Starlight
And I said, "Oh my, what a marvelous tune!"
It was the best night, never would forget how we moved.
The whole place was dressed to the nines,
And we were dancing, dancing,
Like we're made of starlight, starlight.
His hands hover around my waist and my fingertips rest lightly on his shoulders. We wait stiffly for the orchestra to start as we stand there, Head Boy and Head Girl, tall and proud, flinching away from each other and leaving as much space as possible between his wild black hair and my glossy red. Dumbledore's watching us calculatingly, smiling innocuously, daring us to slap each other, or hex each other, or worse. I look resolutely at the glittering chandeliers behind him with my face carefully blank, as he watches the students gathered behind us in bright silks and luxurious satins with his jaw clenched.
It's funny, we should have expected this to happen. We were the ones furiously planning this ball, after all, and it's always been tradition for the Heads. Yet we were both unpleasantly surprised when Dumbledore called on us to open the dance floor. I guess he just did what I did: put the thought away for as long as possible until absolutely necessary.
The dulcet strains of the violinists on the stage float to my ears and immediately I know he's not going to make this easy for me, even though the music is a perfect one-two-three rhythm. We pivot tensely for a bit before he shifts his gaze to mine and sizes me up silently. I try my best to keep my stare focused strictly at the chandelier behind him, but it's an impossible task, so I find myself inexplicably drawn back to him. He's got this magical property where when he looks at me, I have no choice but to look back: it's always been like that, whether we're fighting, or in class, or eating dinner in the Great Hall.
I narrow my eyes and return his unspoken challenge, whatever it is. Immediately, without warning, he snaps me around aggressively for a twirl. I stumble for a bit before falling back to step, glaring at him and stepping on his toes on purpose. He's a brilliant dancer and loves to humiliate others; his mother sent him to dance lessons like all pureblood parents do, and combined with his natural grace, he's pretty much unstoppable. But I've got a weapon against him: what he doesn't know is that when your mother's a dance teacher, you've got no choice but to learn the tango at three years old, and help choreograph performances before even going to elementary school.
"Sorry," he smirks, and pushes against my waist so that I'm forced to turn in a circle clumsily.
He's clearly taking the lead in this dance, but that's about to change. Quick as a flash, with eyes glinting dangerously at him, I force him to lift my hand with his and twirl myself quickly, so my back is to his chest, and my arms are wrapped around myself. Before he even realizes what I'm doing, I unravel myself so my arms are outstretched before rolling back towards him. He blinks as he misses a step, clearly not expecting this, but falls back into rhythm faster than I hoped he would. We continue to dance in a circle, this time with me leading the pair of us.
"Sorry," I echo, smirking as well.
He's never one to back from a challenge, though, so as I turn myself closer to him, he's already regaining the control and pulling me forcefully towards the center of the ballroom and spinning me around once more.
I snort and scoff at him. "Is that all you can do? Spinning around in a circle? Merlin, Potter, it's like you don't know how to dance at all."
This, of course, is a lie. I've danced with him for about two minutes now, and he's already the best dance partner I've ever had.
He narrows his eyes and abruptly snaps me outward again. I retaliate easily, somehow making his attack into a complicated move to throw him off balance. He adjusts himself impressively quickly, and pulls me back in. We stare at each other defiantly.
"Didn't know you danced, Evans," he murmurs, breathing heavily.
"Didn't know you cared, Potter," I retort. It's a weak response, but I'm distracted by a sudden twist of his hand that nearly sends me careening into the pair swaying awkwardly next to us.
That's when I notice that other couples are beginning to dance as well. I'm so caught up in the moment that I don't lose concentration from staring into his eyes for even a moment. But even though it would be socially acceptable to end this, whatever this is, there's too much at stake. He's got nothing on me; it's time to show him that I'm a much better dancer, and over my dead body will I end this dance and admit defeat. We whirl and twirl a bit more, both of us with eyes piercing the other's, and out of nowhere, he leans me back so I'm parallel to the ground. I improvise and lift a stilettoed foot dramatically in the air before pushing off on my other leg and pulling us upright, further into the ballroom.
We fall into an aggressive, but perfectly elegant dance. By now, he knows not to underestimate me. I may be cautious on the dance floor, and I typically don't show off like he does, but with a good partner, I can do anything. We both try to make each other stumble, by perhaps doing a quick twirl or tipping the other a little too far, but we hold our own and continue to glare furiously at each other. This is supposed to be romantic and beautiful, but instead it's competitive and passionate, just like us.
