Cadence

Cadence

By Caducee

"Good, Potter, now talk."

"I -"

"Not with your mouth, silly boy. With your soul."

This ballroom dancing business hadn't been his idea, at first. All Ginny's fault, with her ability to take him places where he was sure to feel like a right idiot afterward.

Well, not quite. She'd managed that, in the beginning, but three years later he was pleased to think he was damned good. And so was she. He couldn't help but admire the way her shoulders stayed firm and yet so delicate, her stance, like a lovely lady's, and her hips, whenever they danced the Latin styles like just now, swished without her looking too extravagant.

Harry halted and released Ginny, slumping to take a calming breath. She tilted her head and laid her hand on his shoulder, not to coerce him into dancing again, but to rub his neck soothingly. Gratefully, he covered her hand with his and looked up in time to see their extravagant muggle instructor coming back from the boom box. Harry reminded himself for the fourth time that he needed to talk. With his soul. How in the bloody -

Ginny suddenly smiled brightly, dislodged her hand from his pulse point, and pulled him closer, hooking her hands round his neck, and a moment later, he felt her hips move slowly, tantalisingly, against his. On impulse, he followed her lead, progressing across the dance floor in measure with the soft rhumba drifting through the room. Somewhere along the way, he twirled her, seeing trust in her eyes where he didn't fully trust himself... yet.

Yet Madam Brights came buzzing around them again, applauded, then moved on to less experienced students struggling with the paso doble.

"No, no, no, you're getting all soft on her!" With great passion, she breathed in thick torrents of air, preparing for her explanation. "Paso doble is about love, doubt, passion, fire. 'Are you cheating on me?', 'No, why would you ever think that?', 'You're avoiding me', 'I most certainly am not', 'Why is your lipstick smudged?' You understand what I mean? It's a jealous love, but it knows no bounds."

Harry's ear had picked up the explanation, and he smirked, leaning into Ginny's ear. He pulled her closer, figuring that, for his body to talk in earnest about infatuation, Ginny had to be that close. "I thought the man was supposed to be the bull..." he whispered even as he ground his hip against hers to allow for a turn in place.

Ginny chuckled lightly in Harry's shoulder. "Huh. She's mad about love stories, isn't she?" Harry thought that was a rhetoric question, or at the very least the understatement of the century. He nodded his head distractedly.

For a short moment, there was silence from the other end of the floor where Madam Brights stood tapping her foot impatiently. Then, meekly, "I think I can manage jealousy."

The poor lad's comment earned him a very noisy slap on the shoulder. "Excuse me?"

Madam Brights sighed, hanging her head, then she brightened up again and whirled on Harry and Ginny, who had watched the exchange while lightly swaying to the infectious sound of soft, rumbling, powerful and yet intimate and consuming music that was entirely their own making. And yet they were still giggling quietly at the mortified expression on the poor bloke's face.

"Let's have an example. Potter, Weasley, come over here." To the unfortunate (and now very bitter) couple she confided, "These two are simply amazing with the paso doble. I want you to watch them and take a few tips from them." And then she was at the stereo machine, and the introduction to a very familiar beat blared on - but it mattered very little.

By instinct, Harry and Ginny's faces grew serious, hard. Harsh. The great stomp of their feet resounded across the large dance floor, and onlookers and regular fourth levellers slowly ceased their mental counts and turned to look on. Harry and Ginny didn't see the admiring stares, didn't care for anything else than the personal battle of power and passion. The couple closest to them finally ceased their jealous streak to stare appraisingly (and perhaps with a little envy) at the dancers' cool collection, their proud poise, their intimidating stances, the glorious strides. They knew that the redhead and the dark-haired man knew what they were doing - if only by experience.

Two years prior, Madam Brights had observed their detached expressions: lame, loosened, pitiful. She had deduced, quite spot on, that their relationship was coming to a difficult chapter. Whatever it was, she hadn't wanted to know, though... Madam Brights had only wanted one of her favourite couples to get back into shape after her class. So she'd taught them the Paso doble, a dance entirely reserved to the more experienced students because of its level of difficulty.

They'd appreciated her time and effort, and had learned quite fast. The animosity between them had from then on only been present in their eyes and bodies.

What Madam Brights didn't know, though, was that three weeks and much built-up sexual frustration later, the inevitable happened and they were eternally grateful for the Paso doble lessons. Enough to still feel that night's relieving sex between them whenever the harsh music penetrated their skin.

