Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from the Harry Potter universe or any of the related places and objects.
Ignores HBP and DH (mostly).
It was just dancing. We'd danced together so many times before that I didn't even think about it. Maybe it was all the drama with Ginny or the stress leading up to the final battle, but something changed that night.
"Another round, Tom!" Ron called drunkenly over the noise in the Three Broomsticks that evening. There had been a victory over a Death Eater stronghold earlier in the week, and the Hogwarts seventh years were out celebrating with Dumbledore's blessing. As I recall, we'd been encouraged, even, to "let our hair down." Several of the girls had done just that, and few boys here and there. Ron was helplessly pissed and breathing down Lavender Brown's neck while Seamus and Dean were attempting to engage the Patil twins in "conversation," though they both had a different use for their tongues in mind. Not that the twins were complaining, of course.
Hermione and I were sitting at a corner table, content just to watch the happiness and bask in it for the time being. I sighed, feeling a bit depressed by all the smiling and ignorance around me.
"Come off it, Harry," Hermione prodded me. "You'll be free, too, someday."
"Yeah," I laughed, "I just need to murder a maniac and try not to get killed by his hundreds of followers at the same time." It was an empty argument, and we both knew it. We'd been over it a thousand times if once before, and neither of us ever budged, me from my moping or 'Mione from her quiet reassurance. "I know." I ran my hands through my hair restlessly, not at all helping the discord already present. "Hey," asked as the music picked up a faster tune, "you wanna dance?" She smiled and accepted my hand without a word.
Hermione, Ron, Lavender, and I had tried learning how to dance during our free time at school. A Ravenclaw from America had taught us some swing dancing and blues dancing. Of course, Ron was only there for an excuse to grope Lavender, but what can I say? She's not bad looking. Given their inclination to each other, Hermione and I had danced mostly with each other over the past year. It was… nice. Nice to be able to be that close to someone without worrying about the emotional whiplash that seemed to come from every physical encounter I'd ever had.
I pulled her to dance floor and got into the feel of the music, immediately leading her into an eight-count and swinging her out and drawing her close again. I admired her for the way she moved so surely on her feet, never stumbling or second-guessing even when we'd just begun to learn. Ella, the Ravenclaw, had pronounced her a "natural" and spent most of the lessons trying to bash some decency into Ron, figuring that Hermione could sort me out if need be. And oh, need had been. People always talked about how Viktor Krum seemed more comfortable in the air than on land, and if ever there was a similarity between us, that was it. But then Ella had taught us blues dancing, and somehow it just fit me in a way nothing else had.
When the first song ended, another, slower and more sultry, took its place. Hermione didn't even need to wait for my lead to get closer and link her other arm around my shoulder, waiting for the dancing to begin.
"I've missed this," she said. I leaned back a bit from the close position to quirk an eyebrow at her. "Dancing like this. Just being in the music. Sometimes it's hard to let go with all the things at school and with the war looming over us all the time. Being like this is just so easy." And it was, I realized. When we danced, everything else just seemed to fade away, or at least not be as important, given how difficult it is to forget a war when the hexes are practically flying around you day and night.
"Me too," I replied, keeping my sarcasm to myself for the time being. This wasn't a time for snark. This was just about feeling and moving and breathing and being. I moved my hand lower on her back and pulled her in a low arc through the air, her lilac perfume filling the air around us. It's funny; I'd never noticed that she wore perfume before.
I held her close to me again, one arm each hanging loosely at our sides as we continued to rock together. Her grip on my arm tightened momentarily as we did a slide in time with the music, and when we got back into step I could feel her heartbeat through my chest. I got distracted feeling the counterpoint between her pulse and mine and lost the rhythm of the music, sending her toppling into me as I caught my foot with hers.
I landed with my back braced against the wall, barely standing, and Hermione fully leaned against me, both arms around me now.
"Really, Harry, and here I thought we'd taught you to count finally," she said with a smirk as she looked up at me.
And something snapped.
I looked into her eyes, so playful and innocent, so easy-going and open, and just so Hermione and lost myself in the moment. I felt her surprised intake of air when I kissed her, but it didn't matter because all I knew was that she was warm and soft, and even if I wasn't in love with her, I certainly loved her and it just felt right. After a moment, she responded and my heart soared. Her mouth was soft against mine, and even though she didn't taste like strawberries or chocolate or any of that other crap that people talk about, she just tasted so like her that it alone was intoxicating.
I pulled back after a moment, searching her face for some sign that she was about to hex me into next week and set Crookshanks on Hedwig. But there was no harpy, no fury of a woman scorned. She just smiled at me and pulled me back to the dance floor.
"I'm here to dance, Harry," she said as she laid her head against my shoulder, unperturbed by the rocking movement of our bodies. "There'll be plenty of time for that later when Ella isn't around to admonish your 'distracting tendancies.'"
I sighed, knowing that Hermione clearly didn't feel anything towards me and—later? Had I heard her right? My surprise must have shown in my movements because she chuckled and laced our fingers together.
"Really, Harry. Why on Earth do you think I put up with months of 'one-two-triple-step' drills and watching Ron drool over that bimbo? I don't love dancing that much."
And that was all I needed to hear. We continued dancing for the rest of the evening, only giving in and heading back when all but the final chaperone, Flitwick, had wandered back to the castle with the other students. We sat by the fire in Gryffindor tower until the small hours of the morning, talking and sharing stolen kisses. After Hermione had fallen asleep with her head on my shoulder, I sent a small thank you to Americans for blues.