AN:I wrote this a while ago, just for fun. The premise is a bit similar to my other one-shot, A Hero Lost, in that it starts out in a bar with Hannah as the bartender, which is because this one is what I was originally writing, and it somehow turned into A Hero Lost! I hope you enjoy this one!
edit:re-uploaded to fix a mistake!
I own nothing, unfortunately.
Ron lifted his drink to his lips, tasting the harsh tang of Firewhiskey against his tongue and felt the familiar burn as it slid down his throat. He set the glass down on the bar and swiveled in his seat to face the dance floor. He leaned his back against the wood of the counter and began his search, eyes sweeping back and forth across the lighted floor, looking for the familiar countenance. He finally found it, in the center of the room as always, hips moving in perfect rhythm to the music playing.
He had the familiar urge to join her, but squelched it down, forcing his eyes away from her and turning back to his drink. No, he was not nearly drunk enough for that.
He lifted his glass again, draining it in one gulp and set it back down, wiping his lip with his sleeve. The bartender looked at him from her spot behind the bar, several feet down from Ron. She glanced at his empty cup and then out to the place he had been staring at. The place he stared at every night.
"You know, liquid courage isn't always the answer, Ron." She moved down the bar and took his glass away. She stared at him knowingly, the way she always did when having this talk with him. "It never works out the way you want it to in the end."
"I don't know what you mean, Hannah." He swiveled again, turning his back to her now that his drink was gone. She saw the slump in his shoulders, the tired air he gave off ever since the end of the war.
"I mean, getting drunk and going out to the dance floor always has its consequences. People have cameras in the Wizarding world, you know, and you are famous." She smirked at him as he glared at her from over his shoulder.
"I have no intentions of going out there, sober or not."
She let out an exasperated sigh, one that caused him to raise his eyebrows at her. "If you want to dance with her, Ron, then go dance with her."
He stiffened, his back straightening and his knuckles turning white where he gripped his seat. "What are you talking about, Hannah?" He asked calmly, his voice slightly strained.
She rolled her eyes. "I'm talking about her." He didn't have to move his head to see where she was pointing. He was already looking at her. "You sit here every night, watching her, and quite frankly, it's kind of creepy."
"Everyone watches her," he replied quietly.
It was true. Throughout the club, men and women alike could be seen staring at the same woman Ron stared at every night. She caught their attention and never gave it back, her body moving in time to the music.
She stood out from the other dancers. She was the most carefree of them, the most reckless on the floor, dancing with whoever came by or even by herself. She didn't care that everyone watched her, that something about her attracted everyone to her like bees to honey. She danced, rarely ever leaving the floor.
Ron's attention was brought back to Hannah by the sharp snap of a dish towel to the back of his head. Glaring at her, he rubbed the spot she hit. "What?"
"I said, if you don't go out there, you are never getting any alcohol from me, ever again." She folded her arms across her chest and smirked at him again.
"She would never let me; she hates me."
"Ron, we're not at Hogwarts any more. You'd be surprised at how differently people can feel once they leave their school friends behind."
He sat there, contemplating his choices. Go to the dance floor and face embarrassment and rejection, or never drink Firewhiskey here again.
Just as he decided that there were other clubs he could go to, and pubs were very fine indeed, she stepped off the dance floor and headed towards the bar.
Directly towards him.
Immediately, he faced Hannah again, not wanting to stare at her as she walked toward him. He heard her talk to Hannah, saw Hannah slide something down the counter to her, but all he could think was that she was near him and he didn't have anything to drink.
She retreated back to the dance floor and Ron breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing again.
And then he mentally kicked himself. She had been next to him and he had said absolutely nothing to her. He glanced at Hannah, who was still smirking at him.
He stood up, steeling himself. He was a Gryffindor, he had Gryffindor courage, now was the time to use it.
It was dark in the club, not dark enough to be unsafe but dark enough that it made seeing faces rather difficult. Ron supposed it was better this way, allowing someone to do what they want with abandon, not having to worry about being recognized later. He edged past the dance floor, where the main source of light came from the floor itself, flashing different colors up through the people standing on it. He tried not to get too close to the sweating dancers with their flailing limbs as he made his way to the other side of the floor, where she was with a group of people but somehow dancing by herself.
