I Could Have Danced All Night

The Gryffindor common room was crowded with students. Most were playing games like Exploding Snap or wizard’s chess, but some were actually studying and doing assignments. Ron and Harry fell into the latter category. Sitting at a table close to the fire, their Potions books open in front of them, they were laboring with the extra assignment that Snape had assigned to them as part of their detention for laughing at him in class.

“You know,” complained Ron, “Malfoy was laughing as hard as we were when Neville’s potion exploded in Snape’s face. But did Malfoy get extra work? Of course not, he’s the teacher’s pet,” Ron finished in disgust.

“Yeah, but who else would want to be Snape’s pet?” Harry asked with a grimace.

“Dunno, not me,” Ron shuddered in response.

Looking up from his assignment, Harry saw Hermione step through the portrait hole, her nose stuck in a book, as usual. But she still walked unerringly in the direction of the table where the three of them usually sat. Almost to the table, she failed to see the book which had fallen unnoticed to the floor on Ron’s side of the table. Tripping over the rather large tome, Hermione lost her balance, dropped the book she had been reading and pitched head long towards the fire. Harry was quick but Ron was closer. Catching Hermione in his arms and pulling her to safety, Ron wrapped his arms tightly around his friend and held her close. As the reality of what almost had happened sank into her mind, Hermione started to shake in reaction. She clutched Ron tightly about the waist and buried her head in his shoulder, sobbing softly.

Harry, having reached Hermione only seconds after Ron, stood by and watched helplessly as Ron patted Hermione on the back consolingly. A white hot stab of an unfamiliar emotion shot through him. As Ron pull Hermione’s face up from his shoulder and gently wiped the tears from her face, Harry found himself saying in a condemning tone of voice, “Hermione, if you’d get your nose out of your stupid books and watch where you’re going, you might not have tripped and almost hurt yourself.”

Hermione stepped out of Ron’s embrace, her hurt brown eyes met Harry’s accusing green ones, tears forming and beginning to fall once more down her already damp cheeks.

“Harry, it was an accident,” Ron tried to defend Hermione. “If it was anyone’s fault, it’s mine for leaving that book laying on the floor.”

“It doesn’t matter. Anyway, I’m going to be late for Quidditch practice. The big game with Slytherin is only two weeks away, and we’ve got to get in all the practicing we can,” Harry said as he grabbed his Firebolt and stomped toward the portrait hole. “Leave my stuff, I’ll get it later,” Harry ordered Ron as he went through the portrait hole.

“What was that all about?” Ron asked angrily.

Still shaking slightly from the her close call, Hermione sank down into a chair at the table. “I don’t know what made Harry act like that,” she said, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

“Probably just mad because I beat him to you. He didn’t get to be your knight in shining armor,” Ron commented with a smirk. At Hermione’s pensive expression, Ron laughed. “More likely he’s just nervous about beating Slytherin. This is the last time we’ll play them. And you know he wants to beat them.”

“You’re probably right,” Hermione nodded, but she didn’t look totally convinced. “And thanks, Ron. You really saved me from getting hurt,” Hermione smiled up at him.

“No problem, that’s what friends are for. And besides,” Ron grinned, “if you’d gotten seriously injured, who would’ve helped me get through this stupid assignment Snape gave me?” Ron sat down at the table beside Hermione and pointed to the parchment with the assignment that was only half completed. “I saved your life, the least you can do is to do my homework for me.”

Hermione’s only reaction was to raise an eyebrow mockingly at Ron, pick up her book and begin reading once more.

* * * * *

Harry was having the worse Quidditch practice of his life. The bludger had almost unseated him, twice. He hadn’t caught the snitch once. And his teammates were starting to cast him unfriendly looks due to his surly attitude.

Never had he been so glad that a Quidditch practice was over. Not even waiting to walk back to the castle with his teammates, Harry shouldered his broomstick and headed back. But he paused halfway to the castle and headed for the lake instead. Once there, he flung his Firebolt down and dropped heavily to the ground, resting his arms on his bent knees.

