Put Your Best Foot Forward - Part 1

Being the centre of attention set Hermione completely on edge. Nerves already jangled through her as she shifted foot-to-foot, the cushioning charms that she placed on her dainty heels kept her footwear comfortable enough. The moment she and Ginny took up a spot near the noticeboard, within clear sight of the boy's dormitory staircase so they didn't miss the arrival of their dates, she deeply regretted the choice of meeting them in the Common Room. Of course it would be busy. At first, the kind compliments coming from the nicer of their fellow Gryffindors were pleasant and well-received. But then boys whom neither of them really knew started to approach, making comments that left them uncomfortable. At that point, they wisely took a spot away from the seats and the fire, hoping that the stares would find something else to gawp at.

It didn't help that Hermione felt as drab as a flobberworm next to Ginny. Her midnight blue robes were stunning around her slender frame, the small pieces of jewellery that she wore glittered in the candlelight, but her hair was the true centrepiece. She had put it up, sparkling dark blue stones glinting in the fine twin butterfly grips that pinned her rose gold hair in place.

Hermione pulled on the sleeve on her deep purple robe, not looking down at the finery she was garbed in. She felt hot under the gold cloth and rich fabric, feeling a bit like an imposter. Whenever she caught sight of the beautiful dress robes, her thoughts went on the price tag that Harry had covered himself. She dreaded to think how much it cost! Her robes for the yule ball had been pricey enough and these were much finer. She knew Harry to be exceedingly generous with his inheritance, but even so, he had never been so frivolous with it.

She was picturing how she was going to let her disapproval known, trying to avoid scenes of violence that didn't involve a flock of charmed birds, when there were some loud gasps from across the room. Hermione stirred herself out of her musings, hopeful that Harry and Dean had arrived.

Cormac McLaggen sauntered down the steps in green robes, his smug smile flashing over to the assembled group of girls - one of which was Romilda Vane.

Ginny groaned.

"I forgot that arse was coming tonight," she said, "and you wouldn't believe who his date is."

Hermione raised her eyebrow questioningly.

"Who?"

"Cho Chang."

"Are you kidding me?" Hermione gasped at once, grabbing Ginny's arms. "Cho is going to be there?"

Ginny grinned in response, hazel eyes mischievous.

"Yep and she's going to have to stomach seeing you on Harry's arm." Ginny sighed, closing her eyes. "I can't wait to see the look on her face."

Cormac passed them, his gaze lingering on Hermione, his smile turning horribly wolfish before he continued on his way. Hermione let out a sound of disgust. While her attention was diverted, she didn't see the descending feet emerging down the staircase. Her head snapped around, however, when she heard a loud squeal of excitement, followed by a cacophony of gasps.

All thoughts of Cho were wiped clear from her mind. Everyone's attention was transfixed on the same thing - or the same someone. Whoops started to puncture through the gasps and sighs, a few claps started up as well as a wolf-whistle. Then there was a bright flash as Colin Creevey burst through the throng, taking a picture of their resident celebrity who squinted and cursed as he blinked in the dazzling light.

"Bloody hell, Colin, some warning next time would be nice."

Ginny's hand grasped hers and before Hermione could recover from the shock, she was being tugged towards the cause of her confoundment. She tottered in a daze, her mouth hanging open, as she drew closer to the centre of the disturbance, to a tall, dark-haired wizard dressed in robes a shade darker than her own. A crowd gathered as everyone wanted to glimpse for themselves how he looked in his finest. Colin and his brother were up front, a few others gabbling their compliments.

His face was flushed, eyes downcast in clear embarrassment. As Hermione was thrust through the crowd, which parted at once, gasping and backing off so they could meet with their dates, his head lifted.

All the voices and sounds started to bleed back into a formless static. Her body responded before her brain, her heart fluttering, the heat of her core swirling around her midriff. Her breath caught, freezing in her lungs, as time stilled for just the smallest moment. As small a moment as it was, it was long enough for her to take in just how stunning Harry Potter looked as he held her gaze, his lips slightly parted as he wore an expression that matched her own. Pure shock.

The outer robe of his outfit had been perfectly tailored, cut sharp to his trim frame and accented his broad shoulders. It was a deep, dark purple that hung down straight to his feet, left open to display his suit. His trousers were straight cut, slim fitting, a matching purple. Hermione's wandering gaze went up to his waist. Her breath then escaped her in a sigh. The robemakers had outdone themselves with the waistcoat that perfectly moulded around Harry's athletic form, the garment purple and gold silk, buttoned up with golden lions. His shirt was pure white, finished with shining buttons. The whole outfit was then finished off with a crisply tied bowtie of deep purple.

