They Met on the Dance Floor

Clara Winthraft walked into a bar with her best friend, Margaret Smith. The music was loud and fast; many couples were already dancing together.

"Maybe we'll find someone tonight," Margaret said, her foot tapping to the beat.

"That would be lovely," Clara sighed. She was thirty and not yet married. She wanted to be married soon; ending up alone was unimaginable to her. She wanted a perfect family- a good husband, a beautiful daughter and a handsome son. She couldn't think of a better life. She wasn't suited to hard labor- motherhood had always seemed ideal.

"Let's go get something to drink," Margaret said, tugging Clara on the arm.

"I'm coming! There's no need to pull me!" Clara said, taking her arm out of Margaret's grasp.

They each sipped a glass of red wine as they listened to the music and gossiped. Both of them continually looked back to the dance floor, to make sure that no one was coming to ask them for a dance. Nobody had, so far. They were growing desperate, but tried to mask in with humor.

"We're going do die as old spinsters!" Margaret said dramatically. She put a hand on her brow and her head back.

"Oh, stop being so silly," Clara chided her friend. "No one will come and ask us to dance if you keep acting like that! They will think we're lunatics!"

Margaret giggled, "I, for one, happen to adore lunatics." She took another swig of her wine. "And I do believe that that man is coming over here!" Clara looked frantically around for the man.

"Which one?" she hissed, still looking around.

"Over there!" Margaret pointed Clara in the right direction. It was a tall, red-haired man that was walking from the other side of the room.

"He is rather handsome, isn't he?" Clara whispered, a smile creeping onto her face. This was her chance to get a man and she would not ruin it. She nervously smoothed out her flowered dress. Why had she chosen this one? Her blue dress with the lace on the bottom brought out the color in her eyes so much better.

"Do I look alright?" Margaret inquired, patting her brown hair.

"You look fine," Claire answered absently. "Oh look, he's almost here!" The two women giggled again; the combination of wine and men had made them very excited.

"Hello," the man said as he walked up to both of them. Turning to Clara, he asked, "Would you like to dance with me?"

"That would be lovely," Claire answered, rising from her seat. She looked back at Margaret and mouthed, I'm sorry. Margaret shrugged- there was more men in the room.

"What is your name?" the man asked. He was very tall, with pale skin.

"Clara Winthraft," she said with a smile. "And yours?"

"Septimus Weasley."

"What an odd name!" Clara said, without thinking about it. She blushed and apologized.

"It's no matter," Septimus said pleasantly. He put his hand on Clara's waist; she shivered at his touch. She was suddenly aware of how frizzy her blonde hair was, and how smudged her lipstick must be, and how short she was. Clara looked down at her feet for a moment, trying to regain her composure.

"Hasn't your mother told you not to look down while you dance?" Mr. Weasley teased. Clara flushed again and looked up at him in all of her red-faced glory.

"So, Mr. Weasley, do you often dance?" Clara inquired. Small talk seemed like a safe bet for now.

"No, not often. I don't really come to London very much. I've spent seven years up in Scotland, and I live out in the country," Septimus explained.

"Well that's too bad; I live in London." Clara's palms felt damp. Why was she this nervous? She had danced with men before. She decided that it must have been his height.

"Do you enjoy London?"

"Oh, yes, very much," Clara said eagerly. This seemed to be going well, apart from her nervousness.

"I find it fascinating the way that you Muggles live," Septimus said in a tone of wonder. "It's all fancy and overdone with you!"

"Muggles?" Clara had never heard that term before.

"Oh- it's, uh," Mr. Weasley stuttered. "It's just a name for rich people like you. You know, the type who can just throw away money because they are so hoity toity and upscale. " He was rambling but didn't seem to care.

"Rich people?" Clara said with disdain. She arched an eyebrow. "So you come up with funny names for rich people to pass the time?"

"That's not how I meant it. It's just that-" Septimus tried to explain. He stepped on Clara's foot in his excitement- it didn't help matters much.

"Then how did you mean it?" Clara interrupted. She did not like it when people automatically assumed that people with money were always snobs and looked down on other people. That wasn't what she was like!

"It's hard to explain," Septimus tried. Clara hoped that the song was almost over.

"Then you might as well not try," Clara snapped. She thought about purposely stomping on his foot, but that seemed a bit too harsh. Not dancing with him again seemed like an appropriate choice; this horrible conversation would not have to go on any longer.

"Oh look, the song ended," Septimus said. Now his face was red.

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley," Clara managed to say in a civil tone.

"Thank you, Miss Winthraft," Septimus said before walking off, no doubt to antagonize another "Muggle" woman. Clara rolled her eyes and went back to Margaret.