Harry’s thoughts were muddled and confused. Fear still coursed through him when he thought of what could have happened to Hermione if Ron hadn’t caught her. And then thinking of Hermione in Ron’s arms, after he had pulled her back to safety, brought the anger raging to the forefront.

Shouldn’t he just be happy that Hermione had not been hurt? The thought of anything happening to her sent Harry’s stomach tightening into a knot the size of a fist. Why was he mad at Ron for saving Hermione? Because you wanted to be the one to save her, Potter. Now where had that thought come from? Hermione was his friend. She had been for seven years. Why should it matter to him who saved her as long as she was safe? Because you want Hermione to be more than just your friend.

Bolting to his feet, Harry ran his fingers through his already unkempt hair and began to pace up and down the shore. He didn’t want to be more than Hermione’s friend, did he? His thoughts drifted back to Ron holding Hermione tightly, and the knot in the pit of his stomach began to tighten once more.

I’m jealous of Ron. The thought floored Harry. When Ron and Hermione had shown an interest in each other during fourth and fifth year, the thought of his two best friends dating hadn’t really bothered Harry. Maybe that was because he knew it wouldn’t last. And it hadn’t. A few dates later and they had decided that friendship was all there was between them. But what if that had changed now? What if Ron was starting to see Hermione as the lovely, wonderful and brilliant girl that she was?

Don’t you mean that you’re starting to see her that way?

But how could he risk their friendship like that?

Don’t you mean, what if she doesn’t feel the same way? What would he do then? What if he told Hermione how he was starting to feel about her? What if she rejected him? What if she laughed in his face?

No, Hermione wouldn’t do either of those things. She’d let him down gently. Tell him they were just meant to be friends. But how could their friendship ever be the same after he declared his feelings, and she gently told him she didn’t feel the same way?

He wouldn’t do it. He’d keep his feelings to himself. But Ron had better keep his hands to himself. If he ever caught Ron holding Hermione in his arms like he had earlier that night, well even Madame Pomfrey would have a hard time putting Ron’s face back to rights again.

Satisfied with his decision, Harry picked up his Firebolt and headed back to the castle. But thoughts of a girl with chocolate eyes and bushy brown hair dogged his every step.

* * * * *

Harry had been in a bad mood all week. Quidditch practice had gone from bad to worse since the night of Hermione’s near accident. The big game with Slytherin was now only a week away. He hadn’t spoken more than a few terse words to Ron all week. And every time Hermione glanced in his direction, he would just give her a disgruntled look and walk away. His fellow Gryffindors were not fairing any better. Normally Harry was easy going and likable. In the past week, his fellow students had learned to give Harry a wide berth when they crossed his path.

Just that morning, however, Neville made the mistake of simply saying hello to Harry as he walked through the common room on his way to Quidditch practice. Harry had snapped “What the hell do you want?” sending Neville scurrying behind the nearest couch. The Gryffindor students decided that morning that something had to be done about Harry’s behavior immediately. So they took their problem to the Head Girl, Hermione Granger.

“Okay, I’m open to suggestions as to what to do about Harry,” Hermione put the question to all the seventh year Gryffindor students assembled in the common room.

“Why don’t we use a Cheering Charm? That will put him in a good mood,” suggested Parvati Patil.

“Too temporary,” Hermione stated, writing notes on the parchment she held in her hand. “Whatever is bothering Harry goes deeper than any Cheering Charm can help. Any other suggestions?”

“We could hold him down and beat the bad mood out of him,” offered Ron, only half jokingly. He had become increasingly miffed at Harry’s surly attitude towards him all week. It was one thing to be out of sorts with one’s classmates. But when that extended to your best friend, with no explanations given, it got to be a little too much.

“I don’t think that would be such a good idea, Ron,” Hermione said, giving him a stern look

“Well, what do you think we should do?” Ron queried. He’ll lose the match for sure, the mood he’s in. And if he doesn’t snap out of it, I might be tempted to beat some sense into him anyway.”

“I guess it’s left to me then to try to change Harry’s mood. And I’m just the witch to do it,” Hermione stated emphatically.

“What are you going to do?” asked Ron.

