A/N:
Thank you for your reviews.
I am in the process of editing and revising the story… some of it is in dire need of a good rewrite!
As stated previously, I will be forever in the dept of those of you who review. You keep me stimulated, and give me that guilty boost when I haven't updated soon enough….
You see him. He has seen you. He stops.
There are very few other teachers about; most have taken to conversing in corners, or dancing gaily with a few of their colleagues. He stands alone, in the shadows. Surrounded by darkness, his outlined form is barely distinguishable. Once more he is dressed in his deepest, darkest robes. He seems as though robed in night itself.
Your heart flutters as your eyes meet.
You begin to glide towards him. This is the dance; the one you wanted to share with him and him alone; you have been waiting all night for this, this one song.
You have watched him. And just as carefully as you have watched him, he has been watching you, waiting for you to approach, to dance, to show a sign of your own. You're sure of it. You have shared none of the other dances. Not a one. And you know that he knows this.
You have saved yourself for this dance, this one, the only one you might dance tonight.
Slowly you glide across the dance floor. So soon…
You are almost there. He still has not moved, choosing rather to stand there, ominously crossing his long arms across his buttoned chest. From behind his curtaining hair his eyes burn… 'He's waiting for me', you realize.
The joy that fills you… his glace still holds the power to take your breath away.
Just ten more steps…
Nine.
Eight.
Seven. Almost…
"Hello Hermione - may I, um…" Harry. Harry. No, no this can't be happening. You look at him, and hear him mumbling something about a dance… You look up, and see him turn away, with a disgusted look on his face.
No. You-know-who himself would not be able to stop you.
You glance at Harry, who has ceased his faltering speech. Your face softens for a moment. A small wave of pity for the poor boy in front of you is felt. He will get over it soon enough; he always does…
"I'm sorry Harry."
You leave him, stumbling over his words, with no explanations.
In a moment, he is forgotten.
Your man, he has not heard your words. He has continued on. With one sweeping step after another, his great cloak billowing, he is quickly gliding out of the room.
You thank God for all of the students within the ballroom; if it were empty, he would likely be in his dungeons already.
You manage to catch up with him.
You reach out, carefully touching his shoulder before he has the chance to move away.
He stops.
For a moment all is still. You feel his tension where your hand has touched his shoulder. Why? You wonder.
He turns to you. Your hand drops from him.
You are so close. One step, and you would be in his arms. You manage to control your feet, which wish to run away with you, into his embrace.
Blood rushes through your head. You can't hear the laughs, the calls, the many shuffling feet. The others disappear to you. No longer important, no longer existing. Only you.
Only him.
You bring up your right hand, extending it palm up towards him.
You had prepared words for this. Something simple, like 'may I have this dance?', but those words have flown from you.
He looks down to your had, contemplating his answer. The song is about to start. You must say something; you cannot just stand here with your mouth closed!
Your own gaze, which had fallen on your hand, returns to his face.
"Please."
He starts. Roused from his thoughts, he looks to you. You see in his eyes; confusion. Why?
'Perhaps he did not hear you', your mind thinks to you.
This is the last time. After this, it will be all up to him.
"Please." You whisper, even quieter now, so that it sounds more like a breath of air, a sigh, than a word.
You can feel the tears calling your name inside. This simple moment, what power it has to recall all of these feelings to you. Those things you thought forever gone…
You watch him.
Carefully, with his natural grace, he reaches up… and takes your hand.
He watches it, as though it might disappear like a dream one wishes to hold onto, fading into mist faster because of your desire to contain it.
'Why is he so… amazed? Has he forgotten all you'd shared? All those memories? Does he still believe your words to be the pretty words of youth, without meaning or substance?
Can he still think that of you?'
He guides you towards the dance floor. You can feel your heart beating in your throat. It is hard to make yourself remember what had happened; how this may be, the final moments that you spend together.
Could that be?
His hand goes to your side. Your hand goes to his shoulder. His touch… it burns you to your core. How long it was since you were held in this man's embrace! How greatly had you desired the return of heat from his hands, the chance to get close enough to him to smell his scent…. That dark, secret aroma…
You feel as though something inside you is crying. How could this not be? This was right. This was the way it should be, must be. Him here, with you, always beside you… A small sigh escapes your lips. He looks at you, his face passively mocking.
But his eyes… They seem as though he where trying to ask you a question, one that you did not understand. One you wish you could answer.
The Music starts. The Dance begins.
Your dance. Your final dance... It would be the only one you would share this night.