Hermione's eyes made it to his face, then hopped up to his hair. His hair. It gleamed like a raven's wing. A tamed fringe curled over his scar, the bottom of it just visible. Unbelievably, however, was how the back was flat.

The spell that had captured the moment of stillness broke as Harry stepped forwards. His eyes were wide behind his glasses. Hermione registered movement around them, but it was background noise, barely worth her attention. Everything was focused on Harry closing the distance between them. Her nerves ebbed away as she gazed into his deep green eyes, his general aura soothing her as he drew nearer. A pleasant musk drifted towards her. He had even gone to the effort of wearing a scent.

He was suddenly right in front of her. His eyes lost their look of wide-eyed wonder as he focused on her. The corners of his mouth spread upwards into a broad, genuine smile, his dimple denting his cleanly shaven cheek. His fingers were gently taking her numb hand and he slowly lifted it upwards, his eyes shining with an emotion she had never seen in them before… certainly never directed at her.

Adoration.

"You look beautiful, Hermione."

Beautiful.

The word rang around in her gloriously empty mind. Then he shocked her even further, bringing her hand to his lips. His cheeks were a little pink, but he didn't look embarrassed as he kissed her hand.

The sighs at his gesture brought their surroundings into sudden sharp focus. Hermione blinked, finding herself with her hand held in Harry's, the ghost of his kiss lingering on her knuckles.

"I'm… told that's the customary way a wizard should greet his partner," Harry said in a soft voice that was meant only for her. It was only then that his discomfort let itself known as he glanced around at the many pairs of eyes drinking him in like a delectable morsel.

"It is." Hermione said a little weakly. Ginny tapped her on the shoulder. She looked over, seeing the youngest Weasley impatiently gesturing for her to get a move on.

"We need to go. The Party starts soon."

Party. We're going to a party.

Her thoughts were coming back to life. Harry kept hold of her hand, handling it gently as if it was made out of glass. She glided away, her body slowly feeling like her own as she left the buzzing crowd, faintly aware of her own name being repeated many times over. Her name and Harry's.

Harry and Hermione.

Granger and Potter.

Once she realised that Harry was having to help her out of the Portrait Hole, she came fully back to her senses. Her face flamed at how she had completely frozen.

"Have fun, my dears. Don't be back too late," the fat lady called to them as they escaped the Common Room. Hermione looked down at her hand held so tentatively in Harry's. The moment they were in the corridor, he looked down at her, his face a picture of concern.

"I knew it would be intense in there but… that was wild." He said, glancing over his shoulder to the portrait.

Ginny and Dean were already marching off, arm in arm. Hermione then had all her thoughts catching up with her. She took her hand out of his, frowned at him, then smacked him on the arm.

"Ow! What was that for?"

"For covering the whole cost of our robes, that's what!" She snapped at him. She then grabbed his arm, weaving hers through his. Harry looked utterly confused for a moment, then looked down at their linked arms. He gave a weak chuckle and set off. She kept pace, both their shoes clattering loudly on the flagstones.

"Oh… well, I would apologise, but… it looks like my gold didn't go to waste with yours. You really do look stunning," he said. Hermione glanced at him in surprise. There was something roguish in the way he was smiling. Her face flushed at the compliment. His words were so sweet.

"These look like they cost a fortune," she said softly, looking down at the shimmering material of her dress. Harry followed her gaze. She looked up, seeing Harry's lingering stare. He looked away, his face still flushed.

"Huh, well, actually, I had a letter from Madame Malkins. She made these herself and, well, cut the price down a bit on account of me being, well… me. Told me to make sure everyone knows who dressed us." Hermione felt even worse, but then she caught a hint of uncertainty on Harry's face as he walked steadily onwards. His free hand brushed over his tie. "They're a bit gaudy… it suits you, but… I'm not thrilled about wearing a bow tie. I feel ridiculous."

His lips pressed together, his cheeks still pink. Her heart gave a stutter when she saw that Harry really did feel very self-conscious. He was completely and utterly oblivious at how handsome he looked. Of course, he likely dismissed the fuss in the Common Room as the usual reception he received. He didn't realise that they were fawning over him.