“I have a plan,” Hermione answered, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth.

* * * * *

Hermione had planned this night down to the last detail, leaving nothing to chance. She had made a list of everything that was pertinent to making the night a success. She checked the piece of parchment in her hand, then glanced around the room to make sure everything was in place. Yes, everything was perfect. There was only one item that was not checked off, but that would come later…hopefully. She placed the quill and parchment on her side of the table and settled in to wait for Harry.

Hermione had no illusions about the mood Harry would probably be in when he came through the portrait hole. This was his second Quidditch practice of the day and he was bound to be tired, even if he hadn’t already been in a bad mood.

Hermione thought about the incident that had triggered Harry’s strange behavior. At least, she thought it was her near accident that had caused Harry’s downward spiral. He had been fine until she had tripped and fallen into Ron’s arms. Harry’s sharp retort had been totally unlike him. Had she only imagined the narrowing of Harry’s eyes when she had looked at him from the circle of Ron’s arms? Or was it wishful thinking on her part that Harry had been jealous? But in the last week Harry had hardly spoken to Ron at all. And a couple of times she had caught him watching her with a longing expression, she thought.

What if I’m wrong? What if I have set this whole thing up and he really wasn’t jealous? What if he only likes me as a friend, and it really is something else completely that is bothering him?

But Hermione knew it was too late to change her plans when she heard Harry mutter the password on the other side of the portrait hole. She took a deep breath. Smoothing her hair for the tenth time, she prepared to face Harry.

* * * * *

His Firebolt slung over his slumped shoulder, Harry made his way through the portrait hole and stopped…dead in his tracks. The Gryffindor common room was devoid of students, except for Hermione, who stood there biting her lip in nervous anticipation.

Harry’s weary gaze took in the whole common room in one sweeping glance. The room was dim except for the light of the fire and the flickering candles that floated over the linen covered table that had been moved close to the fire.

Offering him a tentative smile, Hermione walked over to Harry and took the broomstick that he had lowered to his side out of his unresisting hand.

“I thought you might be hungry after your practice,” Hermione began, glancing up into Harry’s unreadable green eyes.

“Hermione,” Harry protested, shaking his head. “I know you meant well, but I’m really not in the mood for any of this.”

“Harry Potter,” Hermione began firmly, “you have been angrier than a hippogriff with its tail caught in a trap all week. And it stops tonight.”

The first real smile Harry had shown all week began to creep across his face. “Oh, is that so?”

Hermione gently laid the broomstick across a chair, took Harry’s hand and led him towards the table. Looking back and smiling at him over her shoulder, a decidedly mischievous gleam lighting her chocolate eyes, Hermione answered simply, “Yes, that is so.

After they both were seated at the table, Hermione removed the covers from their platters, revealing an array of Harry’s favorite foods. A warm mug of butterbeer sat in front of each plate.

Harry looked across at Hermione, starting to protest again, but Hermione interrupted him with a shake of her head and a firmly stated, “Eat, Harry.”

While Harry ate, Hermione explained how she had been elected to get him out of his bad mood, only pausing long enough to take small bites of her own dinner.

“When you yelled at Neville and made him hide behind a couch, simply because he had the audacity to say hello to you, we all knew something had to be done. And I was elected. We considered Ron, but his suggestion of beating the bad mood out of you just didn’t seem the way to go,” Hermione finished her narrative, a wary smile lighting her eyes.

Harry laid his fork and napkin down beside his empty plate, leaned back in his chair and stared across the table at the girl who had been his best friend for seven years. “And you thought a good meal of my favorite things would be the way to go?” Harry quirked an eyebrow at her.

“I thought it would be a good start,” Hermione answered.

“There’s more?” Harry asked, a smile in his voice.

Hermione only smiled at him in return and held out her hand. Harry hesitated for only a fraction of a second before slipping his hand into hers. Leading him over to the couch, Hermione released his hand and commanded, “Take off your robe, Harry.”

“Excuse me?” Harry croaked. Hermione had always been a bit bossy, but tonight she was taking that bossiness to extremes. And Harry was very unsure of the direction that this situation was headed, but he knew where he wanted it to go.

