Disclaimer: Yeah, anything you recognize belongs to J.K. Rowling, anything you don't recognize is mine.

"Trying to find the perfect mate in the dance scene is like trying to find a perfect grape that skipped the crushing process in a bottle of fine wine. It's not impossible, just extremely rare. The scene can be very hot, very sensual, and very dangerous if you innocently fall prey to it. Like a viper, it can pierce your soul and spirit. The musical rhythms penetrate your veins, and its hypnotic affect could make you fall inexplicably 'in love' with virtually any confident and powerful dancer you come across - if you let it." –Edie the salsa FREAK A Perfect Day to Elope

CHAPTER SEVEN

In which Draco plays the fairy godmother and Hermione doesn't dance...

September 24, 2003

The interior of Fuego Pierna was exactly what one would expect by looking at its outside, which is to say that it was crowded, loud, and very red. It was crowded because two days ago the Daily Prophet had reported that its "Hip-to-hip, passion-driven air was enough to make a salsaholic out of anyone". So, naturally, all the forty and fifty-year-old witches and wizards in Britain had put on their oldest, tackiest dancing clothes and clambered to get inside. They, however, were not affecting the air in the place itself, as they had been politely but firmly told by a very large man with bristle-brush eyebrows to wait their turn as twenty-somethings in bright red miniskirts and pants made out of various animal skins swept smoothly through the velvet rope.

Though Draco Malfoy had put on a new pair of hot red snakeskin pants, his date had not donned a fire-engine miniskirt. But even men with viciously under plucked eyebrows understand gold, and they'd been admitted without further argument.

So they had taken their seats at the bar and were enjoying quite a nice view of the dance floor while sipping martini glasses filled with a thick, red drink that had been labeled simply "Ambrosia". The bartender had described it with such a loving fervor that they'd have considered it an offense not to order it. Hermione thought it tasted rather like thinner cherry Jell-O.

"Good evening ladies and gentleman, and welcome! Welcome my lovelies to Feugo Pierna! You are now relaxing in the number one Latin dance fiesta in the whole of wizarding England!"A resounding 'woot' rose up from the crowd as the woman on the stage, she appeared to be in her mid-twenties, waved her arms as if to say 'ta-da'. "So get your arses off those stools, set your sights on the dance floor, click your heels together and hold onto your sanity cause it's gonna get loco!"

At this most of the couples rushed out onto the floor and started twirling in crazy, fluid dances as the band launched into a heady cha-cha.

Hermione took a long sip from her glass. "No," she stated simply, never taking her eyes off the parquet.

"No what?" Draco tried to smile innocently, a look he'd never quite mastered and so had the terrifying effect of turning him into a sleazy car salesman.

"Don't even ask," she replied, ignoring his question and turning to look him full in the eyes. The effect was unnerving.

"I wasn't going to," he lied; she could practically see the wheels turning underneath his meticulously combed white-blonde locks.

"You're a terrible liar Malfoy," she grinned and turned back to the floor.

"And you're a wonderful liar, so we're even," he snapped, his plans apparently snuffed for the moment.

"'Cause I'm not going to," she added after a long silence, "so don't bother."

"I wasn't going to," he answered, leaning closer to her in a movement so fluid and smooth she didn't even notice.

"Good." She smiled, a little relieved, and took another sip of her drink.

"But you know what?" he whispered, and she suddenly realized how close he was, too close perhaps…

"Yes?" she eyed him warily, moving away every so slightly. He followed.

"I never said I wouldn't not ask," he sneered, and she realized too late was happening. He grabbed her hand, too smooth to be noticed immediately, and dragged her out onto the dance floor.

"Draco… I don't think I'm dressed for this," she hissed, alternately trying to find the all-too-fast cha-cha beat while ducking under swinging arms and dodging stiletto-heeled stomps.

"No problem," he replied, "ever heard of Cinderella?" He grabbed her hand again and dragged her further onto the floor until she was a periwinkle dot on a sea of fiery red.

She nodded, she didn't like that smile at all…

"So…" He took her right hand in his and lifted it casually over her head. "Spin!"

The room spun on its center and people bent in ways that weren't physically possible. She closed her eyes and tightened her grip on his fingers; if he kept spinning her she was certainly going to fall.