"You look incredible." Hermione said.

Harry stumbled on a step, nearly tripping them both up. HIs reflexes caught her elbows before she overbalanced and he recovered. His eyes were wide.

"What did you just say?" He asked her.

"You. Look. Incredible." She repeated firmly and clearly. She grasped the lapels of his robes and turned him around so he was facing her. "I should have said so earlier but… you sort of…"

Took my breath away. Swept me off my feet…

The romantic idioms filled the gap that she left.

"Sort of what?" Harry studied her nervously.

"You left me speechless," she said honestly, "really, Harry. I'm not just saying so. It turns out I'm not so immune to your dashing looks after all."

What the Hell did I just say?

Hermione quickly threaded her arm back around his and lurched them back into a march. She was very aware that she had shocked Harry into silence. Once they made their way to the fifth floor, they could hear music drifting out from the party. Music, loud voices, the general sound of a gathering in full swing. Down the corridor, they could make out the entrance to Slughorn's office. Dean and Ginny had already made it, joined with others who were queuing to go in.

Before she could take a step towards the queue, Harry's hand went on her shoulder and guided her backwards towards the wall, stopping her. A suit of armour on his immediate right blocked them from view.

"Okay… okay…" He looked panicked and put a hand up on the wall, leaning close to her. "Right… I'm probably going to regret this but… Hermione… you need to know…"

He took a deep breath.

"I'm not acting this," he pointed to himself, "this isn't a show for their benefit. This… this is how you really make me feel. Flustered. Like I can't remember which foot to put before the other." He laughed self-deprecatingly. "And I'm sorry… I don't want to complicate what we have but I… guess I can't help how I feel. I… well… what I want to ask, before we go a step further…"

He looked up at her, his brilliant green eyes full of so much emotion. Indecision, guilt, hurt, hope, affection, fondness… sadness…

"Do you feel the same way?"

She gazed into his eyes and the answer was there, on her lips, before she even had to think.

"Yes."

Harry let out the breath he had clearly been holding. His supporting arm sagged a little. He then smiled shyly and stepped back.

"Wow… okay then." He offered her his hand. Hermione took it, feeling strangely light and buoyant. Harry then started to ramble.

"I don't want to make things awkward and… I'm a pretty awkward person, as you know. I… really have no idea what I'm doing when it comes to this stuff. You know that too. So I, um, might need some help and I really don't want to mess this up. You… well… you mean a lot to me and this is all new and-."

"Harry?" Hermione interrupted him before he wound himself up into a panic. He glanced at her, mouth open mid-word. "Relax. Just do what you feel is natural, okay? We'll just figure this out as we go. It's new to me too."

Harry nodded gratefully. His hand squeezed herself and he gave her a look, just a brief one, but the depth of feeling in the glance alone had her in a rush. How could so much have transpired between them in a single walk? It should scare her, that her best friend fancied her and that she fancied him. She should feel something, some inhibition, but all she felt was joy. It was nothing like how things were with Ron, if there even were things, just shared glances, awkward touches. Nothing spoken other than her asking him out as a date.

With Harry, he conveyed things with a touch or a look. He was pure feeling, his body itself a language to interpret and yet when he did speak his mind, he spoke from the heart. He was passionate.

And now he was passionate towards her.

When they reached where Ginny and Dean were waiting, they were both clearly trying to not be obvious that they saw them stop to have a private chat. Harry and Hermione both beamed and gave some vapid welcome, glossing over the questions that were lingering in Dean and Ginny's eyes. Harry transferred Hermione's hand to his arm and she rested it there, looking up side-along to his face, her gaze lingering on the contour on his jaw.

"There's some bloke with a guestlist. We figured we'd wait for you so… you know… you're not shoved out in a spotlight or something," Dean was saying to Harry when they moved to where there was indeed 'some bloke'.

"Huh thanks. I have a feeling the spotlight is going to find me whatever I do though," Harry said, his jaw tensing. Hermione smiled up at him, catching his eye.

"You won't be alone in it, at least." She said, her fingers curling around his arm. She flushed when she felt the sturdiness of his muscle. Harry's smile dipped a little but his eyes warmed.

"I'll make sure they all know how brilliant you are and how I'm just a tragedy of a human being."

"Harry!" Hermione gasped and swatted him on the arm once again. He let out a laugh, his brows lifting.

"What? It's true!"

