AN: Hey guys, this is my first uploaded fanfiction, so please leave a review and let me know what you think! (Mind the shameless plugging - I mean reviews feed the author's motivation right?)
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I'm simply borrowing JK's characters and little parts of plot. If I did own this franchise, Harry would have been raised with the mischievous maurders, Ron wouldn't be a total ass all of the time and Hermione would be totally gay with a certain transfiguration professor. Or maybe Ginny. Or Luna. Or Rolanda Hooch.
Warning: Fanfiction has corrupted my soul and dragged me into fandoms I never even dreamed of. Femslash - don't like? My simple suggestion is don't read!
Just one more note: This fic is based on one of my favourite songs and although I don't own it (disclaimer) I might adapt some pronouns in following chapters. This was intended to be a one shot, but have an idea for a few more chapters, so bare with me.
Thanks y'all
"When you hold me in the street
And you kiss me on the dance floor
I wish that it could be like that
Why can't it be like that?
'Cause I'm yours"
I thought that I was old enough, experienced enough, wise enough, to not let myself be pulled into my subconscious; the memories I had tried to hide away in a dark corner of my mind, flooding my every sense, as the soft voice poured from the radio. The presenter of this particular muggle radio station had announced this melody - 'Secret Love Song' by a girl group called Little Mix and I was all set on turning the silver machine off and retiring to bed, when the words struck my heart with such passionate emotion, I was forced to take a seat, overwhelmed.
Fourth Year;
**Hems of gowns and tails of dress robes blur together, creating a mosaic of pretty colours, as you twirl me into your strong arms. Your embrace is firm but comforting, drawing me close enough to your chest that I can smell the firewhiskey you had been drinking moments prior.
"Miss Granger" You whisper, lips inches from my own. My breath hitches at the soft sound of your voice, the Scottish lilt only making my heart beat that much faster. The other attendees of the Yule Ball seem to fade into the background, as I get lost in your piercing emerald eyes. All I can think about is how it easy it would be to close the distance between us and lightly brush my lips against yours. Suddenly I'm being hurtled to the right, the only thing stopping me from falling to the ground is your protective grip on my forearm.
"Sorry" Neville smiles sheepishly, having slipped himself, crashing into my left. I return the smile, silently telling him that it's okay, before we both turn back to our dance partners. When I meet your gaze once more, I can tell whatever had been between us had dissipated and I let out a small sigh, fighting back the tears that were threatening to fall. I quickly excuse myself, hurrying from the dance floor and then the ball room, pushing my way past Ronald and Harry on my swift exit.**
In the perfection of that moment, my fifteen year old self had began to foolishly imagine you could ever reciprocate, what I then called a simple crush. But when I was forced back to reality, I remembered that while I was underage, you were also my much older, straight, professor and I never held a chance of being loved by you. I remember that night so clearly. Hogwarts, Beauxbatons and Durmstrang students had gathered together for the Yule Ball, myself on the arm of the esteemed Victor Krum, just to prove a point to Ron. I recall striding down the magnificent staircase, projecting courage I did not feel, while letting myself scan the busy room. But I wasn't searching for my date, nor my friends. I was searching for you.
You were stood, quite stoic, next to Albus Dumbledore, emerald eyes flashing in every direction, probably making sure your cubs were behaving, before they landed on me. We made eye contact for a fleeting second and you offered a small smile and just as quick as it began, the moment was over. You looked beautiful as always; the colour of your outer robe matched the exact shade of your eyes and the pointed hat sat perched at an angle atop your head looked divine. I danced with Victor and he whispered his observations on Harry's disastrous dancing, which made me chuckle quietly, before my attention once again rested solely on you. The headmaster had offered his hand to you and led you onto the dance floor, stopping not inches from Victor and I, before he pulled you into a waltz. You looked so relaxed, so elegant, that I couldn't take my eyes off of you. Victor must have noticed this, because after one more dance, he led me to the table Harry and Ron vacated and wished me good luck, leaving me alone and speechless.