Something was happening to the air in the room, it was becoming cooler if anything, though the heat that seemed to flow like water through the air still pressed down on her like a balmy glove. And it wasn't only that, her hair seemed to be crawling up her neck; but that was insane, of course. Hair didn't crawl. She really wished he'd stop spinning her...

Then it happened, her eyes flew open and she fell; but no, she couldn't be falling. Gravity wouldn't allow her to fall so slowly, so gracefully. Maybe she was dying, maybe soon she'd see her life flash before her eyes. Maybe she was just so dizzy that everything was happening in slow motion, but the dancers were still thrashing to a ridiculously fast cha-cha; that couldn't be it. She glanced up at the rapidly rising ceiling and suddenly her vision was filled with a pair of leering gray eyes. Her descent slowed further and she noticed the firm grip snaked around her waist. There was a fantastic squeal from the lone trumpeter and the music stopped in sync with her floor-ward dip.

"That was highly unnecessary," she snapped, though her voice lacked the necessary passion to carry off such a blatant lie.

"True." He smirked. "I could've let you go after the spin, but what kind of showman would I have been then?"

"Fine, just, put me down."

He did; and she hit the floor with a painful-sounding thud.

"Ow… you do realize there're people around, right?" she snapped, sitting up and rubbing her elbow.

"Oh, yes, right." He leaned down and extended a hand, "Watch your step my lovely pregnant fiance." He smirked, speaking much louder than was really necessary. Where was Rita Skeeter when you needed her?

She rose shakily onto her aching feet and noticed three things: A) that her ankle hurt a lot, B) that the cause of this pain was a pair of slinky black stiletto heels she knew she hadn't been wearing before and C) that her shoes were not the only part of her outfit that seemed to have changed. In fact, her preferred periwinkle sweater and blue jeans seemed to have been transformed into a strappy red halter dress with a rolling plethora of ruffles trimming the asymmetrical hem. Halter dress- she never wore halters. Only people like… Pansy wore halters, and she certainly wasn't a Pansy. That's why she never straightened her hair. Her hands instinctively flew up to her hair, which had apparently been sleeked but- she realized with a smile as she pulled playfully on a corkscrew lock- not straightened. However, how her hair had ended up on top of her head, curly or not, was another matter. It was all very Cinderella like…

"Coming love?"

She glared reproachfully at the hand offered to her. "I never wear halters."

"Apparently, you do." He offered the hand again, "and I might add that although I personally have no problem with your sitting on the floor all night I have the notion that the other people who'd like to maybe, I don't know, dance where you are might just mind."

"No need to be sarcastic," she snapped, ignoring his offered hand and pushing herself shakily up onto unfamiliar shoes. "Now..." She dusted off her new skirt, "if you'd please, I feel the need to get off this dance floor."

She turned on her heel and made as though heading for the bar. She froze mid-step.

"Changed your mind then Granger?"

"Shut up Malfoy," she snapped, swinging her head left and right. She'd caught something on the air, something terribly familiar. Her eyes scanned the throng of red in a stare Professor McGonagall would've been proud of. She sniffed the air. Where was it? She spun full circle, searching desperately for that conspicuous scent of mint, Quidditch, and…

"Harry!"

"Hermione?" Harry Potter was not, thank god, wearing snakeskin pants of any sort. In fact, he was dressed all in black (a color he'd been choosing a lot lately, though Hermione couldn't know that) and it appeared he'd tried to tame his hair a bit. He was considerably taller than Hermione and so, dressed all in black and standing against a background of dancing red, Hermione had the fleeting impression that he was intimidating. That was ridiculous, of course, Harry Potter was no more intimidating than your average celebrity who's had a little bit to drink. Which is to say that though he was prone to getting angry if you asked for his autograph, if one was to have a polite conversation with him one might find him rather agreeable. He did not, however, get many requests for autographs anymore. This was mainly on account of his scar, or lack thereof. Yes, Harry Potter's forehead was finally and blissfully blank.

"What are you doing here?" Hermione squealed.