"It is not and if you say one more self-deprecating remark, I'll hex your eyebrows off your face!"

While they were talking between them, they didn't realise that the doorman was waiting for them to stop so he could take their names. Hermione looked over, seeing Ginny's amused expression and Dean trying to not laugh. Harry cleared his throat, his embarrassment very evident. Whoever the doorman was, he wasn't a student, or at least, one they recognised. He wore a strange white suit with silver buttons done up to his throat. He held a wooden clipboard in front of him. His gaze went over to Ginny first.

"Good evening, can I take your names?"

"Ginny Weasley - and my date, Dean Thomas," Ginny responded, giving Dean a wink. He rolled his eyes. The man found her name and gestured for them to go on in.

"Have a good evening," he said before his gaze then moved onto Harry. Hermione inwardly winced, knowing that this would be the first of many uncomfortable encounters for Harry. However, he didn't seem bothered, smiling placidly as he edged up to the man, Hermione walking in pace. Just before the man asked for their names, Harry got there first.

"Harry Potter and Hermione Granger," he said at once, "we're here together."

Of course, the man went to search for Harry's scar. Hermione bristled at his flagrant disregard for Harry's privacy. Did people even care what his scar actually meant for Harry? How he survived an attack that took the lives of his parents.

The man mutely checked the list, knowing at once where Harry's name was. No doubt he had been waiting to see the Boy Who Lived himself. Hermione eyed Harry cautiously, but he made no sign of being bothered. He noticed her look and he rolled his eyes, making her smile.

"Have… have a good evening, Mr Potter." The man mumbled. Harry beamed at him.

"Thanks! Off we go then." He took an eager step away from the footman, tugging Hermione with him in step. She gave him a reproachful tap on the hand. He gave a soft chuckle as they joined Ginny and Dean, entering the office - if it even was an office anymore.

Hermione's steps faltered a little as she took in the transformed space. Colours washed her vision, brilliant and bright. The office had clearly been treated with more than a few extension charms. It resembled a ballroom, long and narrow, with drapes of deep emerald and rich crimson covering the walls with a festive flair. Sounds of merriment that were rather out of place in the school halls filled the space. Music filled the air, a jaunty tune just picking up as they entered, coming from a band at the far end, set up upon a stage. A man in a rather impressive set of white robes was singing some magical Christmas carol Hermione hadn't heard of. She certainly didn't know any carols accompanied by a quartet of mandolins.

Subdued, sparkling lights up ahead glittered. Hermione noticed with awe how the lamps were in fact live fairies, swirling in time with the music. She looked down, scowling a little when she saw the silver platters of food and drink being carried by house elves, mingling with the crowd of wizards and witches of varying ages, appearing like small tables.

"Look at all these people, " Ginny said a little breathlessly, grasping on Dean's arm as if he was a safety rail. Dean grabbed a glass of mead from one of the walking tables.

"Harry! My boy!" A familiar voice boomed from the throng of assembled guests.

"Oh shit… that's sooner that I expected," Harry muttered.

As always, Slughorn's rotund stomach preceded him as he emerged from the crowd of brilliantly dressed guests. They parted before him, each turning one-by-one as they realised who their host was greeting loudly over the music. The house elves scarpered quickly out of the large Potion Master's way as he rushed for Harry, not even sparing Ginny and Dean a look in their direction.

There was something disturbing about the look that Professor Slughorn gave Harry when he reached him. An almost hungry look gleamed in his eyes as he took in Harry's well-groomed appearance. Slughorn wore a deep purple velvet smoking jacket with golden buttons. While it didn't look as well-made or as new as her and Harry's robes, Hermione had a horrible feeling that he knew what they would be wearing and chose to match.

Slughorn clapped Harry on the shoulder in the fond way an uncle would greet his favourite nephew. His moustache twitched.

"Ah, and of course, Miss Granger!" He gave her a polite bow. "Come, come…"

He turned away and Harry suddenly jerked at her side. She looked up, seeing his expression of surprise, then saw Slughorn had grasped Harry's arm as if he intended to apparate away with him. Harry shot her a worried look but then she grasped his arm so she was tugged away with him.

She heard Ginny's laugh and shout for them to have fun. Hermione flicked a nasty look over her shoulder but could do little else without falling over. Slughorn was very determined.

