I Hope You Dance

Morbid Fascination

Story Summary:
Hermione has some well chosen words of advice for her daughter: I hope you dance. A songfic to Lee Ann Womack's "I Hope You Dance."

Posted:
05/21/2004
Hits:
772
Author's Note:
I have alot to say. I wrote this in Social Studies for a multitude of reasons. I was bored withe the movie about Indians, and second because my friend looked like she felt like crap. It wasn't till later I realized I wasn't just writing this fic for my friend, she was the narrator. The girl speaking is named Stephaine and she is telling the story as if it happened many years ago, then she brings us to the present where she is beginning to realize what her mother said to her. James is a model after Patton, on his better days when he's not PMSing. Like I said, this is all for you Steph! Lastly I wrote this because I'm on this quest to find my writing style, those that have read my other works know I like to use a lot of really long words and angst is a specialty of mine. If possible could you please reviwew and tell me what you think of my style and how to better it.


When I was little my mother would hiss into my ear, 'I hope you dance.' I never really knew why, mum always was a bit eccentric. What is so terribly wonderful about dancing? At the time the answer was nothing.

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder,

That was what she always said, before bed. When I pranced off to school in the mornings it is what she would yell from the front stoop as she waved. Whenever the room grew too quiet she would abruptly say, in a distant and husky voice, 'I hope you dance.'

You get your fill to eat but always keep that hunger,
May you never take one single breath for granted,
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed,

During the afternoon, once a week, three of mom's friends would come over for tea. They would all nod knowingly when she said that in my ear as she pulled my five-year-old body on to her knee so I could reach the petite fours.


I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,
Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,

Ms. Potter would smile politely, a tiny blush pushing up her Asian cheekbones, and she would nod back at my mother saying to me, 'Dance sweetie, and let him sweep you away.' As she spoke her thin almond shaped eyes always sparkled after with a peculiar sentiment. It is just now that I'm realizing those were shimmering tears.


Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.

Mrs. Malfoy gave my mother a crooked grin, would sip her tea patiently, before dabbing at her large pink lips and then meeting my eyes directly to say, 'Never share your dance with two. Dances are for two, I hope you instantly know who your second is, then grab him and waltz.' As the years of afternoon tea progressed Mrs. Malfoy became more vivid, the years didn't age her, only gave her an unheard of exuberance. When her curly blond locks began to gray she changed them back quickly to yellow. When her frame expanded to hold baby Nero she made sure to lose any gained weight immediately after. Nero never looked like his mother, he had a delicate and pointing face, white-blond hair, and ice blue eyes.


I hope you dance.... I hope you dance..........

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance,
Livin' might mean takin' chances, but they're worth takin',
Lovin' might be a mistake, but it's worth makin',

Miss Weasley was always my favorite of mother's friends. She seemed a child all her life, red hair unmanageable, smile generous, and no vanity to speak of. She gave me the clearest advice of any, 'Don't let him step on your feet,' or at least that part was clear, then she just started to sound like the rest, 'and dance child, dance.'


Don't let some Hell bent heart leave you bitter,

I once asked my godfather Ron what it meant when mum told me to dance. He reddened and then scowled, 'Ask your father,' was all he could manage before storming away.


If you come close to sellin' out reconsider,

I asked my father. He hauled me up beside him on the sofa, and tousled my bushy head of hair. I've always loved my father's voice, it is rich like no other's, rough and heavy, laced with bass tones new to my ears. But my father was never very helpful when it came to mother's riddle, 'Your mother is a very wise woman. Dancing is in us, with out dance we would not love. Dove, I hope you dance too.'


Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.

As I grew up my mother's advice never changed, neither did that of her friends or my father. It was always the same, 'I hope you dance.' During the long periods of time when daddy was away and it was just us in the house we would sit in the study, fire crackling, mum immersed in an old tome, and me in math. She would lower her book and suddenly say, 'I hope you dance.'


I hope you dance.... I hope you dance.
I hope you dance.... I hope you dance.

In late July my mother's tea partners bustled in, each excited, merry, bright eyed, and extremely cheerful. They all hugged mum, and then reached down to squeeze me and pinch my cheeks. At age eleven I was unprepared and unwilling to have my cheeks pinched. Mrs. Malfoy was late, as per usual, thus she was last to arrive. She skidded through the door, grasped my mother and whispered happily into her ear. 'Oh Mi, today's her big day!' I don't think I was supposed to hear that, but I did, regardless. In her own odd fashion Ms. Potter folded and unfolded her neck scarf in her lap, anxiously awaiting something. Even Miss Weasley was absent from the conversation.


Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along,
Tell me who wants to look back on their years
and wonder where those years have gone.

When a heavy letter fell through the mail slot there were three collective in takes of breath and mom gave me an encouraging push toward the mail. Opening the heavy wax seal, I read the letter, six times. Understanding, I looked at my four rather neurotic mentors, they were all smiling maniacally at me. My mother enveloped me in yet another bear hug. She breathed into my ear, her warm breath tickled my ear, 'I hope you dance,' I don't know what I expected to hear.

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean,

Now I'm here in the grandeur of the Hogwarts Great Hall awaiting the start of my own Yule Ball. Strange how I'm remembering this advice from the earliest reaches of my childhood now, at the age of fourteen. I swear I can hear four different voices in my mind, each urging me toward the same goal.


Whenever one door closes I hope one more opens,

All four of them are trying to get me to step on to that dance floor.


Promise me that you'll give faith a fighting chance,

My mother started the last Yule with her exotic suitor nearly two decades ago, her beau telling her to let it go. And she did. Miss Weasley, now Mrs. Lupin, owled me a trinket from her Yule. A small square of periwinkle blue silk. Silk from my mother's ball robes, the same color as mine. How she got it I don't know.


And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.
Dance.... I hope you dance.

In the raised table where the teachers are sitting I can see Mrs. Malfoy, one of my professors. Her nails are glittering, her robes are an indescribable color draped elegantly over her swan like neck and pregnant belly. I can read her boldly colored lips, 'I hope you dance.' Headmaster Potter and my godfather are talking quietly, but I can see both of them letting their eyes dart to me as I cling to the arm of my partner, unmoving on the threshold.

I hope you dance.... I hope you dance.

I hope you dance.... I hope you dance...

I can imagine Ms. Potter here, hanging on the neck of her partner, and never letting go. Not even after the music stopped for him.


Time is a wheel in constant motion always rolling us along,

I knew what they did when they stood here. I know how that night ended for each, but as I stand here I find myself waiting for their advice, they've told me what to do, and now I know. That one little sentence, 'I hope you dance,' was so much more than a motherly suggestion. Those four simple words held another hundred inside them.


Tell me who wants to look back on their years

My date pulls me out on to the hard polished floor. I can feel them all smiling at me as I drift with James, Headmaster's son, my hands entwined around his neck, and my head resting on his broad shoulder. Our feet move as one, and my heart is pounding as though I've jumped and free fallen through the chilled Christmas air.


and wonder where those years have gone.

I am dancing as though never before.

And...when you get there.

I hope you dance.


Author notes: For you not so bright chickens~
Mrs. Malfoy~Pansy
Ms. Potter~a Cho still in love with Cedric
Miss Weasley/Mrs. Lupin~Ginny
Mother~Hermione
Father~Viktor
Please Review, remember I'm trying to get feed back on my writing style so I can improve as an author.