"Well that didn't help," she whined.

"That's too bad," Margaret said. She seemed distracted. Clara followed her gaze to another man coming their way.

"Oh, not again," she muttered.

"Who says that he's going to ask you to dance?" Margaret retorted. "Who says that he isn't going after me?"

"Well, I suppose he could be," Clara said, shamed into silence.

The man turned out to be quite handsome and polite. Of course, he asked Margaret to dance. She left Clara, laughing and smiling on the way.

"How nice," Clara sulked. Her wineglass still wasn't empty; there were red lipstick marks on the edges. She smoothed out her dress again, running her fingers on the edges of the flowers. This had been a stupid idea. How could they think that they would meet someone here? It was idiotic. Once Margaret got back, she was going to demand that they leave at once. Clara bit the inside of her cheek to keep from expressing her anger in other, less seemly ways.

But then she noticed another man walking toward her. She instantly corrected her posture, set her wine glass down, and put on a dazzling smile. Out of the corner of her eyes, she spotted Mr. Septimus Weasley dancing very animatedly. He seemed to be enjoying himself, talking to a pretty brunette, she noted with disgust.

She returned her attention to the matter at hand- the man coming up to her. He was tall, Clara noticed, but not as tall as the other man. Hopefully he would be more polite.

"Hello, miss," he said pleasantly. "Would you like to dance with me?"

"That would be wonderful," Clara agreed. She stood up and wobbled a bit as all her blood rushed to her head.

"Oh!" she gasped.

"Are you all right?" the man asked concernedly.

"Oh, yes, fine," Clara said, her hand on her head. The pain went away soon, and she took a step towards the dance floor.

"Are you sure?" he asked again.

"Thank you, I am quite sure," she informed him. Changing the subject, she asked, "What is your name?"

"I am George Puckle," he said, putting her hand in his, and his hand on her waist.

"My name is Clara Winthraft," she said coyly, fluttering her eyelashes. He was quite handsome, with dark brown hair and a warm glow in his eyes.

"It is nice to meet you, Miss Winthraft," Mr. Puckle said, grinning. His teeth were straight and white.

Clara twirled out away from him, her skirt flying out a bit. When she came back, she asked, "Do you live in London, Mr. Puckle?" She fluttered her eyelashes a bit; Clara loved to flirt.

"Yes, I do. It is a wonderful place," he said congenially.

"How wonderful! I live here too," Clara informed him. For a few minutes they did not talk, preferring to dance in silence. Clara relished in the feel of her dainty hand in his large one. She looked up at George and smiled. He laughed a bit and smiled back.

"What are your interests, Miss Winthraft?" George inquired.

"Well, I love dancing," she said mischievously. "But I also like to read and embroider."

"How interesting," he remarked. "What sort of books do you like to read?"

"Oh, most things. But I find books about nature incredibly dull. I would rather read about distraught lovers or pirates."

"It just so happens that I own a book store," Mr. Puckle told Clara. "You are most welcome to come and buy a book."

"That would be delightful!" Clara exclaimed. "What is the name of your shop?"

"It is called 'The Bookmark.' My father chose the name," he explained.

"I shall come soon; I have been wanting to read a new book," Clara said.

The music died down and most couples went off of the dance floor to rest. George and Clara stayed for a few minutes longer before he, too, had to leave.

"I am sorry, Miss Winthraft, but I must leave," he apologized.

"I will come to your store soon," Clara promised. "Good-bye."

"Good-bye," George said before exiting.

Clara went back to her spot, where Margaret was waiting to hear the details of her dances. There was much giggling and exclaiming over the horrible Septimus Weasley and of the handsome and polite Mr. Puckle. Margaret's dance had been uneventful; nothing special about the man, but he was not a bore either.

"I wish this had been more exciting," Margaret sighed.

"I thought it was rather exciting," Clara remarked casually, to disguise her excitement. She felt bubbly and light. Her body seemed to be floating up; she wanted to dance more, but Margaret wanted to leave.

"You should visit his shop soon," Margaret advised Clara.

"I think I will," Clara replied. She was already fantasizing what their meeting would be like, and what she would say, and what he would say, and what she would wear, and every detail of their encounter. It was all playing out in her head. Now all she had to do was make the real thing like what she had imagined.

---

One year later, in 1946, George Puckle and Clara Winthraft married. Their daughter, Mary Katherine Puckle, was born in 1947. Mary married John Granger in 1976; Clara died in 1978. One year after her death, Mary and John had a daughter- Hermione Granger.

---

Septimus Weasley ended up marrying Cedrella Black and having three sons- one of whom was Arthur Weasley. Arthur married Molly Prewett and had seven children: Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, Ron, and Ginny.