Disclaimer: Don't own it. Wish I did, but still don't.
Author's Note: This is dedicated to my father, who pulled me out of my table in the corner. Thanks, Da.
The hidden table in the corner was nothing new to Hermione.
For most of her early life, she had passed through school as "the brain," the girl who sat in front so she could answer the teacher but hide from her peers behind a curtain of hair. Awkward and shy, she never fit in, never belonged to any group. Friends were few and fleeting. Until she received her Hogwarts letter, she shrank from recognition and company, moving through the halls of her school like a ghost.
The day she received her Hogwarts letter was the day her life really began, and everything else seemed like just preparation. She suddenly was handed a purpose and a new start, and she certainly hadn't wasted it. Hogwarts had given her confidence and direction, an education and a life, and best of all, it had given her love and friendship. In Harry and Ron, she had received what she had longed for all her life: a place to belong. With them, no matter where she was, she was home. With them, she no longer had to hide behind her hair or sit alone at the table in the corner.
Which was why, she mused, that it irked her that she was sitting alone at a table in the corner of a crowded club, her hair falling into her face as she picked at her fingernails in her lap. She'd thought she'd passed this, she thought disgustedly, and looked up. A skinny man at the next table was staring at her. As soon as she noticed, he looked away, his cheeks rosy pink with embarrassment, as thought he'd been caught staring at some disfigurement. "That's it," she hissed, and pushed her chair back.
As soon as she did, Ron broke through the throng with a glass in each hand. "Deep breath there, Hermione. I'm here already," he said, and offered her his cheekiest grin. He set the drinks on the table, then collapsed gracefully (as only Ron could) into a chair. He was grinning from ear to ear, flushed with the heat in the club, and clearly pleased with the night in general. His sweater had been shed long ago, and his white t-shirt glowed dramatically in the dim lighting.
"About time you got here," Hermione said, a tad too loudly, trying to catch the attention of the skinny man, so he'd notice she wasn't alone anymore. "Where'd the others get to?"
"They're back there somewhere," Ron replied, waving his hand vaguely in the direction of the bar. "Gin's been having trouble getting the attention of the bartender, so Harry went with her to make sure she was noticed."
Hermione nodded, sipping the frothy top of a butterbeer as she looked out on the gyrating, seething mass of dancers on the floor. Ron took a large sip himself and wiped his upper lip, then leaned into her, the only way to speak without being overheard.
"Hermione, what's the matter, really?" he said, smiling that good-ole-boy smile. "You're not normally like this."
She sighed. She should have guessed he'd see through her indignation and instead catch the insecurity that had threatened her just moments before. With Ron there, the anxiety, the fear of returning to who she had been was pushed back. Unconsciously, she straightened her shoulders and threw away the last vestiges of memory. "Nothing's wrong now," she said honestly.
His face cleared, and the grin returned. "Nothing that can't be fixed with a dance, at least," he said, and pulled her to her feet with a slick and practiced move, ending with her body pressed close. "Come on, baby," he half-murmured in a teasing drawl. "Light my fire." With that, he grabbed her hand and towed her to the dance floor. They passed Ginny and Harry, drinks in hand and surprise on their faces, and Neville and Luna, who were leaning over another table and talking animatedly.
Ron plunged straight into the group, heedless of the grinding bodies on every side. Aided by a well-placed elbow now and again, he soon reached a spot where the light was dusky and the crowd thick. Then he turned Hermione in his arms and dipped her in a dramatic move that made her laugh, more worthy of Fred and Ginger than a hot nightclub.
What Ron lacked in talent, Hermione thought, he more than made up for in enthusiasm. He swung, twirled, gyrated and just danced with fervent abandon. She hung back a little from him, making the barest of moves, until he swept her into another fast and dizzying spin. With her laugh came the thought, No one's watching. No one cares what you look like. Just do it. When she was righted on her feet again, she began to dance. Really dance.