But when Hermione gave him her “I’m not taking no for an answer” look, Harry reluctantly complied, revealing his favorite pair of worn jeans and the sweater Mrs. Weasley had knitted for him last Christmas.

“Now sit,” Hermione ordered “Turn towards the fire.”

Knowing arguing would be futile, Harry sat, feeling a bit like a puppy being put through its obedience school paces.

Harry’s mind was racing. He couldn’t imagine what Hermione had in mind, though he could think of a few interesting things. He had no intentions of trying to stop her, whatever it was.

When Hermione settled onto the couch right behind him and placed her hands lightly on his shoulders, Harry’s heart skipped a beat, then sped off faster than he’d ever seen the Golden Snitch fly. And when she leaned up against his back, her thick brown hair tickling the side of his face and whispered, “Relax, Harry. I’m going to make you feel all better,” he felt as if his heart had stopped completely.

* * * * *

Hermione could not believe what she was doing. She had always been so practical. But tonight, she was throwing practicality to the wind and giving in to her instincts. True, she had planned the dinner down to the last detail, from the candles and linen for the table to the foods that she knew Harry would enjoy. She had thought that a nice quiet meal would be just the thing to relax Harry and put him in a better mood. But the impromptu massage that she was now administering hadn’t been part of her plan. Okay, maybe in the back of her mind it had. She remembered her mum would do the same for her dad when he’d had a particularly hard week at work. And she wondered if Harry would appreciate the same. From the moan that was issuing from Harry at the moment, as she gently massaged his tense shoulders, she thought it just might be doing the trick. And besides, she had dreamed of having the freedom to touch Harry in some way other than in friendship for almost a year now. She was going to savor the opportunity.

“Mmmm. That feels wonderful, Hermione. Where’d you learn to do that?” Harry asked in a voice filled with pleasure.

“I watched my Mum do it to my Dad when he’d had a bad day at work,” Hermione stated, working her small hands from Harry’s shoulder blades down his back a bit and kneading with just the right amount of pressure.

“Yeah, right there,” Harry groaned as she hit a sore spot. “I know I’ve acted like a real prat this week. And I’m really sorry. I’ve had bad Quidditch practices before, but this week has been the worst, and you know how much I want to beat Slytherin,” Harry finished, moaning his pleasure at her helpful ministrations once again.

Closing his eyes and tilting his head a little to allow her better access to the neck muscle she was now massaging, Harry was unprepared for the sharp pain that shot through him when she kneaded an exceedingly tight knot in the side of his neck. “Ow, that hurt, Hermione,” Harry exclaimed, turning slightly so he could look back at her.

Concern lit her brown eyes and before she could think better of it, she murmured, “Let me kiss it and make it better.” And then she proceeded to do just that. Hermione’s soft warm lips placed a tender yet firm kiss on the offending muscle in Harry’s neck.

Harry’s shocked green gaze clashed briefly with her warm brown one as she drew back far enough to look into his eyes. Then his eyes slid shut completely as he gave himself over to the sensations that were crashing through him as her lips once more met the smooth skin over the muscles of his neck, raining sweet, fiery kisses from his neck to his ear.

When Hermione’s lips finally left him, Harry felt the withdrawal like a physical pain, as if she had taken a piece of himself when she pulled away. His eyes drifted open, and he tried to focus on her face, which was very close to his own. He thought he detected a slight pick tinge to her cheeks. Turning around so he was now sitting facing her, Harry caught her chin in his hand just as she was lowering it to look away. Harry’s emerald gaze, dark with passion, met Hermione’s worried chocolate one, filled with awe. Harry’s gaze locked with hers for so long a time that Hermione thought she would melt into a great puddle on the floor.

“Harry, I’m sorry. I don’t know what possessed me to do that,” Hermione stuttered, finally breaking Harry’s intense stare. “I’ve never done anything like that before.”

“Well, I should hope not,” Harry grinned at her. “And if I ever catch you kissing another boy like that, well, let’s just say you haven’t seen me in a bad mood.”