To be honest, it's more like a duel than a dance. Expelliarmus! as I yank his arm out while I spin myself. Protego! as he pulls his arm back and drags me back towards him. Conjunctivitis! as I pierce his eyes with my own, hoping to make him blink or look away or anything that could be a sign of defeat.
We're a whirligig, a machine, a beautiful twirling harmonious machine.
The music changes suddenly into popular Muggle song, complete with fast beats and guitar riffs. It must have already been a while since we started, since the lights are dimming and jets of light flashing, signaling the start of the party stage of the ball. He looks thrown off for a second, and I realize I have the upper hand in this round, since it doesn't seem like he knows this song.
Taking advantage of this fleeting moment, I bend my knees quickly and straighten up, gathering just enough momentum to launch us into a fast dance. It's a bit unconventional, dancing the tango to pop music, but we pull it off quite well. I drag my toe slowly in a half-circle around me, then quickly pull up into a tiptoe and press close to him. In the intense staring battle that's been going on ever since we started this, I've managed to notice that his eyes aren't brown like I thought. They're a dark, golden olive, brown with green flecks, not green with brown flecks. Standing five centimeters away from him, I also notice his rows of eyelashes, so much neater than his sorry excuse of hair.
He lunges back, and I lunge forward, and then he pulls me up to him, and then he lunges forward, and I lunge back again. It's amazing how I know exactly what he's going to do before he even thinks it. We're perfect dance partners and it's amazing and so strange.
My stilettos are sharp and purposeful as they trace lines and circles on the ground, and hook onto one of his legs. He's the only person who's graceful enough to accept my bold moves in stride and match me perfectly. Even my mother, who's the best dancer I know, can't keep up with my daring variations and freestyle. It's only too bad that once he opens his mouth, all the good sides of him disappear.
Neither of us has spoken for a long time, but words can't compare to our movements. We still haven't broken eye contact, and the moment is too intense to destroy. The song changes again, and we've moved from classical to modern to a slow song. The candles in the chandeliers light themselves, and roses are conjured by the house elves to drape down from the tables.
This is the finale of the night, and we've been dancing for over an hour now. Usually, my dance partners get tired within ten minutes, but we've been keeping up, if not becoming even more audacious, with our steps. Time hasn't flown like it seems to do in books, but instead it just feels like we could do this for an eternity. Every challenge from him is difficult, but also exciting, and both of us are pushing each other to the very limits of our skills. It must seem incredible to an outsider, and our connection right now is definitely incredible, but I know that once we're out of the ballroom, we'll be enemies again: Potter and Evans, Prathead and Swotface.
This dance is not elegant like the waltz, or sexy-hot like the tango, but it's beautiful. We're not as showy with this one, and although our little competition is still going on, we're doing this one for the pure enjoyment from a good dance partner, at last. We sway with my arms wrapped around his neck and his hands pulling me close at the waist. It's the same position we started with, but so much more relaxed, and close, and comforting. We went through something special tonight, and I know it, and he knows it. We started out with cold silence, and now it's all warm closeness. It's lovely and I'll be sad for it to end, so this dance is bittersweet and promises a perfect closing for possibly one of the best nights of my life. I danced with him for Dumbledore's sake, but we discovered a bond that I'll never forget.
All of a sudden, he pulls me close and we're closer than we've ever been tonight. We've gone from angry enemies to kindred spirits in less than a hundred minutes. The song slowly fades to an ending, but we're still connected by our staring. Neither of us wants this to end, but his friends are looking for him, and mine are looking for me, so we need to let go. But both of us still cling to each other, because this version of Potter-and-Evans is so much better than the angry version, and before we know it, we're kissing and it's wonderful and it's wrong but also so, so, so right.
We break off and stumble away from each other ungracefully as someone begins to clap. Sirius stands on a table applauding, and soon enough, Dumbledore joins in, then Remus, then a group of fifth year girls, and suddenly everyone's cheering. For the first time in more than an hour, I'm looking at anything other than brown-specked-with-green, and I only just notice that we're isolated from the rest of the school, and a spotlight's been put on us. I wonder if we've been dancing all alone, oblivious to the attention, for the full hour.
Potter and I look at each other, faces red, bodies hot, and breaths heavy. I find that right now, when he's showing me this side of him, nothing really matters anymore. I know that in the morning, we'll be ignoring each other, or fighting again, and Merlin knows I'll be stubbornly forcing myself to forget the fact that he completes me perfectly. We're kindred spirits, one step away from being maybe soul mates, and in that moment, we're stars dancing away at the night.