Harry had staggered to a stop. He managed to liberate his arm from Slughorn and at once turned to her to see if she was alright. The moment he turned back, they both were dazzled with a blinding white light. A puff of smoke that smelled strongly of gunpowder followed.

"Ah yes. I have a friend of mine taking a few photographs of the evening's festivities. No more than I'm sure you're used to, eh Harry?" Slughorn throatily gushed as he moved from Harry to gather his other collectibles. Hermione blinked the spots out of her eyes, seeing the photographer in the background, moving away once he had caught his winning shot of Harry Potter.

"I think I prefer Colin's camera," Harry said under his breath. He leaned around her, taking a glass from a close-by elf. He passed it to her and she took it numbly, overwhelmed with the sensory mess throbbing around them. She looked down, seeing champagne in a flute.

"You aren't old enough to drink," she said, not sure what she was saying. Harry chuckled as he took his own.

"Nope. Cheers." He clinked his glass against hers. Their reprieve from Slughorn's attention was brief.

"Come, you two, don't be shy!" Slughorn boomed at them. Hermione could see that his face was a little rosy. She had a suspicion that the party had been going on for a little before the student guests had been expected to arrive. Looking around, spotting a group of energetically dancing witches on the dance floor, she was more convinced that the wine had been flowing for a while.

Slughorn brought them over to a small group of middle-aged people. They broke from their conversation as Slughorn approached.

"Ah, presenting your latest acquisitions, Horace?" A woman rather sneerily said to Slughorn. She looked a little haughtily at them until her gaze moved onto Harry and her eyes widened. Hermione watched as the stares gravitated to Harry as if magnetised.

Harry let go of Hermione's hand to move his glass in his left so he could free his right hand. He very politely moved to introduce himself, acting with confidence that Hermione had never seen him extrude before. Hermione couldn't help but feel a swell of affection towards Harry's efforts to be as polite as possible.

This isn't a show for their benefit.

It was a show for hers.

"Good evening," Harry said to them, his smile courteous, one that Hermione had seen him give many times in class to the Professors he respected. A little shocked that it was Harry taking the lead in social interactions, not her, Hermione joined with her own smile.

"Good grief. So it wasn't all hot air…" the haughty woman said, practically elbowing one wizard out of the way while he ate a vol au vent in her eagerness to meet Harry Potter. She grasped Harry's offered hand before anyone else could take it.

Hermione watched the group, feeling a sudden leap of satisfaction. Oh how times have changed since last year! They are practically throwing themselves at Harry to get his attention.

Harry's back had stiffened as he took the woman's hand in his own.

"Isla Blackwood," she introduced, "international correspondent for the WWN." Her eyes then did the characteristic flick upwards to Harry's forehead.

"Harry Potter," came Harry's dry response, "but I can see you know who I am, or at least know what's under my fringe."

Hermione had to quickly throw her glass up to her mouth to stifle the laugh that choked out of her. The woman looked suitably admonished. Harry's eyes narrowed as his smile broadened.

"A pleasure," he said to her, his voice stiff, "and this is my…" Harry glanced over to Hermione, his face going slack for a moment.

Oh God. What are we to each other now?

Hermione quickly stuck her hand out to the witch, smiling brightly.

"Hermione Granger," she said at once. The woman blinked but took her hand, giving her hand a shake.

"The Hermione Granger," a voice asked from behind the witch. A tall, greying man in navy, pinstriped robes joined them. He was faintly familiar but Hermione couldn't put her finger on why he was. Nor why he knew who she was. He looked very happy to see her, however. Her face flamed.

"Um, yes?"

The man grasped her hand the moment the haughty woman let go.

"Dirk Cresswell. I work in the Goblin Liaison office." He said as he shook her hand eagerly. "Horace tells me an awful lot about you. I have a habit of keeping track of fellow muggleborns"

Astonished, Hermione glanced over to Harry, who was grinning rather smugly.

"Oh? Well… it's nice to meet you, Mr Cresswell."

"Please, it's Dirk." He then grinned at Harry, extending his hand to him. "And you should know, half the guests here only showed up to get a picture with the Chosen One." Harry took the offered hand, shaking it, his grimace telling enough of what he thought of the news.

"I'm not surprised, to be honest," Harry said resignedly, looking around at the assembled throng. Hermione glanced around as well, seeing just how many were stealing obvious looks in Harry's direction. She immediately took his arm again, scowling at a pair of witches with very wild hair. They both turned away at the force of her glare.

