Chapter 3

Hold Me Close -

Hermione was in the bathroom a year later. She stared at herself in the mirror, trying not to hear the patter of footsteps and excited voices outside the door. She sighed, waiting for the noise to die down. A single tear rolled down her cheek, but otherwise, she was controlled.

It only took a few minutes for the noise to settle into silence. Everyone had drifted into the Great Hall, eager for a great night ahead. But Hermione had nothing to look forward to. She wasn't going; she wouldn't dance again.

Nevertheless, she had dressed up for it. She was wearing a drop-dead gorgeous gown of sky blue, with huge, billowing sleeves and a full train that swept out behind her. It was very low cut, with nothing but a silver chain around her neck, a needle hanging from it of the same precious metal. She wore matching earrings, thin silver needles that hung from her lobes. She was wearing makeup for the first time, and it fit her like a glove. Her hair this year hung loose over her back, with no ornament except for the small blue morning glory tucked behind her ear.

But it didn't matter. She wouldn't do it.

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Ron clenched his firsts and looked around. Harry slapped him on the back reassuringly.

"Don't worry, mate. She'll show," he said forcefully. Ron could only hope. After all those years, he had finally worked up the courage to ask Hermione to dance. But she wasn't anywhere to be seen. He sighed and slumped into his chair, ruffling his hair that Ginny had spent so long thoughtfully arranging. Sitting beside him, she looked over and shook her head.

"Don't fret, the night's still young."

Ron rolled his eyes and stood up.

"I'm going to the bathroom…"

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Hermione, hearing no more noise outside, stepped into the corridor. She saw Ron coming towards her and hastened to open the door again, but it was too late. He had seen her.

"'Mione!" he called out, picking up his pace. She hung her head and submitted herself to whatever was coming.

"Why aren't you dancing?" he asked, perplexed.

"Why do you care?" she shot back.

He blinked. What had gotten into her? They usually couldn't drag her off the dance floor when it was time to go! He put his hand on her forehead.

"You sick or something?" he asked. Her skin tingled where he touched her, but she drew back.

"I just don't want to dance, okay?" she mumbled, turning and striding down the hall. She felt a grip on her arm and felt angry. "Just leave it, won't you?"

"No," Ron said firmly. "Something's wrong, I can tell. What is it?"

You are a thick, stupid git that can't see past your own nose! She wanted to scream, but kept her mouth tightly closed and tried to pull away. He only held her tighter, drawing her closer to him.

All her senses were screaming. She glanced up angrily into his face, but as her eyes met his, she melted and forgot everything.

"Will you dance with me?" he asked softly. Numbly, Hermione nodded.

Still holding her firmly, he led her into the nearby Room of Requirement. Floating candles and the fire that crackled on the hearth were all that lit it. There was one comfy red couch in front of the fireplace, but otherwise, the floor was bare. A soft music played from some invisible source.

Ron turned to Hermione and let go of her arm. He bowed low and held out his hands.

"Care to dance, Miss Granger?" he asked formally. He tried to keep a straight face, but a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

Hermione fought back a laugh.

"But of course, Mr. Weasley," she said softly, stepping forward into his arms. Her heart leaped with joy as his hands closed around her waist and drew her closer. She closed her eyes and let herself go.

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The sun rose to find two figures cuddled innocently on a couch before a dying fire. A small black cat slipped into the Room as though she had been there thousands of times. She bounded onto the arm of the couch and stared at their sleeping forms a moment with her glowing green eyes. She seemed almost to nod, then leapt down and padded out just as softly.