One Dance
They were locked in a duel, wands raised, sparks and flames flying, lighting shadowed faces. She was fierce, wild, a mane of hair falling behind her, swaying with the rhythm of the dance of battle. She had looked this way a few years ago, an eternity ago. He remembered…
She had turned up at the dance alone. The only one who had no date on her arm. The only one who didn't twirl with a boy's hand on her waist. The only one who didn't giggle with her friends. The only one who hadn't hidden away because no one asked her to dance.
She danced alone.
Her dress was blue, shimmering gauze that was tinged with midnight and forget-me-nots. It fit her like a waterfall, flowing down her back and pooling at her feet, yet her steps were not obstructed. Her hair was not up, but free and flying, frizzy and alive.
She flitted like a butterfly through the crowd, weaving with her eyes closed. Feeling the music, yet ignoring it completely. For when it was fast, her motions became slower, like swimming through syrup. And when it was slow, she became a blue blur, feet thumping, hips swaying.
He had wanted to touch her. He had wanted to catch her spirit in a jar and bottle it up to savour on gloomy days. But she was too enchanting, too exotic. She wasn't human; she was something infinitely more. Something that would slip through his fingers and shatter into a million pieces.
So he had stood back and watched her dance alone.
He was dancing with her now. Throwing curse after curse, dodging the ones sent back, admiring the way her body moved. Except this was no school ball. And if he stopped dancing, it might mean death.
She missed a beat, and a flash of light hit her. Her wand flew out of her hands, and she keeled over. Desperately trying to get up, but her feet wouldn't obey her, wouldn't dance. His wand was at her chin, forcing her to look up. Her eyes were full of hatred, full of fire, full of defiance. She laughed in the face of death.
"Going to kill me, Ferret?" she spat.
Ferret. She was mocking him.
"I've won, Granger."
The words sounded hollow, empty. A childish retort. Because he hadn't won, not really. If he killed her now, her spirit would only fly free like a bright yellow canary, and he would be left with the rusty metal cage.
All he had wanted was a dance. Just one dance. But now midnight had struck, and reality was burning like the Dark Mark into his skin.
"You'll never win Malfoy." She gave a strange sort of un-laugh. "You think that you have me wrapped around your finger, but you have nothing. Nothing you want, anyway."
He hated her. He hated her for being so brave. He hated her for being, even now, untouchable. He hated her because, once again, she was absolutely right.
He wanted to knock that ferocity out of her eyes, kick that bitterness out of her voice, erase the hatred in her mind. He wanted Hermione Granger's essence to shine out from behind that filthy glass. He wanted to see her dance again.
So he kissed her.
She tasted like a trickle of cool water after being parched for years. Like crisp autumn air at midnight. Like a fine silver morning mist. Like a moonbeam on the wet grass.
He broke away. She was stunned, caramel eyes wide, the shadows that had coated them finally gone, shining with a strange light. He lowered his wand and backed away slowly, unaware of the battle around them. She just looked at him, gaze steady. Full of wonder.
"Who won now, Granger?" he asked, before the enemy and darkness swallowed him up.
A/N: Please R&R!
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K Rowling.