“Oh, Harry, you’re the only one I’ve wished I could kiss for a long time now.” Hermione’s eyes widened, and she clasped a hand over her mouth as she realized what she had just revealed.

Harry’s grin now could have lit up half of London. As he took her hand away from her mouth, he lowered his lips mere inches from hers and whispered, “We’ll just have to see if we can make your wish come true, my fair lady.”

Harry closed the scant distance until their lips met in the softest of touches. But once his lips touched hers, a soft touch was not what he craved. He deepened the kiss and was pleased when Hermione matched him kiss for kiss. Mouths tasting and tongues mating, they were lost in the whirlwind of sensation that they could only find in each other. When they finally, reluctantly parted some time later, it was only to calm the dizzying emotions that had overtaken them both.

When his breathing had finally slowed, Harry took both of Hermione’s hand in his own and asked, “May I make a confession?”

At Hermione’s nod, Harry continued, “Mione,” she smiled at the shortening of her name. “The real reason I’ve had such a bad week at practice is that I couldn’t concentrate on anything but you. After your near accident last week, I realized how much I cared for you. Not just as one of my best friends, but as something much more. When Ron caught you, I realized that I wanted to be the one to catch you and protect you…always. And when Ron was holding you in his arms, I was so consumed by jealousy that I couldn’t think straight. That’s why I made that stupid ‘nose in a book’ comment,” Harry finished apologetically. “But I decided that I couldn’t say anything to you. After all, what if you hadn’t felt the same way? I would have wanted to die. You do feel the same way, don’t you, Mione?”

“Harry, you silly prat, I’ve been looking at you that way for the last year. You’ve simply been too blind to see it. And, like you, I was afraid to tell you how I felt in fear that you wouldn’t feel the same way. And all there could ever be between Ron and me is friendship. ” Hermione smiled and squeezed his hands, looking into Harry’s love filled gaze. Then she took her hand and brushed back a stray lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead.

Just then, the harp in the corner of the room began to play. Before long, Harry recognized the tune from My Fair Lady. I Could Have Danced All Night.

Hermione blushed as scarlet as Harry’s Quidditch robe. “I charmed the harp to start playing at 9:00,” she explained.

Harry stood and helped Hermione to her feet. “We can’t waste the music, now can we?” Pulling her into his arms, Harry began to spin her around the room in circles until she threw back her head and laughed in dizzy delight. It didn’t matter that neither one of them were expert dancers, they simply reveled in the delight of being in each others arms.

Circling the room in sweeping circles, Harry was becoming a little dizzy himself, so much so that he didn’t see the table as he swept Hermione into a wide turn. He bumped into it causing a piece of parchment and a quill, which had been laying hidden underneath Hermione’s napkin, to fall to the floor.

Hermione made a grab for it, but Harry was quicker. He didn’t get to be Gryffindor’s star seeker by accident. Looking at the parchment, he could tell that it was a list, written in Hermione’s precise handwriting. Every item had a check mark beside it, except for the last one.

Dance with and then kiss Harry.

Harry looked up from the parchment to find Hermione biting her lip and looking extremely worried.

“So, Hermione, you had this planned down to the last detail, huh?” Harry asked in a serious tone of voice.

“Harry, I…uh…”

At Hermione’s stricken expression, Harry couldn’t keep the serious one on his face any longer. “Seems like your plans didn’t work out quite like you expected,” Harry grinned.

Hermione shot him a confused look.

“This parchment clearly states, ‘Dance with then kiss Harry.’ You did it in the wrong order, Miss Do It By The Book,” Harry’s eyes glittered with amusement.

“Well then, how can we correct the situation?” Hermione asked, playing along.

“Since we’ve danced…” Harry smiled down at Hermione, all his new found love lighting his eyes.

“Then we need to kiss?” Hermione asked cheekily, the love in Harry’s eyes reflected back at him in hers.

Harry pulled Hermione close to him and answered the question the best way he knew how…with a long, thorough kiss. And as the music from the harp continued to play on, Harry and Hermione continued to dance…all night.