A/N: THANK YOU ALL so much for still reading adn for all the wonderful reviews you left. I can't even tell you how much this means to me!

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"You're a git, Potter" – "I'm just trying to save you from marrying your second cousin, Woodley."

34

Reckless Thrills

I hadn't winced when Pierre had dragged his brush through my hair without any regard for tangles and knots. Now that he was trying to force my hair into a neat updo, however, cursing under his breath as yet another strand detached itself from the twisted knot, biting my lip was all I could do to keep myself from complaining. He would go in with the hairspray any minute, shellacking the blonde strands into an unmoving sculpture that would sit on top of my head like a rigid bird's nest all night. Even worse, however, was the circlet of golden leaves aunt Helen had brought up earlier for Pierre to work into the hairdo. I was going to look like an idiot.

A flashy idiot.

"That will do," a clipped voice said behind us and I looked up to see my mother in the mirror. She was standing in the door frame in a sleek, grey dress, blood-red lips and a simple yet elegant updo that had none of the gaudy flair mine had.

"Mrs. Woodley," Pierre said, lowering his head in a small bow as my mother approached the dresser. He didn't even protest as she held out her hand, and handed her the brush, his head still bent.

"I think the bride needs attending to."

"Of course, Mrs. Woodley." He practically bowed out of the room, which was almost comical, especially when he missed the door and bumped into the wall. My mother, however, didn't seem to notice as she began to remove the dozens of pins that had forced my hair into this ridiculous shape, taking them out one by one. "Have you cut your hair again?"

I contemplated lying for a second, falling back into the familiar pattern, but somehow it didn't feel quite right anymore.

"Katie trimmed it a bit," I said, watching her face for traces of disapproval, but, as usual, her Woodley poker face was on point. She simply nodded and began to run her fingers through my hair, detangling the wavy strands softly in the process.

"How is everything?"

"Okay." I watched her fingers weaving through my shortish hair in the mirror, remembering how she had used to comb it when I had been little; pulling at the strands without mercy. "I'm handling it."

She stopped and looked up, her eyes meeting mine in the mirror. Obviously, 'okay' wasn't quite the word to describe the situation; I still stood accused of brewing at least one illegal potion and my classmates, who were convinced that I had drugged James Potter with a powerful love potion, continued to give me sidelong glances in the hallways, whispering about 'that Woodley girl'.

"You know that if you need help-" My mother didn't finish her sentence – maybe she couldn't - but it was implied: I wasn't alone.

"I know, mum," I said quietly. "Thank you."

She smiled as she pulled my hair back, tugging it behind my ears. "I think you should leave it like that."

I frowned at my image, contemplating the soft waves that barely reached past my chin. "I don't think aunt Helen would approve."

"Oh please," Mum said as she picked up the dainty golden circlet from the dresser and placed it on top of my head, frowning at the crown-like structure with obvious dislike. "With all that sparkle and glitter I doubt that she will see anything without sunglasses. Honestly, no taste, this woman."

The once splendid church was a ruin now. After centuries of disuse, nature had taken it back. Vines and other greenery were crawling up the stone walls, snaking through the pointed windows and spilling over the ledges into the nave. In between the poison ivy, delicate blue flowers were nestled into the crevices of the walls, fluttering in the salty breeze as the low evening light poured in from all sides, pooling on the cracked stone floor.

Generations of Woodleys had gotten married here, in this old church at the cliffs of Dover. It wasn't faith that tied my family to this particular place, though; it was tradition. A tradition that – legend had it – reached back to the early 11th century, when one of our ancestors had founded a village and built this very church. And even though the village was long gone and the church a ruin, our family still returned.

Today, the church had been decorated to perfection, of course; hundreds of candles floated beneath the ceiling among garlands of pastel flowers. The stone pews were blooming with bouquets of roses and golden leaves, dripping to the floor to frame the glittering aisle. Soft music was drifting through the domed structure, mingling with the shuffling of hundreds of feet as the nave filled with people.

I leaned forwards so that I could glance behind the stone pillar to sneak a peek at the ever-growing crowd. My heartbeat stumbled and I tightened my grip on the small bouquet in my hands as the sheer awkwardness of the entire situation hit me with full force.

"Relax," Vala said and I turned back to look at her. She was wearing the same gauzy, glittery dress as me but looked infinitely more comfortable in the slinky low-back number. "Here." She pulled a thin, metal flask out of her bouquet and held it out to me. "Helps with the nerves."

I frowned at the flask. Obviously, it wouldn't be very smart to drink alcohol when I was already struggling to not walk like a duck in my heels. Then again, I was a scantily dressed bridesmaid at a wedding that had almost been my own. "Okay, give it to me."