Not a word, not a scratch. The fight was evident. In their eyes. In Harry's rough push like this and that, and... stomp. It rumbled through her fingertips, in his muscles, in the pits of their hearts.

Ginny's mind reeled with the intoxicating substance between them, and finally she fell prey to Harry's want and need of her, and answers, but her most of all. He wouldn't wait. Now. Else he'd die.

The music streamed to a stop, and the couples staring at them remained speechless. Madam Brights, in her loose shawls and tight curls about her head, was fanning her face as she approached Harry and Ginny, the clipped clicks of her high heels resonating in the high-ceilinged basement room.

"Ah, you never fail to take me right back to that fateful night when the Paso doble bore no more secrets to you."

Harry and Ginny shared a knowing smile, not quite sure if the blush on their cheeks was from exhaustion of from the ardent memory.

But Madam Brights was only beaming at her star couple. "Get you out of here, you two. And come back to me only when you've resolved how not to think with the Rhumba." Before turning away, she added, quite impishly, "Oh, and do tell me when you decide to join the competition team." She clicked away with a wink. "Now, the Paso doble, ladies and gentlemen. Men, your woman is cheating on you. Women, your man is angry and terribly jealous. That is all. Now give me the meat."

The music burst to life again and Harry and Ginny ran outside, laughing as the rain washed down on them.

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Stalking through the racks of clothes in the large mall boutique, Ginny simply picked up a colourful cardigan, wildly contrasting with the dull grey one she had picked earlier and made a face at to humour Hermione. She considered it in the muggle mirror over her green-and-gold Holyhead Harpies team sweats and jumper. They jumped out to Hermione's eyes, who was so used to seeing the Chuddley Cannons' orange on every inch of her redheaded fiancé.

Hermione goggled at her friend with a crimson blush creeping to her cheeks and sputtered, indignantly, "You can't be serious. Of course we don't..."

"Nah, nah, nah, Hermione. You're not getting my point." She wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. "Please tell me you have fantasised about this so I don't think I'm the only pervert in the house..." She paused long enough to frown comically. "On the other hand, so maybe I am." She smirked to herself, enjoying her own wit.

Hermione made a pained face, but relented. "Oh, Ginny..." She considered her friend, taking in her raised eyebrow and suggesting smile, and sighed dejectedly. It cost a lot to admit to one fantasy - amongst others - and she found herself feeling quite hot. "Okay... But -"

"No buts. How much?"

The older, brown-haired woman nervously bit her cheek and swallowed her pride. "Fifteen Galleons. He won't do it," she added quickly.

"Then you lose, luv. Come on, it'll be fun." Right, that's what scared Hermione. Would it be fun, or terribly embarrassing? She would rather not think about it; her stomach turned just thinking about what she'd just agreed to.

Ginny patted the cardigan onto her outstretched arm and moved on to another stand, picking at random shirts and snorting at the offending oranges and pinks clashing against her freckled skin and fiery hair.

"Sure, Ginny." Oh, how she wanted to be sure...

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And then there was booze.

Ron thanked the barmaid and handed Hermione her small glass of dark liquor, his thumb grazing hers as he sat back onto his stool. There was an odd thing to her eyes, but he shrugged it off as a reminder that he'd promised her that, one day, he would dance with her in public. He thought perhaps she got the idea that now was as perfect a time as any. After all, the four of them were all friends, here. And Ginny knew he had learned a step or two, a long time ago. Really, there was nothing to be so worked up about, he tried to remind himself. Well, it wasn't so easy. No, he would not dance.

They'd all gone through it, the Weasley children. Mum had been adamant about her kids learning how to dance from a young age. Ron and Ginny had resisted being partnered with any of their older brothers. There was something oddly unnerving about having Bill back from his first job as a brawny Hogwarts graduate and making a poor job of whinging; everybody knew he actually didn't mind the dancing - the music was another business.

Harry shot back his whisky and laughed quietly at a comment Ginny made that Ron didn't quite hear. His sister nuzzled his best mate, and something passed between Ron's fiancée and his sister as she laid her head on Harry's shoulder. Hermione blushed and burrowed her nose in her glass. What was going on there?

Ginny pecked Harry on the corner of his mouth and ran a long freckled finger down the bridge of his nose. "Let's dance," she suggested playfully before disappearing on the dance floor with Harry happily in tow.

Ron frowned dubiously. "What was that all about?"

Something seemed to snap in Hermione then. She watched them leave, an unfathomable expression upon her face as her man proceeded to brood his being excluded from something between his friends. He then took a large swig of his drink, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. Grim determination settled into Hermione's features.

