoy the rest of the party, gentlemen. I've got to be getting home so I can choose something to wear."

Harry dug around in his pocket for a moment before handing her a small card. Tapping it once with his wand, the letters changed and the card grew longer until it was clearly a wedding invitation. "Be sure to bring that with you," he told her. "No one can get in without one. The wedding starts at noon, but we're probably going to have a small gathering starting around ten-thirty."

Padma nodded and stood. "I'll be there before noon. Enjoy the rest of the night." And with that and a tantalizing sound of blue silk, she was gone into the crowd.

The ceremony was very lovely, a touching statement of Harry and Hermione's love for each other threaded throughout their vows, permeating the entire gathering, but try as he could, Ron could not focus while the minister talked on and on about it being a magical bond and all that, and found his eyes wandering across the crowd to Padma. She had shown up in a more demure, understated dress than what she had worn the night before, but it still didn't erase his memory of her hips swaying, the look of pure pleasure on her face as she lost herself in the dance.

*Dammit, Ron, get a hold of yourself, man! You're standing up for your best friend, who is getting married to your other best friend, and no one really needs to know that you think Padma would look fantastic in anything she wears.*

*Of course, she would look good in just my bed sheets.*

He nearly growled in annoyance, but stifled it and ruthlessly turned his eyes back to his friends.

Once the vows and rings were exchanged, and the minister pronounced them wizard and wife, Harry lifted Hermione's veil and kissed her. Immediately, everyone felt almost like a voyeur. They held the kiss for barely half a minute, but one could almost feel the emotions coming off them in waves. Looking away, Ron had to admit that he was the tiniest bit jealous of his friends and their happiness. He hadn't even snogged a girl for almost a year, but it wasn't for lack of trying on his dates' part. He just wasn't - content.

His eyes somehow found Padma again, and a jolt went through him as their eyes met. The regret from the night before washed over him and he looked away hurriedly, just in time to see Harry start to lead Hermione back down the aisle.

Remembering the rehearsal, he counted to eight silently in his head, walked forward, linked his arm with one of Hermione's co-researchers and started down the aisle behind his friends. What was the old Muggle saying? Always a groomsman, never a groom?

The reception, hosted by his sister, was already in full swing as the wedding party arrived. After the traditional first dances, toasts, and speeches, everyone wished Harry and Hermione well as they rushed off to catch a Portkey to their honeymoon destination - kept secret so the reporters couldn't find them. Only Ron knew, but he had forced himself to draw a blank whenever he was asked. As the night wore on, the partygoers with children to wake and work to go to in the morning trickled out, leaving mostly the singles and the serious couples who had no wish for the party to end. Ron was still there, watching the couple dance. Leaning back in his chair, he took another sip of his drink - butterbeer this time, and mentally ticked off those still dancing. Ginny was being led around by the git - Malfoy, since he was feeling a bit charitable, a few other couples, and Padma. She had apparently found a date, and was currently dancing with him. Sighing, he finished his drink, then walked outside unnoticed. Or so he thought.

There was one set of eyes that followed him out the door and into the garden.

It was a week before the full moon (scheduled that way by design so Remus could attend), but the moonlight was still bright enough to see where he was going as he wandered throughout he gardens, thinking of the sad state of his love life. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he wandered down the path and berated a fifteen year old memory for sodding up a chance to dance with Padma.

He leaned against the wall and exhaled deeply. He had no idea of how long he had been standing like that when a musical voice interrupted his thoughts. Opening his eyes, he saw Padma hugging herself against the slight chill that was in the air, her brown eyes large as they looked at him. He shook his head silently. The silence dragged on and on until he finally spoke.

"I really am sorry. I acted like a complete prat that night."

"To say the least," she replied, a bit archly.

He sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. "I am sorry."

A short, sad smile flitted across her lips. "That's what they all say," she said before turning back to go inside.

He could hear the ending strains of the music, before a livelier tune began. And he knew that he had a choice - let her walk inside, and probably never get the chance to dance with her, or to ask her to stay outside and share a dance.

"Would you like to dance, Padma?"

She turned, not believing what she had been asked. "Pardon?"

Standing up from the wall, he held his hand out. "Would you like to dance with me?"

She chewed on her bottom lip for a moment before stepping towards him and sliding her colder hand into his warm one. He felt a warm buzz go down his spine as he pulled her close and started to sway in time with the music. Her body was a near perfect fit with his own, the top of her head coming a little higher than his chin, and he felt her move closer as the swayed in the gardens.

She smelled like jasmine, he noticed. He had always had a particular weakness for the scent - it was so - exotic, a change from the ordinary, and it was driving him mad smelling jasmine mixed in with something that had to be simply Padma, nothing else could smell that sweet. Her arms snaked around his neck while his fell around her waist, the both of them simply enjoying the dance.

Her head lifted off his chest - when did it fall there, anyway - and she looked up at him. He looked back at her, the first quarter moon reflecting in her eyes - and he was lost. Moving one of his hands from her waist up to cup her face, he watched her tongue dart out to wet her lips as he lowered his head, ready to pull back if she made the slightest noise of dissent. None ever came. Instead it was a soft, sweet sigh of acceptance.

Settling his lips against hers, he held the kiss for a long moment before pulling back. Their faces were less than an inch apart as he stared into her eyes. Lowering his head once again, he wasn't content with a closed-mouth kiss. Running his tongue along her lips, he was overjoyed when they parted, allowing his tongue inside. She tasted so sweet, a bit like chocolate, a bit like the wine at the reception, and a bit of that exotic taste he was sure came only from Padma.

He nearly cursed their need to breath as he broke off the kiss, both of them breathing hard. Padma was like a second skin against him, and he belatedly realized that she could feel everything from his chest to his thighs. He felt the tips of his ears heat, as well as his cheeks, but Padma didn't seem to mind at all. Her hands looped back around his neck, keeping her close to him. His hands were running up and down rhythmically on her back, setting off a set of chills - ones that he could feel since she was pressed so close against him.

"I'm a terrible dancer, you know." He had no idea what possessed him to break the magical silence they were in.

He felt her smile against his chest. "I don't know, you seemed pretty good. You can keep time, which is what most people miss when dancing."

"That was swaying, not dancing," he muttered as he planted a kiss on the top of her head.

"I could teach you to dance, if you want to learn."

He lifted her chin until their eyes met again. The teenager inside his brain was laughing at the unintentional double entendre, but the man wanted to know what kind of dancing. "I'm willing to learn."

He seemed to have gotten his point across as her eyes heated, then darkened with desire. She pulled his head down for a kiss, a kiss that both of them felt down to the very tips of their toes.

Once they had parted, Ron looked at her. "Are we going to continue this lesson elsewhere?"

He had left the choice up to her, and he could see her deciding by chewing on her lower lip. "Let me grab my coat."

He smiled.