I took the flask and unscrewed the top, accidentally inhaling a strong whiff of Fire Whiskey. "Merlin's pants," I coughed and turned away from the flask, spilling a bit of the amber liquid on the floor.

"Bottoms up, cousin," Vala sang and I shuddered as I lifted the flask to my mouth and took a long sip, feeling the instant sensation of warmth rushing from my stomach to my limbs.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Cassie snapped as she came around the corner, the many layers of white tulle swiping the floor behind her. She looked like she had been wrapped up in cotton wool and then doused in a vat of glitter. "I swear, if one of you trips and ruins the ceremony, I will curse you into oblivion."

"Calm down, Cass." Vala rolled her eyes as she took the flask and stuffed it back into the bouquet. She had just managed to rearrange the flowers around it, when suddenly an excited voice called out "Ladies!" and Laurie, the quirky wedding planner, flitted around the corner, her cheeks flushed and her smile wide.

"The music has started," she trilled, ignoring that the two clipboards that were hovering above her head had started bumping into each other. "Vala, Elizabeth? Are you ready, loves?"

"Um-" I said, still feeling the heat of the Fire Whiskey in my extremities, but Laurie had already pushed me forwards, her voice reaching entirely new heights as she shouted "Aaaand…we're walking!".

"I can't believe great-aunt Euphemia brought her cat." Vala wrinkled her nose as a pudgy woman in a wide-brimmed, feather-topped head had taken a seat near us, holding what looked like a massive ball of fur on her lap.

"It's a kneazle."

"What?"

"Sir Windermere is a kneazle, not a cat," I said and, seeing my cousin's blank look, added, "they have pointier ears?"

Vala frowned at my lame attempt at mimicking cat-ears with my hands, skewing the uncomfortably pointy headpiece in the process. In my defence, I had had two glasses of Champagne on an entirely empty stomach.

"And she looks so normal…"

"Oh, shut up," I said and tried to straighten the circlet again. Grandmother was sitting only three seats away from me and the last thing I needed was a lecture on improper conduct. I had done so well too, keeping a straight face all through the avalanche of speeches that had all more or less been varieties of the same story: the heartfelt tale of how Asher had been intended to marry someone else, but had been smitten the moment he had seen Cassie at the Hogwarts Quidditch Kick-Off.

It was a riveting story, really.

"Dear Merlin almighty." Vala had leaned over, away from her sister who was chugging champagne like it was water, to whisper into my ear.

"What?"

"Henry Pennington is here." She gestured towards a small group of girls that had clustered around a tall guy with dark blond hair and incredible cheekbones. "And boy has he grown into those ears."

"What are you talking about?" I laughed as I watched my cousin empty her champagne flute with one gulp.

"I'm going in!" She practically jumped up from her chair, adjusted the dress and stuck out her chest, before stalking off towards the dance floor.

I watched Vala's slightly wobbly retreat, feeling a subtle wave of abandonment; without her, I had to fend for myself. Literally. Pureblood weddings were the mecca of shameless matchmaking and, while I was sure that my family would not try to betrothe me behind my back again any time soon, the other respectable families with sons of high breeding and marriageable age might not have gotten the memo.

Resigned to spending this entirety of the evening in exactly this chair, I allowed the waiter to refill my glass and leaned back to take in the scene around me; festoons of lights and candles floated in the air above white-clothed tables, emitting occasional sparks of glitter that showered the mingling guests. Dancing couples were twirling across the dancefloor, basking in the glowing light, and, even though I had told myself that I wouldn't, I briefly thought of James Potter.

It was because of that – at least I told myself so – that my heart skipped a beat when I suddenly saw him across the dance floor, standing at the bar in deep conversation with the same girl from New Year's Eve. She laughed at something he must have said and leaned in, putting her hand on his arm in such a familiar way that it was painful to watch. I quickly looked away, hoping that the constricted feeling in my chest would ebb away eventually as I took deep, steadying breaths. His name was almost like a curse, as though thinking of him had invoked his physical presence.

Of course, James Potter was here. With a beautiful girl. After all, my life was a great cosmic joke.

I had had no idea how I had ended up here, but there I was, sitting on a barstool, cradling a gin fizz, surrounded by a whole group of boys, who all seemed to be fascinated by the most boring aspects of my life. Of course, the eligible bachelors had found me - mostly thanks to Vala, who had dragged me along to the bar after dinner, just to abandon me as soon as I had turned away to order my drink - but I still tried to convince myself that I was enjoying the attention. Mostly, however, I just wanted to forget that James Potter was around somewhere.