He had never been a good dancer. He wasn't even sure what a good dancer was, except the girl dancing in front of him. He didn't know what to do, but he knew enough not to stand there, so he listened carefully, letting the rhythm flow through him. And then he began to move, slowly at first, before catching up to the speed of the music.
She saw him, smiled slightly at him, and then moved closer to him. She began to match him, her movements flowing with his until they moved as one, a unit amongst other units.
This was the first night they danced together. It was far from the last.
He returned every night, sometimes bypassing the bar in favor of getting to the dance floor quicker. She only spent a limited amount of time dancing with him before moving on to dance by herself or with someone else. He couldn't expect to have her all night but he tried to keep her as long as he could.
The more he danced the more courage he gained. He moved closer to her when they danced together. He snaked an arm around her to hold her there longer. When she was alone he sought her out, moving to dance with her rather than waiting for her to make the first move.
She was more beautiful when he was on the floor than when he was watching from his seat on the bar. Her dark hair shined in the light and her dark skin gave off a soft glow. He could see her face better now. He could see that she had grown into her looks; she no longer had the visage of a pug, although her nose was still slightly squashed. Before the war, while he was still at Hogwarts, he would have laughed at her, insulted her, but now he found everything about her beautiful.
He let the music fill him every night, pounding in his ears as he found the rhythm of each song that was played. He forgot about everything when he was out there; forgot the horrible things he had seen in the war, forgot about the stress of work, forgot the pressure of his family to settle down.
He felt connected to her there, more connected to her than he had ever felt in any relationship he had before.
For the first few nights, when the tempo changed from quick to slow, he left the floor, not ready to even suggest they dance together. But as his courage grew, he found himself thinking more and more about catching her hand as she left him and pulling her back to him until one day he did.
They were both shocked. He stared down at her, eyes wide, and she stared up at him, surprise etched across her face. For a moment he thought she was going to leave, but slowly the surprise faded from her features and she leaned into him, dancing with him for one song before she moved on again.
One night, as the rhythm pounded through his feet and the lights flashed across their faces and she danced close in front of him with his arm around her waist, he reached down and kissed her.
She didn't say anything when they parted, not that he would have heard her if she had. Instead, she moved away, dancing her way through the crowd and to another partner.
He felt slightly broken on the inside, his pride bruised. He wasn't sure what he expected but he had not expected rejection of that sort. It was as if it never happened.
He danced with other girls, but he didn't get the same feeling he got with her, the same closeness. They weren't her, and it wasn't enough for him.
He retreated to the bar, where Hannah waited with a glass of Firewhiskey and a sympathetic ear, but he never made it to her.
She intercepted him, an arm reaching out to snag his as he passed her. She made him face her, staring up at him. It was the only time he had seen her not dancing when she was on the floor.
Her mouth moved, but the music was too loud. He couldn't hear her. He pointed at his ear and shook his head.
She tried again, this time shouting to be heard. "What about Granger?"
He smiled to himself and shrugged, shaking his head. "We aren't together anymore! We're friends!" He yells over the music.
She smiled, reaching for his hand, but he pulled it back just before she caught it.
"What about Malfoy?"
A scowl crossed her face at the mention of Malfoy, but then a grin took over. Reaching for his hand again, she asked, "Do you see him?"
That was good enough for Ron. He gave her his hand and she pulled him out to the center of the floor. They danced together, closer than before, and only with each other.
"You know," Ron called after a while, "I don't really know much about you!"
She laughed. "Is that a problem?"
Smiling, he said, "Well, for me, it sort of is."
She didn't say anything for a while. He had nearly forgotten about his statement when she pulled him by the arm, off the floor and to a spot by the bar.
"Pansy, what are you—"
"It's rather hot in here. How about we get some ice cream?" She smiled at him and he couldn't refuse, not that he had wanted to.
Hannah watched as the two left the club, smiling to herself. She had known this would happen, that they would be together eventually. She had known since the first dance.