Dance with the One that Brought You

Chapter 8: Practice

Hermione wanted to scream. Today could not have possibly gotten any worse. First Harry had wigged out on her, and now she had to suffer through another mass stalking by the Viktor Krum fan club. Honestly! Why wouldn’t they just go away and let her study? She knew it wasn’t Viktor’s fault, but she couldn’t help glaring at him as he sat across the table from her. He had tried sitting next to her, but when she heard the surrounding giggles and whispers coming from the table behind them, she shot up and walked to the opposite side of Viktor, almost slamming herself back down in the seat. They were like flies on a dead animal. Not that Viktor was a dead animal. But for some reason she felt truly irritated by the whole thing.

“Hermyninny,” he attempted again to whisper to her. This was his fifth attempt at getting her to talk with him, but each time she had raised a finger to her lips and pointed to her book.

She felt restless as she saw him reach his hand across the table.

Realizing that she wouldn’t get any work done under these circumstances, she grabbed her bag and headed out. It only took a few strides for Viktor to catch up to her as she marched from the library.

He reached for her hand yet again, and she shook it off. She was not in the mood for his attentions today. She didn’t feel like being spied on, followed, and gawked at by his fan club. They had crashed her sanctuary. They destroyed the one place that she found solace and restoration. Not only had they driven her from her refuge where she had always felt peace, but now they trespassed on her privacy. She was constantly under scrutiny and being followed whenever she was near Viktor.

Things had been so sweet when it was just the two of them, but now it had become annoying. She felt miserable and wasn’t even sure how to tell him.

“You are angry with me,” he stated, watching her face.

Her usually calm countenance cracked as she felt the control slipping.

“Viktor,” she tried to explain, “it’s not you. It’s them.” Her hands had flown up and gestured in the air, as if pointing to a clutch of people congregated on the ceiling. “Every move you make is watched! I wouldn’t be surprised to find that The Daily Prophet is paying them to take photos or get an inside scoop! And now they’re even in the library!” Her voice trembled, and her eyes brimmed with unwanted tears. She felt so frustrated!

He reached to pull her into his arms, but she pushed him away, shaking her head. “I can’t do this. I just can’t. Not today.” She turned and ran, leaving him watching as she took his heart with her. He wouldn’t follow her. She needed some time and space to be alone. He knew what it was like to be hounded.

Ever since becoming not only the world’s greatest Seeker, but also the world’s youngest professional Seeker, he had known very little peace. That’s what had attracted him to Hermione. She was serene and quiet, and most of all, she didn’t seek him out. She didn’t fawn all over him the way others did, male and female alike. Wherever he went, he was hounded for autographs, photos, and interviews. He was constantly sought after, by everyone except her.

Hermione didn’t care that he was Viktor Krum, the famous Quidditch player. She didn’t even like Quidditch that much! He smiled as the irony hit him. He rubbed his hand over his face, hoping that she would come back to him soon. He had thought she would be used to the response of fans, being Harry Potter’s best friend. If anyone could relate to being under the scrutiny of the world at an early age, it was Harry Potter. But maybe he was wrong. Maybe it bothered her more than he realized.

He would just have to find a way to make it up to her.

She had so much on her mind --- he and Harry would be facing their first task tomorrow, and there was this whole ordeal about the Yule Ball. She had told him she was working on some sort of dance for the Ball. He didn’t quite understand it, but he liked when she talked. He could watch her lips move all day and not get tired of her lyrical voice. Her accent was so intelligent --- it was so much more refined than how the girls spoke back home in Bulgaria.

The idea sprang on him. He wasn’t expecting such inspiration, but it brought a huge smile along with it. He knew what he would do for Hermione Granger!

**********

As she neared the Great Hall, she could hear the music playing. She knew she was at least thirty minutes early, so she was bewildered by what she heard. She slowed her pace, trying to mentally prepare herself to face him again. It had been several days since Draco Malfoy had hexed her with the Densaugeo curse, making her teeth grow enormously long. She would need to steel herself to face him. She armed herself mentally.

Even though she had been healed, she still felt unsure of herself when she was around Malfoy. She knew Madam Pomfrey had done a better job than her own parents (who were dentists), could have done. Her teeth looked even better than before the curse; but knowing Malfoy, he would find a way to rub it in today during practice.