"Ah, Dirk, I see you have met my two favourite students," Slughorn reappeared at Harry's elbow, now clutching a large goblet.

"Yes," Dirk beamed at Hermione. She blushed. "It's always a pleasure to meet a fellow advocate of equal rights for our magical brethren. Anyway, enjoy yourselves."

The friendly wizard shook her hand again before turning away to talk to the other guests. Hermione drank some of the fizzy champagne Harry had procured for her, the sights and sounds of the party swelling around her, making her feel oddly disconnected with all that was happening.

Harry was still having his hand grasped by multiple guests, all surging for him like a conveyor belt of handshakes. She squeezed his arm, showing her support. His green eyes flicked in her direction, his polite smile deepening at her presence.

"Oh thank Merlin, that's it for now," Harry moaned in relief once Slughorn went off in search of his favourite hors d'oeuvre. Harry quickly turned, grasping her hand and squeezed them both through a gap in the crowd. Hermione giggled at his desperate escape.

"Quick, over here," Harry said over his shoulder, taking them both to the side of the room, sliding behind where Louisa Farley and her date were tucking into samosas. Harry looked left to right, then lifted the drapes covering the wall back, moving into cover.

"What are you doing?" Hermione gasped as she joined in the shadowed alcove.

Harry grinned mischievously.

"Giving them the slip, of course." He shifted close to her, knocking back some of his champagne. "I reached my limit of having people gawk at my scar for the moment."

"You were doing so well." Hermione whispered back to him, leaning to his ear as they escaped. "I was tempted to ask you to dance to help you escape that strange man and his obsession with writing your biography."

Harry chuckled, grinning at her.

"My hero."

Still trying to catch her breath from Harry's mad dash across the party, she looked over to watch Harry as he observed the party from behind their protective screen of colourful drapes. Despite his obvious discomfort with being the centre of attention, he was animated and seemed to be actually enjoying himself. She couldn't really remember the last time she had seen him appear so carefree. His brow was smooth of the usual worry lines that seemed to be a permanent feature on his face. The stress of being the Chosen One seemed to be off his shoulders for once.

The music suddenly changed from Christmas carols to shift to a lilting melody. There were some cheers and whoops. Guests started to make their way to the dancefloor in their pairs. Hermione listened to the rhythm. It was a waltz.

"Ah, good… looks like most of them are going to dance. Let's go and find somewhere to sit," Harry said, taking her arm, moving the drapes aside to return. Hermione pulled him back roughly. He turned, startled.

"What?"

"Would you?" She asked him firmly. His mouth was hanging open, his eyes glazing over with confusion.

"Would I what?"

God, he can be so thick sometimes!

"Would… you dance?" She licked at her lip briefly, aware of a flash of heat burning at her cheeks. Harry's eyes widened at her question, suddenly no longer confused but downright alarmed.

"Er…" His eyes darted over to where the dancefloor was full of waltzing pairs. "Do… do you want to? With me?"

"Who else am I going to dance with?" She shot back at him, exasperated. "Of course you."

Harry didn't just blush. His face burned. Hermione could practically feel the heat coming off his cheeks.

"I… I don't dance…"

"Nonsense. You danced with Parvati-."

"You mean, I embarrassed her so terribly, she didn't speak to me for a whole year?" Harry interrupted.

"That was because you danced with her once and then snubbed her for the whole Yule Ball." Hermione pointed out smoothly. Harry's mouth set in a firm line as he looked over her. In truth, she was fiercely nervous about dancing in front of so many people, but the thought of Harry choosing to dance with her made her head spin. Harry looked taken back suddenly.

"You're serious, aren't you? You actually want to dance with me," Harry went to rub at his hair and stopped himself in time, not wanting to ruin whatever he had done to control his locks. "Bloody hell…" He downed his champagne, setting his glass aside on the wall. He then took her hand, meeting her gaze properly. "You… might have to tell me what to do. I… really don't dance and I don't want to embarrass you in front of-."

Hermione acted impulsively. She rose up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips against Harry's cheek. His skin was flaming hot, tingling her lips as she made contact. The moment there was contact, Harry's rambling died at once. She leaned to his ear.

"Shut up and dance with me."

Harry was almost convinced that he was having a very realistic and colourful dream. It couldn't be his life, after all. Nothing ever went his way like this. There had to be a catch, something that would slap in his face, a cruel, harsh reminder that his happiness always came with a price.