Our looks had crossed several times in the course of the evening, but neither of us had given any sign of recognition. It was almost as though we were strangers, which felt weird. However, our last encounter in detention had not ended on a friendly note and I had also spotted Ginny Potter in the crowd, who was probably still convinced that I had poisoned one son and drugged the other. Yet, I couldn't stop looking for him in the swaying mass of people, telling myself that I was just making sure he wasn't close.

"Woodley."

I started when I heard his voice and turned my head, forgetting for a second that I was supposed to feign rapt attention at Gregory Archer's many achievements in Nogtail hunting. James Potter had blatantly pushed Charles Dolloway out of the way and positioned himself right beside me, his hands in the pockets of his suit trousers and a cocky smile on his lips. "Come on, let's dance."

My pulse picked up dramatically, probably out of anger. It was such an arrogant assumption – that he just had to show up and everybody would drop everything, as though I had been waiting around for him all night.

"No, thank you. I'm in the middle of a conversation, as you can see." I turned away from him again, refocusing my attention on Gregory Archer, who looked thoroughly confused, but immediately complied and tried to pick up where James had interrupted him before. Out of the corner of my eye, however, I saw James smirking as he leaned in and whispered into my ear, "You know that you are vaguely related to at least three fourths of these muppets, right?"

I could feel the heat prickling in my face but I refused to look at his grinning face, fighting the strong urge to hex him. I didn't know why, but he was ruining everything and, judging by the stupid smirk on his face, he was enjoying it thoroughly.

"If you'll excuse me," I said as composedly as possible and threw a half-hearted smile at the boys before I slid from my barstool. I couldn't stay here when Potter was obviously bent on making a fool of me in public.

"You're a git, Potter," I snapped as I walked away. Unfortunately, I was severely slowed down by my heels, which kept sinking into the gravel, and James had no trouble keeping up.

"I'm just trying to save you from marrying your second cousin, Woodley."

I stopped walking when we had reached the edge of the enchanted area, feeling an entirely new wave of frustration. "What are you even doing here?"

James shrugged. "Well, it's a wedding."

"It's my cousin's wedding."

"So?"

"So why are you here?" I didn't even try to keep the irritation out of my voice. A new song had started up in the background and the first beats were trailed by a wave of cheering that swept over the hum of conversation and the clinking of dishes.

"I like weddings?" James gave me a smile that probably was supposed to be charming, but I had had enough.

"You're sloshed. I can't talk to you." I had pushed past him, making for my family's table, but he suddenly grabbed my arm from behind, holding me back.

"Old Engelstein owns the Daily Prophet. He's my mother's boss."

I had turned to face him again, my arms still crossed as I considered him for a moment. "That still doesn't explain why you're here."

For the fraction of a second, his expression seemed to freeze, the easy nonchalance gone, but then he smiled and shrugged. "Angelica's mum works for the Prophet too and she made her come. I offered to come along to keep her company."

"Oh. Right." I tried to keep my tone neutral, even though my heart had possibly wedged itself between my vocal chords. "Angelica Longbottom." Something had clicked; the pretty girl was Professor Longbottom's daughter. I had seen pictures of her in his office before.

"Yeah. She goes to school in Rabenstein, so I don't see her that often."

"Right. Well," I said, still feeling the pressure building in my throat, "you make a cute couple."

I didn't know why I had said it - maybe a tiny part of me wanted to hear him say that they weren't - but James just frowned.

At least I had wiped the stupid smirk off his face.

"Well," I managed to smile, even though I suddenly felt ridiculous in my glittery getup and the golden circlet that was digging uncomfortably into my head. „Enjoy your evening."

"Woodley, wait!" Strangely, he was coming after me again, colliding with a few people as he followed me across the dancefloor, reaching for my arm once more.

"What do you want?" I whipped around, my voice drowning in the music that was considerably louder than it had been at the edge of the dancefloor. My head was spinning and I had lost all sense of direction as moving bodies kept bumping into me from all sides. James stood there in his black suit and bow-tie, his hair windswept as always and the lump in my throat was threatening to suffocate me. I felt like an idiot, the mortification from our last encounter still prickling in my bones. "If this is about bloody potions again, I swear I'm going to hex you."

James stared at me, seemingly trying to make sense of what I had just said, but before he could so much as open his mouth, I had torn my arm from his grip and finally walked away.

The air was buzzing around me; the conversations had grown in volume, matching the music, and laughter seemed to come more easily. Algy Willoughby was leaning over the table, his tie pooling on the table as he tried to engage me in fuzzy reminiscences about our kindergarten days, and all I could do was wonder if his nose looked somewhat like my Grandfather's. It was pathetic how I kept trying to convince myself that I couldn't care less about James Potter when he could get under my skin like this.