"That is quite obviously not really our business to know. What happens on the dance floor can hit the gutter sometimes," she replied nervously, toying with her glass rim with long fingernails before looking up at him through her thick fringe.

Ron snorted half his drink out his nose.

And regarded his wife who was smiling sweetly - albeit timidly - mixed with a dangerous gleam in her eye that he wasn't sure he really liked. The image was strange as he stared at her, sitting primly in her fun cocktail dress with wild, haggard eyes.

"I - wha - you... 'Mione! I don't need to know!"

Hermione sighed, staring at her twirling glass. "You asked to know," she shrugged, taking her drink again in both hands and gazing across the table at him through smouldering lashes.

This was disconcerting. Ron retreated further into his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "But she's my sister," he retorted lamely.

"I fail to see your point." And right about then she looked at him like he had sprouted a second head.

Ron sighed heavily. "The point, Hermione - the point..."

Hermione suddenly sagged in her seat and crossed her own arms over her chest, looking dispirited. "There's no point, Ron, of course. Save your breath." Ron lowered his eyes to his drink. "And dance with me, please."

"Yes, 'Mione."

There was a great pregnant silence, during which Hermione's eyes snapped to his in surprise, and then Ron winced: "Shite."

But Hermione was all smiles as her energy lifted - the bet be damned, she'd take the dance anytime - and she sauntered over to him from her side of the table. Something cracked in Ron's willpower. It wasn't exactly her happiness at catching him off-guard, which was quite endearing in itself, but that dark and glowing eye that broke his countenance. Ron resignedly took her bait and dutifully descended from the mezzanine with her... only to be thrown into literally a herd of booty-shakers.

That's completely out of my league, Ron thought wildly with a bit of panic as he glanced back at the woman behind him who was looking at him with a bit of a nervous apprehension. It was obvious she dreaded his reaction: would he pull away before they'd even shared their first dance together?

Ron's distressed laugh didn't quite reach her ears but she saw it in his face as he shouted over the loud din, "I didn't sign up for this when I started dating you!"

Hermione's small hand captured his and, gently, she wrapped her arms around him. Pushing them both forward, she urged him first into the tight pack of enthusiastic dancers. "And you think I did?" She laughed, then glanced toward where Harry and Ginny had gone, and her resolve returned. Weird, that. "Do we want Harry and Ginny to think we're ninnies? Come on, let's pretend we're good."

So, awkwardly, Ron began twisting his long and lean, Quidditch-toned body in ways Hermione thought he'd never do outside their bed. Slowly, she removed herself from behind him and faced his chest, giving him at least the comfort that she enjoyed him being there with her.

But he wasn't that bad, actually.

He was quite good, despite all the giggles Ginny had shared with her about her brother's dancing skills. And Ginny should know a thing or two about dancing, no?

As if on cue, the other couple sprung up in front of them, all rolling hips and (safely) wandering hands. If anything could capture their deep enthralment for each other, it sure was their eyes. Finally they did rip them from one another

Harry was first to comment: "Oi, Ron, you sure you're not sick or something? I thought dancing gave you the willies. Or so I've been told."

Ginny had the grace to poke him sharply and mutter, "I did not!"

Ron shot daggers at his friend and tightened his grip around. "We can't all be star dancers, mate, but I know a move or two."

Harry's grin deepened, and he slapped his friend over the back. "I hear you." Then, appraisingly, "You're actually better than I thought."

And there came something between the men, something that the girls dared not name; not animosity, but a challenge of some sort.

Harry and Ginny just as suddenly disappeared in the crowd, swallowed whole by the frenzy enveloping them all - even the two of them, it seemed - and suddenly the music slowed to pick a rhythm that made Hermione rather light-headed, and heat up round her centre. She didn't know what steps came with it, but the count was slow and completely seductive.

Ron's hand smoothed over her bare back. As Hermione looked up, an intoxicating electric charge passed between them; it left her awed and longing for more of him in a way that should have made her blush like the schoolgirl she had once been.

Ron wasn't quite as comfortable as he'd have liked. His palms were sweaty, his brows were a little strained, and his armpits felt completely wet. But still the warm familiarity of Hermione's body and her head against his cheek felt like a balm over his (bruised?) pride.