Had colours always been so vibrant, so splendid? Had music always been so… musical? His senses felt amplified, his very skin tingling with every fresh sensation. Each and every shift of Hermione's hold on his arm sent ripples of joy lancing down his spine. Her hold so real, the way she was actually leaning on him, her presence there… looking up at him through her long, thick eyelashes, her lips so soft, her skin so flawless… her hair like coils of dark gold… her curves visible under the rich golden cloth…

Radiance.

She was living radiance.

Brilliance.

His brilliant, beautiful friend.

More than a friend.

His thoughts snapped at him in staccato as he drifted around, feeling like he was gliding on a low-flying broom. His elated spirit was fizzling inside him, thrilled with confidence that made him want to be worthy of the brilliance at his side, worthy of the admiration that he had seen in her eyes when she looked at him.

She feels the same way.

After their joint confession that their feelings were shared, that their attraction was not one sided, Harry had been waiting for the dream to end. Even when the introductions to Slughorn's famous friends went smoothly and he didn't do anything horrendous to embarrass Hermione, still he waited. When he caught Cho Chang in the distance, gripping McLaggen's arm, he thought then, something might happen. He thought he'd be crippled with embarrassment, but he wasn't. He smiled politely, shook hands, sipped champagne, all with Hermione flashing him encouraging looks.

Re-emerging into the party from their brief respite in the wings, Harry was sure that this was going to be the moment when the illusion shattered. His panic was a shrill whine in the back of his head.

What are you doing?! You can't dance!

Gripping Hermione's hand probably a bit too tightly, Harry navigated through the house-elves and chattering guests. The creepy man who wanted to write his biography looked eagerly in his direction. Harry's cheeks prickled at the reminder of how the man had been so horribly fascinated with him. Oddly, the man scared Harry more than the vampire he had arrived with.

Coming up to the dance-floor, Harry saw Ginny being spun around and around by Dean, her hair flashing out like a beacon. Many of the special guests were dancing with elegant steps.

How do they all know how to dance? Harry lamented. He saw Slughorn raise his goblet up to him. Harry gritted his teeth, glancing around the crowd for the elusive photographer that he had a horrible feeling was keeping a close eye on him. Whenever he had shaken someone's hand, a dazzling light flashed in the corner of his eye, the photographer doing his best to capture as many meetings as possible.

"We can wait for this song to finish - unless you know how to dance a waltz?" Hermione said to him when he stopped at the edge of the dance floor. He looked down at the parquet wooden floor, the party lights streaming over them. He laughed shakily.

"That sounds like a good idea. I'd just end up smashing all your toes."

Hermione sighed, patting his shoulder.

"What did I say about being self-deprecating?"

Harry gulped, remembering her threat to hex off his eyebrows. He gave her a sheepish grin, but then heard the song coming to a close. She then took him by surprise, bringing her arm around his waist, pulling him into a hug.

"Harry, you'll be fine. You're the most naturally graceful person I know."

Graceful?

He blinked at her.

"I'm graceful?"

"That's why you're such a good flyer… and so good at duelling. You're in tune with your body and react reflexively."

Warmth surged through him, filling him with a wonderful, uplifting feeling that made him equal parts happy and nervous. Most of the nerves were from him expecting doom to strike at any time.

"If anything, I'm the one who should worry. You probably will look better trying to dance with the Whomping Willow than with me."

He then brought his arm around her waist. As he did, his lower back trembled as he registered how he could easily wrap his arm around her. His hand splayed on the golden fabric, touching her thigh.

Her thigh!

Harry's brain flashed with panic and he brought his hand respectfully up above her waistline. He snapped his gaze up in front, knowing all too well that Hermione had noticed his rather slovenly touch. His thoughts muddled through apologies.

The song then finished and the band struck up a slower tune, the rhythm less jubilant and energetic.

"Come on," Hermione said, guiding him forwards onto the dancefloor. Ahead, Ginny and Dean spotted them and waved. Harry stiffly looked away, the whining panic increasing and building up. Hermione moved in front of him, taking his hands in her own.

She moved in close to him, so close the scent of whatever potion she had used on her hair tickled his nostrils. It was sweet, like vanilla. Her hair brushed against his face as she positioned his hands for him. One against the small of her back, the other held in her hand.

"Just move slowly around…" She said to him, "listen to the music and move with it."