"Not my choice, trust me," he grumbled, looking slightly embarrassed to be caught in a dance club. "I'm actually looking for my date, have you seen… but no, you wouldn't know her."

"Wouldn't I?" She cocked an eyebrow and smirked knowingly.

"No, I don't think so." He laughed nervously.

"Yeah…" He looked around uncomfortably, he seemed to be choosing his words very carefully. "Ron's… Ron's here and..." she felt her stomach clench and she automatically ducked down a bit. "Well, I think he'd really like to see… you," he finished gravely, but he wasn't looking at Hermione anymore. His eyes had found their mark on a spot behind her; he didn't seem to like what he saw.

"Potter." Hermione felt a protective hand press into the small of her back. She could almost hear Draco scowling; there was no need to scowl like that.

"Malfoy." Harry nodded, she realized Harry had straightened, an effect that brought him still another inch taller. Hermione grimly wondered why everyone was so tall. "I see you're still dating then."

"We are," Hermione replied conversationally before Draco could say anything to make their situation worse.

"Oh…" Harry once again seemed to be thinking his words over, "that's… nice."

"Is it?" Draco sneered; Hermione flinched involuntarily as the hand on her back traced a line up to her shoulder.

"Yes, I think it's very nice. Now, as I was saying to Hermione before you interrupted."

Oh god no Hermione thought, biting into her lip even as she could see disaster hurtling like a speeding train towards her.

"Yes, tell me, what were you saying?"

"I was simply telling her than Ron was over at the bar just now and that I think he'd really like to see her," Harry said through clenched teeth.

"Is he now? Well, we were dancing so…" Draco slid his hand into hers and tugged a little as if to drag her away. She didn't react, merely dug her toes into the floor and untangled her fingers from his.

"You would want to run away," Harry muttered, just loud enough so they could hear. Hermione, who had been halfway to untangling Draco's other hand from her waist, quickly pressed it back onto her hip and grabbed his left hand in hers.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked, though she already knew and hated the answer.

"I don't know, why don't you ask Ron? He ought to know something about how fast you run," Harry spat. Another dance, a rumba, had started, but none of them cared or noticed.

"I didn't run." Hermione flared, gripping Draco's hand tighter. He squeaked.

"Didn't you? I don't know, that's what it's called when you leave in a hurry like that."

"You don't know what it was like."

"WHAT WHAT WAS LIKE 'MIONE? WHAT IT WAS LIKE AFTER YOU LEFT? YEAH, I THINK I KNOW THAT PRETTY WELL. I WAS THERE, UNLIKE SOME PEOPLE. I WAS THERE."

"You are such an ASS!" Hermione screamed, "Do you know what it's like to be engaged to someone you don't love? Do you know what it's like to go through all the paces, to go through every scenario in your head and then it comes to the end and there you are, at the altar, and you don't love your husband. I couldn't do that to Ron!"

"THEN YOU COULD HAVE TOLD HIM."

"You know damn well I couldn't!"

"YOU DIDN'T HAVE TO RUN AWAY WITH" He cast a death-glare at Draco, "HIM."

"That is no way to talk about my fiancé!"

Harry froze, struck dumb. Hermione didn't wait for him to react, she stormed off in the opposite direction and further into the crowd.

"Couldn't have the baby born out of wedlock could we?" Draco added, and he rushed off after her.

He came up scowling behind her.

"That bastard," he spat, panting slightly from running after her. She turned around to face him.

"Let's dance," she said it as though it were a new concept, as though the idea had just dawned upon her and she'd rather like to try it out.

"What?" he asked, apparently shocked stupid.

She didn't repeat the command, but grabbed his hands in hers and pulled him out onto what she was certain must have been somewhere around the middle of the floor. The rumba ended and they clapped in politeness; though Draco, who had finally caught onto what was happening, was eager to get the next song started before she changed her mind.

"Ladies and gentleman." Aman in a slick white tuxedo had strode onto the stage, "boy, are you in for a treat. Tonight, for your musical enjoyment, you will be presented with the musical stylings of Mr. Mitch Bryneski!"

The lights in the club faded to a dark red and a single spotlight shone down on the stage, where a man- or it looked like a man, his face was hidden in shadow- was seated on a silver stool.