She inhaled deeply, closed her eyes, and briefly meditated. Cool, calm, collected ---don’t let him faze you! She was ready for Malfoy. As she turned the corner and entered, she immediately lost all her resolve. She was not prepared for was the sight that greeted her.

She watched, dumbstruck as the two silvery beings came together with a fluidity that was breathtaking. She braced herself by placing an arm against the entrance way. The two platinum blondes seems to wrap around each other like strands of living silver, swirling and curling.

They were elegance itself as they glided across the floor--- grace beyond measure. She had unconsciously brought her free hand up to her mouth, stifling a gasp as Draco dipped his partner low to the ground, bending her backwards, his face inches away from hers, her leg extending high into the air behind him as she descended.

Draco grinned perceptively as he realized they had an audience. His acute senses informed him of her presence. She had come sooner than expected, but he would give her a show she would not soon forget. He had heard the gasp, and knew he had captured her attention. He would hold her hostage, the same way she had done to him in the library.

He lowered his hand across Fleur’s face, skimming it gently, before continuing its path downward to the nape of her neck. He moved his arm down to her lower back, raising her up to him forcefully, as they both stood and then poured into their next motion.

Hermione was unnerved. They mesmerized her. This was like no waltz she had seen before! This was something much different; this was so much more. When Fleur came out from a spin, she extended her leg, pointed her toe perfectly and reached her arm back behind her gently. Hermione’s heart hammered in her chest.

It didn’t even appear that their feet touched the ground; they were floating as if magicked. Hermione’s eyes roamed over their bodies, watching every muscle flex, as every limb sang with movement. Fleur had completely surrendered as Draco swiftly carried her into a lift as if she were weightless; her silvery hair flowed behind her as she arched her back.

As he lowered Fleur down from the lift, he seemed to do so in slow motion, bringing her body down to caress his. Hermione shuddered, and goose bumps tickled her skin. For their grand finale his hands reached behind Fleur, lightly dragging down her spine, cupping her buttocks, grinding her close to him before dipping her backwards, as she hooked a leg behind him, hugging his waist with the leg, trapping him against her. He rested his forehead between her breasts before glancing up. Hermione had come undone.

His eyes flashed with satisfaction, before he reached down and gently raised Fleur back up to a standing position. He took both her hands in his, bowing, and he placed a gentle kiss on each one.

“C'est magnifique.” He said as smiled at her. “Just as expected, ma chérie, you’re poetry in motion.”

Hermione needed water. She felt parched. Her legs felt as though someone had hexed her with the Jelly-Legs Jinx. She had almost forgotten why she had come, when Draco’s voice brought her back.

“Granger,” he drawled, “are you going to stand there catching flies with your mouth all day, or did you plan on dancing?”

She had no idea what to say to him. She stood mutely at the entrance, and somehow managed to close her mouth.

“Alas, Draco,” Fleur purred, “I cannot stay. I must get ready for the ze weighing of ze wands tonight.” She kissed Draco on both cheeks, and cooed, “Merci!”

Hermione realized that she had a sudden dislike of French.

Draco turned to face Hermione.

“Are you purposefully attempting to hold up the doorway, or are you waiting for me to hex you with the Tarantallegra curse?”

Hermione flinched as she remembered Draco dueling with Harry their second year, and how he caused his opponent's legs to dance uncontrollably with that curse. She pushed herself up and peeled off her jacket as she watched Fleur glide by, blowing a kiss at Draco.

"Adieu," he called out to Fleur.

“Malfoy, it would appear that you don't need me here today. There’s really no reason to stay.” She wasn't sure why, but she felt tempted to try and prove herself to him. He had unknowingly challenged her.

His grin spread as he watched her: She had laid her jacket down on a nearby table, and begun stretching her arms across her chest, one at a time, limbering them up. If she wasn’t planning on staying, she was sure getting comfortable for nothing.

He walked over to the phonograph and put on another album--- a slower, much more seductive piece.

“You must be referring to the warm up with Fleur?”

“Warm up?” Hermione asked with astonishment. “That was a warm up?”

Warm up! That was hotter than dragon’s breath!

His eyes challenged hers. “Granger, when you’re ready to witness the real thing, let me know.”