"Hmmhm," Harry didn't know what else to say as he felt her body pressing against him. He then paid attention to how she was stepping, each move purposeful and to the beat. He then felt himself relax and let his body take the lead.

"See? I told you you'd be fine," Hermione murmured to him, her voice travelling through his body. She rested her head against his chest. Fire surged through him at the closeness, the intimacy. He looked around quickly, noticing that the other pairs on the dancefloor were swaying and stepping in the same way. The song was pleasant, soothing, making Harry take deep, steadying breaths once he realised that dancing wasn't as terrifying as he remembered it to be.

"I can hear your heartbeat," Hermione said after they both lapsed into thoughtful silence, rotating slowly on the spot.

"That's a relief."

"I think I prefer it to the music." Hermione's hand moved up from his back to his waist, her arm curling around him again. Harry did the same, embracing her in his hold. He rested his cheek on the top of her head for a moment.

He saw the frazzle of white light in the edges of his vision.

"I have a feeling…" Harry murmured.

"I saw it too," Hermione said softly, "do you think he'll let us have a copy?"

Harry lifted his head to search for the photographer. The man had a pipe stuck between his teeth while he replaced the lightbulb, clearly not caring about the private moment he was intruding on.

Hermione moved her head from his chest. Harry gazed down at her at once. Her face was only an inch from his. Rarely had they held each other so closely and for so long, certainly never in public. Harry let go of her hand and brought his other arm around her so he had her enveloped in his arms. She let out a surprised laugh.

"Harry?"

"Isn't this how muggles slowdance?"

She laughed. It was a beautiful sound, like a peeling of a bell. She moved her hands to his shoulders, playing along.

"This is how muggles slowdance." Her eyes gleamed as her arms slowly moved around his neck. Harry's heart started to race, the beat much faster than the pace of the music swelling around them. Hermione beamed up at him. His heart seemed to stop beating altogether and felt as if it was fluttering, no longer thumping like a pump. He felt breathless.

"You know… dancing isn't so bad," he managed to puff out, putting on a dazed smile. Hermione hummed in response. He felt the sound vibrating through her body and then into his.

"I don't think it's the dancing that's nice," she said softly. Her gaze lowered, falling on his lips. Harry's breath hitched. He shifted his arms a little and he traitorously glanced down at Hermione's lips. There was a sheen of moisture on her bottom lip and it looked so soft.

The song stopped. The claps of their fellow dancers shook them from their trance. Harry dropped his hands from Hermione's waist and got a couple claps in before it was awkward. As the band prepared to play the next song, Harry leaned towards Hermione, inhaling the sweet vanilla scent of her hair.

"Do you want to sit down? It looks like they're about to serve food." Harry glanced over to the tables at the back of the pseudo-ballroom.

"Lead the way."

That had him almost giddy. He took her hand, cherishing it like the treasure it was, and they left the dancefloor. The moment they did, the onlookers eagerly chatted about the moment that they had all been witness to. Harry Potter was a boy no longer, but a man courting his witch.

They reached the tables where the music was unnaturally muted behind charms. When house elves zeroed in on them, Harry quickly grabbed two plates and loaded them both of whatever the elves were offering. Once supplied with enough food, he put the plates down at the nearest table. He snatched more drinks, handing a glass to Hermione.

She took the glass and turned from him, pulling two seats out for them both at the vacant table. They sat down. Before Harry could reach for the food, Hermione's arm was in front of him. Her hand reached up to his right shoulder, tugging his robe up from where it had slipped. Her fingers trailed down his arm in a lingering way that sent shivers down his spine. Pleasant shivers.

Even though Hermione had seen him eat every meal he ever had at Hogwarts, he felt embarrassed eating in front of her. It made no sense why he nibbled so nervously at the tempura prawns, which ordinarily he would have chomped down in seconds.

As Harry suspected, their choice to sit and eat brought attention. Before they had cleared their plates, guests were asking to join their table. Harry cleared his last spring roll, sharing a look with Hermione. They both made to leave the table, taking their drinks, both smirking at the looks of disappointment from those sitting down.

An arm drew around his back, protective. Harry rolled his head to his left, finding Hermione's fierce gaze, her mouth pressed in a firm line. He could almost feel the crackle of her magic like a static charge.

Harry brought his hand up, his fingers touching the dark golden curls. She turned to him, her eyes wide. He moved in closer, moving his mouth to her ear so he could whisper.

"Dance with me, Hermione?"