"Do I have something in my face?"

"Hm, what?" I snapped out of my thoughts, feeling uncomfortably hot all of a sudden.

Algy smiled. "You were frowning at me."

"Oh, um, no. I was just-" I looked around, hoping for inspiration on how to possibly explain my weird behaviour, when, suddenly, I saw James from the corner of my eyes, slightly unsteady, fighting his way through the dancefloor. "I was – I need to use the loo."

Feeling momentarily reckless, I jumped up from my chair, leaving back a befuddled Algy who just shouted after me, "I'll wait here then!"

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There must have been something fundamentally wrong with me. After all, there was no other explanation for why on earth I would act this stupidly. The entire evening I had been trying to avoid James Potter and now I was chasing him across the dance floor like the lovesick stalker he had once accused me of being.

"This is pathetic. I am pathetic," I mumbled to myself as I stopped abruptly, trying to get my bearings. The air was suddenly cold and moist, seeping through the thin fabric of my dress and I shivered involuntarily. Only a few meters in front of me, James was making for the church that now lay quite abandoned at the edge of the cliffs. Of course, the smart thing would have been to just turn around, go back to Algy Willoughby, and wait for this shitty day to finally end. Unfortunately that little, unreasonable voice inside me that I had come to associate with James Potter, was egging me on.

"Oh, go after him, love."

I turned around, staring perplexedly at great-aunt Euphemia, who was standing beside me, cradling her enormous kneazle in one hand and a pitcher-sized wine glass in the other.

"What?"

"The boy, dear," she said as though it should have been obvious and tipped her glass towards James, spilling wine in the process.

"Oh, no," I said quickly, waving my hands defensively, "I'm not- It's not-"

But the old lady had already lost interest in the conversation and began mumbling to the cat-like creature in her arms and, as I watched her, I suddenly realised that it wasn't some strange voice that goaded me against my better judgement. I wanted this. I wanted to go after him.

As much as I had tried to deny it - to Katie, to myself - there was obviously something there. And if now wasn't the time to throw all caution to the wind - now that I was wearing this ridiculously expensive, glittery dress and James Potter had shown up for a wedding he wasn't supposed to be at and had asked me to dance - then I would probably never find the courage to admit this to myself ever again.

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Moonlight flooded the decaying chapel, the pale light reflected in the last traces of sparkling confetti on the floor. Having been filled with bright lights and chattering people before, the empty ruin seemed strangely lonely all of a sudden, a feeling that was only heightened by the soft crashing of waves against the steep cliffs. The only disturbance was Trixie, my grandparents' house-elf, who was steadily sweeping up the glitter on the floor, unperturbed by our presence.

James had wandered into the nave and leaned against one of the pews, crushing the bouquet of flowers that were still fastened to it. He seemed to struggle with his balance as he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a cigarette, sticking it into his mouth.

"Are you okay?" I asked without thinking, my voice still echoing from the high ceiling as I walked towards him.

James looked up, first towards Trixie and – realising that it hadn't been her who had spoken – at me. He frowned and removed the cigarette, twirling it in his hands.

"Where have you left all the hopefuls?"

"What?"

"Your gentlemen callers," he snorted, the expression on his face strangely cold. The last time he had looked at me like this had been the very first time we had spoken to each other, when he had told me to start a Potter fan-club on the Quidditch pitch. "Have you made your pick already or are you going to string the poor lads along for much longer?"

"Oh, sod off." I wrapped my arms around my torso for warmth and pretended to observe Trixie, who had begun to magic all the flowers into a pile in front of the stone altar. As the church was not within the bewitched area, there was no heating charm to uphold the illusion of a warm summer night and the icy tone of James's voice didn't help either.

Clearly, this wasn't quite going the way I had imagined it.

"Are you really mad because I crashed the meat-market before?"

"I was actually having a good time until you came along!"Strictly speaking, that wasn't true, but for all intents and purposes it could have been, which was the only thing that counted at the moment.

Oh, come on!" James rolled his eyes, which riled me up even more, and shook his head, his arms folded in front of his body. "A few months ago, you had a panic attack because your parents had found you a boyfriend and all of a sudden, you're completely fine with being auctioned off to the richest douchebag?"

"That is not fair!" I could feel my jaw clench, my voice came out strangled and unnatural. Not only was it a low blow to remind me of this moment of weakness – when I had been so vulnerable – even in the middle of an argument, but also his audacity to judge me like this made my blood boil.