By the time I had managed to locate you once more, you were sat at a table with Rolanda Hooch and Poppy Pomfrey, sipping firewhiskey. It took all of my gryffindor courage to approach your table and ask you for a dance and when you declined, my heart nearly shattered. I should have guessed your reply beforehand, knowing how stubborn and private you were, but I had had hope. Hope that turned to ashes as soon as you politely but firmly said no thank you. Luckily, I had had years of masking my pain with indifference and slipped on a smile and instead turned to Rolanda Hooch. She accepted my invitation readily and after a series of steady and then fast-paced dances, with the hawk eyed quidditch teacher, she departed with a wink, leaving me without a dance partner once more. I managed to fight my way through the crowds, my feet then sore from the ridiculously high heels and reached your then empty table. You had gave me a sharp look, before I noticed all the empty glasses of firewhiskey surrounding you and a cheshire grin stretched at my face. I may have used your inebriated state to my advantage, but it was worth every second.
**Ron and I walk swiftly towards your office, apprehension rolling off of me in waves. Not only did I have to leave Harry behind to try and figure out the riddle for himself, but now I have to sit in front of you, the person that fills my dreams and desires and try to hold a conversation. Ron knocks on your door, as I hang back, trying my hardest to clear the blush from my cheeks, the memories of some of my more mature dreams, since dancing with you at the Yule Ball, rushing back to the front of my mind. I hear your powerful voice through the wooden barrier and Ron gives me a confused glance, before he walks calmly inside. I give myself an extra second to take a deep breath, before I follow my redheaded friend and stand in front of your desk. You are seated, your body poised perfectly, but with a worried gleam in your usually expressionless eyes. You ask us to take a seat and Ron gulps, wondering what kind of trouble he is in. He is soon reassured, however, as you explain the second task of the Triwizard Tournament and what that entails for both Ron and I. The youngest Weasley boy seems perfectly fine with the situation, excited almost, but I have a very different reaction. Why was I brought into these silly games? Why should my life depend on a young wizard I barely know? You sense my discomfort, so you ask Ron to make his way straight to Dumbledore's office, leaving us alone.
"Why me?" I ask, equally confused, angry and frightened.
"You are Mister Krum's partner…" You start, but I shake my head and you trail off. I look down at the floor, wishing that you would wrap me in a tight hug and tell me everything is going to be okay. But you don't. I stand up, quickly making my way towards the door, eager to escape the close confinement. I turn to look at you, one last time and for a fraction of a second I see uncertainty, panic and a tiny trace of love; but you blink and your stoic expression is restored. I nod in departure, telling myself that I only saw what I want to see and fully embracing my harmful crush as deep rooted feelings for the first time.**
Looking back on my own teenage perception of my feelings, I can't help but chuckle sadly. I remember taking a potion Dumbledore passed me with a reassuring smile and the next thing I recall is taking deep, sputtering breaths, my eyes stinging from the salt in the water and my body thrashing in an effort to stay afloat and warn away the chilling breeze that was settling in my bones. Victor Krum was dragging my by my thin t-shirt and after a short inner debate, I let my limbs still and be pulled along. I don't know who dragged me out of the water and onto the wooden pier, but I do know that the first person I laid eyes upon was you.
You were stood not two feet away, your hand slightly raised as if you were reaching for me and your face was worried but relaxed, almost in relief. I so wanted to believe that you were happy to see me safe, but as Madame Pomfrey wrapped me in a thick blanket and hustled me away, I realised that I was your student, your cub. Of course you were happy to see me safe, but only as happy as you would have been if it were Ron or Harry stepping onto dry land. It was almost as if I had been slapped in the face. I faintly remember Victor sitting beside me, followed by Ron and Harry, but I didn't engage in conversation and they seemed fine letting me sit in silence. Warm tears trickled down my icy skin, as I wished that things could be different, wished that I could be yours.