The music, which could barely be heard above the din of the crowd, still echoed through the floor, through the soles of their feet as they moved. It created a kind of primal drumbeat which resonated through their bodies, until it seemed like they shared even the beat of their hearts. It takes your breath away, Hermione thought as she brushed against Ron yet again. This time, though, he didn't just brush her back or flash her a lewd grin, as he had before. Instead, he grabbed her hips roughly and pressed her against his body. She looked up at his face, but it lacked the pure joy it had before. He flashed her a smile, a purely impish and naughty one. Somehow, she thought, this had become something more than a few fun moves between friends. This…she didn't know what to call this.
Just then, the music changed, from fast and hard and loud to something slow, something that would have been a ballad had it not been for the hot, sinuous licks of guitar in the background. Some people drifted off the dance floor, and Hermione was about to do the same, wanting a moment to clear her head. Ron grabbed her hand, however, and whispered, "Not yet. One more," and she would have done anything in that moment to find out what he was thinking. The least she could do, she thought as she stared up into his now-serious eyes, was stay for one more dance. So she let him spin her once more into him, let her hands settle on his shoulders. She found then that without Ron's enthusiastic movements, the crowd pushed in closer on every side, then let out, as if they were breathing together. Testing herself, and him, she wound her arms tighter around his neck. His ears (and since she was looking at them, avoiding his eyes, she noticed the change) turned red. "Right, then," he mumbled, and his voice sounded suddenly uncertain, far from the animated dancer he had been. She smiled, her confidence growing, and allowed the crowd to push them closer. His hands slid to her back, cradling her against him.
Replaying the dance later in her head, Hermione would think that that was the moment that everything changed, became something more than it had been. Ron's eyes stayed on hers as they began to move together, to dance, and absurdly, a line from an old song played over and over in Hermione's head: All your life, you've been waiting for this one moment to be free. Physically, the dance was no different than that of any other couple on the floor, but those eyes on hers clouded her mind, sped up her heart rate, altered a simple dance into something intimate and profound. His hands played up and down her spine, stroked her body as no one had before. Their bodies bumped, grinded, slid together, finding a rhythm that was surprisingly natural.
Hermione couldn't believe that this was her life, that she was dancing (could you still call this just dancing?) with her best friend in a crowded nightclub. That she was feeling things she'd never felt before, and with Ron. It felt like she was watching herself move with that tall redhead, curiously detached, and yet everything she felt was also hyper-focused. The colors were brighter, the shadows more intense, and the music just seemed like another part of her body, like an exterior heartbeat. At one point, she threw her head back, tossing her hair away, and when she brought her face back up, Ron's eyes were on hers with something…something indefinable lighting them.
It was at that moment that the music stopped. Ron's arms were still around her, their bodies pressed so close it was like they were one. He was panting, she gasping. For one brief moment, his arms tightened around her, then let her go.
Now that it was over, she didn't know what to do. She offered him a tentative smile and said, "Well. That was…insane." At his surprised laugh, the tension seemed to ease, and she grabbed his hand companionably. "Let's get us a drink. What do you say?"
In answer, he slowly brought her hand to his lips. Hand in hand, they walked back to the table in the corner, where Ginny and Harry were now sitting, sipping their beers and laughing. Ron quickly joined in with the laughter, seating Hermione and himself, entering the conversation with ease that belied those shared moments on the floor. Hermione tried to follow the chatter, laughing in all the right places, but she found it hard to ignore the new taut line of awareness that stretched between herself and Ron. She couldn't help wondering what had changed, out there in that mass of people, and whether they could get it back. Whether she wanted it back, whatever it was. Whether things could ever be the same again.
One thing was sure, she thought wryly as she watched Ginny throw her head back with laughter. Whatever had changed, whatever was still the same, she no longer sat alone at her table in the corner.
Author's Note Too: Phew! Longer than I meant it to be. Words just kept piling out, jumping over each other to find a place on the page. Thanks for reading, and please tell me what you think. I'm considering going on with this, but I'm not sure yet. Tell me!