"For fuck's sake, Woodley, why are you being so naïve?" He had pushed himself away from the pew, sweeping a stack of hymnals from the ledge in the process, which tumbled to the floor. He didn't seem to notice, however, as he took a step towards me, reducing the distance between us to barely a few millimetres.

For an irrational second I thought he was going to kiss me, but instead, the expression on his face hardened. "What do you think? That these pillocks are seriously interested in you? You come with a considerable dowry and a fucking pureblood legacy. That's what they're after."

The blow had come so unexpectedly that it took me a moment to feel its impact. James's breath smelled of alcohol, but his face was cold, his features unmoving; this hadn't been a drunken blunder, he had wanted to wound, and the bullet had hit home.

Complete silence had settled around us as even Trixie had stopped dead in her tracks, her wrinkly face turning towards us.

"I – I didn't mean that." James sounded almost surprised, his eyes wide as he tried to reach out, but I swerved and shook my head.

"Sure." My voice was throaty, not like my own, yet it was all I could do, holding on to the last shreds of composure.

"No, Seth -"

"I have to get back to the party," I cut across his lame attempts at explaining himself. I didn't want to hear it – anything – and so I mustered the last ounce of dignity I had left and walked away, leaving James Potter behind.

I peeled another piece of butterbeer label off and rolled it into a tight pellet of which I had created a small mountain already. I probably looked as pathetic as I felt, sitting alone at a forsaken table in the corner, but I didn't care. All I wanted was to go home, take off this glittery dress, and sleep.

"Elizabeth Woodley."

It took me a second to register that someone had addressed me; a tall, handsome guy around my age had stopped at the table, giving me a wide smile that extended all the way to his green eyes, crinkling the skin around them.

Henry Pennington really had grown into those ears.

"Why on earth are you sitting here alone?" He continued when I had failed to answer, and - without waiting for an invitation - took the empty seat next to me, his eyes never leaving my face.

"I'm enjoying my own company." I shrugged, not feeling particularly keen on conducting proper small talk at the moment. I had hoped to wait out the final hours of the festivities in my lonely corner, unperturbed by anybody, but Henry didn't seem to get the hint.

"It's been like, what, six or seven years?"

I nodded, unable to suppress a smile at the memory. "My Grandfather's 70th birthday. You snitched on me after I jumped into that puddle to ruin my poofy dress."

"Well, obviously I was a little git back then," he said as he leaned in, his eyes flitting to my nose and mouth for the fraction of a second, "I swear, I'm much nicer now."

I could feel my cheeks blush instantly, which I tried to cover up by unhooking my hair from behind my ears. I wasn't entirely sure, but it almost seemed as though Henry Pennington was flirting with me.

"Um, where have you left my cousin?"

If Katie had been here, she would have definitely rolled her eyes at my absolute incompetence, but after everything that had happened tonight, I wasn't feeling particularly flirty.

"Oh, Vala's found a worthy distraction," Henry said easily, nodding towards the dancefloor, where I instantly spotted her, entwined with a dark-haired boy.

"Is that Gregory Archer?"

"Mhm."

"I can't believe it!" I said a bit louder than I had intended to. "That blockhead asked me for my number just an hour ago!"

Henry laughed."Well, you would have only broken his heart anyway,"

For a moment, I actually considered going for something cool and nonchalant, but the day had taken its toll on me and I was tired of keeping up the pretence of being a Woodley.

"Are you sure? Because, as I see it, he's having the time of his life while I'm sitting here, making sad paper balls out of bottle labels."

A grin spread across Henry's face before he suddenly got up from his chair. For a second, I thought I had succeeded in frightening him away, but, to my surprise, he held out his hand to me. "May I have this dance?"

"What?"

"I would really like to dance with you."

"But -" I tried to comprehend this - to understand what was going on -but my brain was completely blank. Hadn't he seen the paper pellets, the crooked crown, the smudged make-up?

"Come on, just one dance." He was still holding his hand out to me and, when I finally took it, he pulled me up so fast that I tumbled into him.

As I looked up, Henry smiled. "Just so you know, by the time the song ends, our families have probably arranged our wedding."

"What are you talking about?" I laughed, but when he nodded towards a group of people at the edge of the dancefloor, my face fell immediately: my mother and father were in deep conversation with a well-dressed couple I knew to be Hortensia and Titus Pennington, casting frequent glances at us. "Oh, great."

"Don't worry, it'll be grand; fireworks, doves. I'll even buy you one of those floating paper lanterns that you can light with a candle," Henry said, diffusing what could have been an awkward situation, and I could barely stifle a laugh as I let him take me to the middle of the dancefloor where the last couples were swaying to a slow beat, refusing to accept that this evening was coming to an end.