Without even thinking about it, he let himself roll his hips just like Hermione. The undulating motion was becoming exhilarating when the lights gradually dimmed and the smell of sweat stuffed the air but became unimportant. Bringing his hands up below Hermione's ribcage, he heard her sharp intake of breath, a very low hiss that he believed he'd never tire of hearing. He felt the skip of her heart almost beneath his fingertips, and then Ron's eyes fluttered shut in the tangle of her hair as the thundering sensations overwhelmed him.

With every roam of his fingers, Hermione's reservations flickered and threatened to crumble. Ron had never been very comfortable displaying his affection for her in public, let alone fondle her and be this close - oh, so close - in front of complete strangers. It felt... different. Enjoyable. Beautiful.

Her mind reeled with things she'd said, but her decision was made.

He won't do it.

Would he?

Hermione's lips ghosted over his for an instant, breathing his breath. When she looked up, it was to see him stare down at her with a little startled frown.

Hermione smiled brightly to quell his doubts.

Ron started to ask, but she was quicker and kissed him soundly. One hand found its way snaking round his neck to pull him into the kiss, which he didn't refuse. And still their bodies rocked to the languid stroke of the music.

When Ron pulled away just enough to draw air, already Hermione's leg lifted off the ground and hooked just below his arse, driving her crotch flush with him. Their mouths fused again, swallowing hungry laments. Ron's hand found no other nestling place than under her smooth thigh, hitching her leg a little higher in his effort.

It seemed that, with every panted breath stolen between furious tongues, the air became thicker, hotter, and with it came this indescribable feel of skin on skin, fingers hot and incomparable. Only then did Hermione realise that the sensation was real, and Ron's fingers were massaging the silk of her bare arse under her skirt and his warm crotch was mere centimetres from her curls.

Hermione sighed into his hair, fisting it possessively. The phrase 'How did this happen?' did cross her mind for a moment, then she remembered that she wasn't exactly going to complain. Instead, a softly whimpered 'Ron' crossed into his hair and perhaps lost itself to his ears, or not.

Ron lifted his head, cobalt eyes feral and yet tender. 'Here?' he mouthed, almost as a question. Hermione knew better. Ron would not accept a rebuttal, for fear of having to spend an extra minute away from her heated centre.

Hermione nodded slowly, giving him time to adjust to her positive response - he'd never have expected her to give in easily - and welcomed his length, rolling her eyes at the sheer delectation of their joining in public and sharing it in private nonetheless. The music changed but remained in the same suave count that Hermione didn't recognise. It rumbled and hummed through her, sending shivers down her spine and through her fingertips, crackling thunder exploding under her eyelids.

Ron was already removing himself halfway and suddenly plundering back into the sweet sensation that moaned back at them in the form of sensual music. His hands stroked fine voluptuous skin and coarse hair but always, always created a beauty that, to him, was the most intriguing, the most mysterious and the most branded woman he'd ever met... She was his picture perfect woman, even with her hot head and the pillowy skin of her belly and thighs.

Just as suddenly as it had all started, Ron fisted her hair and grasped the soft skin of her arse and sought her mouth, his desperate cry of release even escaping him as he brought their two bodies to the brink of strain. Hermione shuddered from the intensity of the explosion rushing from her centre and saw rivers of stars bursting behind her eyelids. She sagged against him, sticky with sweat and sex and content to stand there with his smell and him.

A few moments later, Ron extricated an arm as he smiled lazily, depositing a quick kiss on her lips before lowering her leg. Hermione was tingling all over as she let him fix her clothing and he his, every touch a shard of heat zipping through her nerves. She suddenly felt light and hot.

A wave of fresh air suddenly blew by. "Rhumba," a falsely male voice announced.

Ron's eartips reddened as his sister appeared beside Harry, who swatted her arm and yet hid his own devilish grin.

Ginny's sly smile deepened. "Guess what... I think we got the hang of the Rhumba, too." She winked at Harry, who playfully rolled his eyes.

Ron fidgeted for a moment, and then declared, "It's getting pretty late, isn't it? We should be heading back home." He started toward the exit.

"Wait!" Ginny yelled over the loud din of a new foreign beat. "Hermione, can I talk to you?"

Ron gestured to make it quick and disappeared outside. Hermione followed Ginny to the exit, though they were walking much slower. Ginny dug through her coat pockets and finally produced fifteen Galleons. "I honestly didn't think they'd have the guts. Though it was fun to have you all hot and bothered. Good vibes, girl."

On the other side of the wall, the men were engaging in a dispute about the winnings themselves.

Fin.

Nov 30, 12:42 am.