"Good evening ladies and gentleman..." His voice was smooth, as though he didn't use it often. "Tonight we'd like to play a little tune for you, and we really hope you like it 'cause we need the money to get back to New York."

Then the lights blared into life and the trumpet section began to play. It was a cha-cha, a simple cha-cha. She turned to him, nodded, and then started.

One two cha cha cha One two cha cha cha One two

"Oh, sorry!" she squeaked as her heel dug into his toes.

"Relax Granger," he sighed, "look," he took her hands lightly in his as the band reached a short crescendo.

Then the man began to sing.

"Look at me Granger, look." Draco held her eye contact. "One two, hold hold hold. Look, when I move my right foot you move your left, it's like a… motor." He knew muggle studies would come in handy someday. "Alright now, stop looking at your feet. Start with your left and back two hold. I said stop looking at your feet." Hermione snapped to attention. "Eye contact is key now so… right two hold hold, left two hold hold, right,"

She followed his lead and even ventured to swing her hips a bit. He let go of her right hand and spun her, slowly. There was another fantastic trumpet crescendo and they moved back and forth with the beat. She twirled out and then in, so that they were pressed hip to hip and palm-to-palm. They moved slowly side to side, then she spun out again and three-stepped back in.

"Granger, look, this isn't a bloody cha-cha, it's a salsa," he hissed into her ear and she swung under his arm.

"The difference?"

"This," he took her hand and spun her out, she twirled back in as before and then, before she knew what she was doing, she was pressed up against him with her right leg wrapped around his left.

"Oh," she managed to get out before he moved back and she was sent into a low lunge. He slid forward and drew her up, letting his hands linger in hers before they started again with the basic step.

One two hold hold One two hold hold

They circled around each other for a few tense moments, though who was the predator and who was the prey neither could say. She slid into him and they spun three-hundred-and-sixty degrees before she spun out. He followed. They swayed sideways, leaning with the music as it rose and fell like crimson waves. She reached up behind his head and entwined her fingers in his hair. He reluctantly spun her around to face him and dipped her low, pulling her up into a fantastic spin as the drummer reached another fantastic climax. She pretended to be dancing away before he caught her around the waist and slid his hands down her sides. She spun around to face him.

The music stopped, but it wasn't over. He nodded and she looked deep into his dancing gray eyes. The music started again and they surged forward, moving as one with the music.

One two left look

One two right look

One two hold hold

One two right look

He dipped her low over one knee and she came up spinning, he ran a hand over her back as they circled around again, never breaking eye contact. He took her hands and brought them over his head, spinning her around and then sliding her down into the lowest dip yet. The music stopped, but he couldn't seem to pull his eyes away from hers.

"Let's go." She sighed, panting slightly as the consequences of so much dancing finally caught up with her. He planted a swift kiss on her lips and then helped her up and off the floor.

A/N: Okay, been a while (or at least Jillian says it has, lol. Just kidding Jill ) Anyways, this chapter has a dance scene in it. YAY! I love to write dance, yippee! Besides the fact that from the first DM/HG story I read I have decided that they are most definitely a salsa/tango couple, and if they're not singing while dancing, they might as well be swaying to some kick-ass music. Anyways, to fully envision this scene one might want to know EXACTLY which song our favorite couple was dancing to. Well, if you don't like it you can always choose something more 'passionate' probably, like Tango de Roxanne from Moulin Rouge (if you wanted). Imagination is always a fun toy. But the song I was listening to while writing that particular bit is one "Sway" as sung by Michael Bublé (though it was originally sung by Dean Martin, and apparently there's also a Pussycat Dolls cover of it. Sweet.), which can be found at his website (The Pussycat Dolls one can be foundon Launchcast, where you can see their video of it). You just hold your cursor on the little bar near the bottom and then 'Sway' is one of three songs that can be heard there at the sight. It's not fabulous quality but it ought to give you a fairly good idea. If you like it I highly recommend the CD. Yup, and much love to all of you who have been and will be reviewing. I love you all to no explicable end!

P.S. Yes, the red snakeskin pants are a direct tribute to Jonathan Rhys-Meyers in Titus, anybody that picked that up before I said it is the COOLEST. Yum.