OK. This is somewhat of an introduction to the "dance" chapter. It IS a finished chapter, but the dance hasn't technically started. I do have two songs to work off of for the next chapter, so that should be up relatively soon depending on the response I get to this chapter.

PLEASE REVIEW!!! Much love, Cat.

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"What do you think you're doing?" she hissed at him angrily.

"Is that anyway to greet your lover? No wonder you've only ever attracted Weasley with bait like that. Do you glare so charmingly at all your suitors or am the only one privileged to be able to see passion for something other than dusty books light those beautiful eyes?" he said mockingly.

As much as she despised him and knew quite well that his comments could only be construed as a compliment by the most feverish of minds, Hermione couldn't suppress a tiny flutter of pleasure at his words. She ruthlessly squashed it as she allowed him to lead her to the dance floor. "There is no point in us dancing together, in us even speaking together. You have made it quite clear that you have no wish to prolong our association and frankly I could care less about your feelings on the subject. I can't imagine anything I'd enjoy more than never having to see you or hear from you again."

Draco pretended to look wounded, before his lips curved into a mocking smile. "Really, Hermione? Nothing at all? You're a smart girl. I'm sure you could think of something if you put your mind to it," he murmured, trailing his hand slowly up her arm to rest on her shoulder.

She hated his smug grin. She hated his mocking gray eyes. At that moment, the only thing that could have pleased her more than never seeing him again was punching that knowing look off his arrogant, aristocratic face. Instead, she let him wrap his hand around hers and smiled at him sweetly. "I'm sure I could."

He drew himself up into the same straight posture he used when looming over those he deemed beneath his consideration yet worthy of intimidation if it would suit his purposes. Gently, his slid his arm beneath hers.

"What are you doing?" she questioned brusquely. Her voice came out more sharply than she would normally have liked it to, but as she remembered who she was speaking to, she found she didn't care if he thought her tone harsh.

"It is the formal tango hold, love," he murmured patronizingly.

She pressed her lips together in a tight line. "And why would the orchestra play a tango?"

"I requested it, of course, silly," he teased.

"Requested?" she challenged.

He smirked. "Fine, then. Ordered. What difference does it make?"

"None at all," she replied.