Aaaaand another chapter! So I just had a lot more time than I thought I would today and this chapter just sprung from the depths of my subconscious so...yeah. Here it is. Thanks to resina for the review - so glad you liked it :) I love feedback so please feel free to share your opinions. Anyway, enjoy!
Draco stared at Hermione.
He'd never seen her like this before. For a split second, he hadn't even realised it was her. As she swept through the library doors, her silver skirts brushing against the library floor she'd seemed to shine. The torchlight flickered across her dress and in her hair and as she moved through the library she'd seemed to bring the light with her.
Hermione Granger had never looked like that before.
What the hell was this?
"Hermione."
Her brown eyes widened.
"Oh. Hello."
They stared at each other. Hermione's dress was glittering quietly in the torchlight, and Draco was suddenly incredibly aware of the ink all over his fingertips.
"Aren't you supposed to be at the Yule Ball?"
She grimaced, and in that moment she became herself again. "I thought I'd get an early night. It wasn't going well."
He smiled, and pulled out the chair next to him so she could sit down. "Why's that?"
She sat down next to him very carefully, sweeping her long skirts out of the way of the chair legs. "Oh, you know," she said, "I didn't really know anyone there apart from Ginny. I did try and dance with some people but it was just awful, I can't even feel my feet any more and a few of them got a bit…well, a bit too enthusiastic."
Draco frowned. "They didn't grab you or anything, did they?"
"No, nothing like that."
He sat back in his chair, mollified. "Good."
She smiled at him, and heat crept up past his collar.
"So, did you actually get to do any dancing or were you just hiding from your boyfriends all night?" he said, smirking at her.
She stuck her tongue out at him. "I do not have boyfriends, Draco Malfoy. And yes, I did get to have a dance. I just wasn't very good at it."
Draco raised his eyebrows. He didn't remember Hermione Granger as a bad dancer. He'd seen her at the last Yule Ball. When Pansy hadn't been pouting furiously in his direction he'd seen her whirl around the dance floor as if she'd been doing it all her life. It had surprised him; he hadn't thought she would have danced like that at all.
"Well, no surprises there," he said, sighing loudly, "everyone knows Gryffindors can't dance."
She laughed. "Is that what they say about us?"
"Oh yes," said Draco, nodding solemnly, "two left feet, the lot of you. Now, Slytherins are another matter entirely…"
"Is that so?"
"You're all just stomping around Gryffindor Tower…"
"I could dance you into a corner, Draco Malfoy. I doubt you could even keep up with me."
He grinned.
"Well, let's put that to the test, shall we?"
He couldn't have said what made him do it. He'd heard the music all evening, floating up through the floors of the castle, but now it seemed louder than ever. Perhaps it was that, or perhaps it was the many hours of studying alone in the deserted library while he listened to the school having fun without him, or perhaps it was just Hermione Granger, sitting there in her gleaming silver dress and looking like some kind of blessing…
Perhaps it was all of those things, or perhaps it was something much deeper. Something he'd seen in her deep brown eyes, in her spiralling curls, or in her red lips…but something, whatever it was, was making him push his chair aside and hold out his hand to her as though it was the most natural thing in the world.
She hesitated. Her lips were slightly parted and a blush had crawled into her cheeks, and for a moment he just stood there with his hand held out towards her and felt like a complete idiot.
But then, she took it.
He lead her out into the middle of the library, his heart pounding, as the rhythm of a waltz floated up the many flights of stairs. She put her warm hand on his shoulder – he could feel her fingers through his shirt – and, swallowing nervously, he put one hand on her waist.
She smiled at him, looking almost as nervous as he felt. "Ready?"
He nodded.
Slowly, they began to move.
At first their dance was a slow, halting thing as they tried to disentangle the rhythm of the waltz from the mass of voices coming from the Great Hall. But then their feet settled into the beat, and the music seemed to swell around them. Draco held Hermione in his arms as they whirled around the room, effortlessly, seamlessly. They were no longer moving like two separate people – as his fingers curled around hers and his hand tightened on her waist, it seemed to Draco that they'd gone far beyond the point where two people were just dancing.
It was better than that.
He'd danced before, and the dancing hadn't given him this strange lightness in his chest that seemed to spread through every muscle in his body. It was hard to believe that this was the girl – no, he thought, the woman – who he hadn't thought fit to wipe his boots just two short years ago. Now she was something else entirely, something more…
The music faded, and they came to a stop.
Then, reality hit him.
It didn't matter that she was in his arms, her eyes shining up at him as she smiled, because in a few minutes she'd head back up to her office, or to Gryffindor Tower, or to some other place where he could never follow. No matter how much she tried to help him pass his exams or stop the letters exploding on his bed, one way or another he'd end up skulking off back to the Slytherin Common Room and out of her shining, brilliant life where she was adored on all sides. This was their last year at Hogwarts, and once it was over Hermione Granger would waltz off into her bright, gleaming future and he would be left with nothing but his guilt and the Dark Mark burning on his arm.
There was no place for him there.
And even though this moment was about as close to perfect as he thought he would ever get – and far closer to perfect than he deserved to get – it was only a moment. They were listening to other people's music, dancing to someone else's waltz, and he was holding someone else's girlfriend.
It was a borrowed moment – a stolen, guilty dance – and he knew he was standing in Weasley's shoes.
Her hand tightened on his shoulder.
"What is it?"
He couldn't make himself look at her. He didn't deserve to look at her.
"Nothing," he muttered. "You should get to bed; the train leaves early tomorrow morning. You'll want your sleep."
She didn't move. She sighed, but she didn't pull away.
And then, quite suddenly, her arms were around him in a hug so tight he could barely breathe. Her head was on his shoulder, her hair tickled his cheek, her hands pressed against his back and, for one brief, giddy second he could have sworn he felt a brief, feather-light kiss on his shoulder.
"Have a good Christmas," she mumbled into the collar of his shirt.
And then, she was gone.