He reached his hand out to her, stunning her into silence. “Now be a good girl and dance with me.”

“What ... You mean touch you?”

“English is your first language, is it not?”

She looked around suspiciously and placed her hands on her hips, trying to figure out what he was playing at. She met his challenge with narrowed eyes and a guarded stance.

"Come on, Granger. I'm not going to savage you--- not yet anyway." He grinned and winked at her.

“Why do I feel like I’ll be splattered with pig’s blood?” she queried as the image from the Muggle movie Carrie came spilling over her.

Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “Do I even want to know what goes on in that deranged mind of yours? I’m willing to risk life, limb and feet here, Granger. Let’s go!”

She didn’t take her eyes off of him as she slowly walked toward him. She noticed his silvery blond hair had fallen down across his forehead, bringing a smile to her lips as she discovered it was no longer glued back with Sleeze-eazy wizarding gel.

“What’s gotten into you, Malfoy? I thought you wouldn’t be caught dead touching a Muggle-born.”

He let out an exaggerated sigh, “It’s called dancing for a reason, Granger. Not gabbing. Not fighting. Not even touching. It’s dancing.” He beckoned her to him with a crook of his finger.

She rubbed her hands onto her jeans before accepting his hand. Her left hand timidly crept onto his right shoulder; his arm supporting hers from underneath as he reached around and rested his hand, between her shoulder blades. She felt him tighten his clasp on her right hand, and then he led her gently, but firmly. There must have been magic in his hand on her back, because he expertly used it to guide her, placing pressure on the heel of his palm when he wanted her to go left, or using his fingers pressing into her firmly but directly guiding her back to him or to the right. He used his hand as the captain of a ship would steer his wheel.

Draco Malfoy was a dance god.

They glided effortlessly across the floor, waltzing in the traditional three counts. She tried to mask her surprise at his mastery, but she felt herself blush when her left hand felt the firmness of his shoulder. His shoulders were not as broad as Viktor’s, and his chest wasn't as strong. His arms did not bulge or ripple the way that Viktor’s did when he embraced her. Even though Draco was smaller framed than Viktor, somehow Hermione felt intimidated in Draco’s arms.

He seemed to be tenser than when she saw him dancing with Fleur. She knew it must be because he had to “lower” himself to dance with her; she was well aware how he felt about her. His palm seemed to be moist as well. Draco couldn’t have been nervous, she reasoned; it must be because he’s uncomfortable and forcing himself to touch me.

He suddenly leaned into her, shifting his weight he lowered her into a very low dip. Hermione clenched his shoulder and snapped her head up.

“Hold on to your lioness mane, Granger. I’m just testing the waters.”

“Malfoy...”

Hermione’s heart raced in her chest, and her breath had quickened. Something in her screamed, waving big red flags. Danger... Danger...

He held her down, her hair dragging to touch the floor now.

“Extend that shapely leg of yours, Granger.” She timidly did so. “Now release your iron grip off of my shoulder, and reach it over your head, toward the wall.”

She knew if she let go of his shoulder, he could easily drop her on her head, so she hesitated.

“Ah--- trust must be earned, I see,” he whispered huskily. He lowered his face until it was inches from hers. “Let go, Granger.” His eyes bored into hers. “Give it to me. Give me that control that you hold on to so desperately.” He leaned fully into her, feeling her small, soft breasts press against him. Her eyes fluttered closed.

She had not yet released his shoulder, so he put his lips to her ear. A slightly evil grin crossed his lips. “How about if I call you Hermyninny? Would that make you more at ease?”

Her eyes shot open, sparkling with anger.

“Let me up!” she gritted. “Now!”

Instead of complying, Draco lowered his mouth to her earlobe, tugging it gently with his teeth. She sucked in her breath as he lowered his lips to her neck and whispered softly, “What if I call you ‘Mione? Would you trust me then?”

She had lowered her leg, no longer interested in continuing the dance. Instead she pushed against Draco with both hands on his shoulders, trying to wrench herself from his hold. Time for the coup d'état. He brushed his lips over hers, not kissing her, but feeling their softness. She pursed hers closed angrily. He chuckled as he nuzzled her ear, easily overpowering her refusal.

“Tell me Granger, will you ride any Seeker’s Firebolt, or just the famous ones?”