The Dancing Lesson

Step-two-three, step-two-three ...

"Keep your eyes up, Mr. Weasley, not on your feet!" Professor McGonagall called from across the room, over the heads of three dozen dancers.

Ron did as he was told, which almost immediately resulted in a yelp of pain from Hermione.

"Ow! That was my foot!" she informed him needlessly.

"Sorry," Ron mumbled. "Thank Merlin this is the last of these bloody dance classes!"

"Ronald! Language," Hermione hissed.

"Harry's lucky," he continued, not acknowledging her reprimand.

"Harry's in detention -- with Snape," she pointed out.

"Still better than being here," he mused.

"Oh, thanks," she replied with a wry smile.

"Heh, sorry," he said sheepishly. "But you know what I mean, right? I just dunno why we all have to learn this stuff. It's not like I'm going to be doing any dancing at the Yule Ball," he added morosely.

She blinked at him in surprise. "I thought you were going with Padma?"

He raised a brow at her. "I didn't realise going to the ball with someone constituted a 'binding magical contract' to dance with them," he said with a smirk.

Hermione was perplexed for a moment -- what did he think one did at a ball? Then she scowled.

Oh no, I know that face; she's going into lecture mode, Ron sighed inwardly. Nice move, Weasley! You'd think by now he would have learned how to avoid saying something that might set her off.

"You'd better let Padma know that then, so she can go with someone else!" she scolded him. "All Parvati seems to talk about is how 'dreamy' the dancing will be, and I would be very surprised if her sister didn't feel the same way!" Or every other girl here, for that matter! It's a shame he feels that way about it, too; he's really quite a marvelous dancer when he's not thinking about it, she noted.

Even so, deep down, in a part of her mind that was beyond even the subconscious, a part that was concerned solely with primal needs, she rather liked the notion that he wouldn't dance with his date. But as far as the rest of her mind was concerned, it was in firm denial that her own "lizard brain" -- and any notions it might contain -- existed at all.

There was another yelp, accompanied by another mumbled apology, from a nearby pair of dancers.

Ron scowled back at Hermione. "I hope Padma's got some thick, well-padded shoes, then." Another couple, another yelp. "In fact, the school should just hand out armored shoes to all the girls."

Hermione chuckled. "I can just hear the clattering of a hundred iron-clad feet now! They should be teaching us tap-dancing, then!"

He grinned. "Laugh now; when your date pulverizes your pretty little toes to a bloody pulp, you'll be wishing someone had listened to my idea."

She ducked her head as she tried to stifle a laugh.

That was one of the great things about Hermione, he thought; she wasn't a giggling kind of girl. Was it really that much of a surprise that it hadn't occurred to him sooner to ask her to the ball? He'd long acquainted the world "girl" with inexplicable emotional outbursts, shrill laughter, gossiping, fluttering eyelashes over gits like Lockhart, and painting toenails -- things Hermione had never seemed interested in. All right, so she did occasionally have emotional outbursts, but they were infrequent ... okay, maybe that wasn't quite true either, but at least they didn't include insane giggle-fits! Well, except for maybe that one time ... And okay, she did have that thing for Lockhart, but she never got as bad as the other girls, and anyways she was over that now--

Oh bloody hell. Hermione was a girl, there was no way around it. He still thought he'd have a better time at the ball with her -- they were best friends, after all, and he didn't feel half so comfortable around any other girl than he did with her! If only he could convince her to change her mind; if she really did have a date, that guy could take Padma! And if she didn't, well ... maybe Padma could go with the giant squid.

With her head bowed down, Ron had no idea just what a "girly" moment Hermione was having: she was actually blushing, acutely embarrassed over how he had referred to her toes. And she was feeling ridiculously silly for it. It might have interested Ron to know that she found some so-called "girly" behaviors in her peers as revolting as he did. Although she would be quick to point out that boys were sometimes guilty of those behaviors -- as well as having a few exasperating behaviors of their own!

Blaming her lapse of composure on teen hormones, something she certainly had no control over, she took a deep, calming breathe, then met his eyes again. She felt something thud in her chest in response to the sight of his sweet smile. His ice-blue eyes were anything but cold; her legs threatened to melt under their scrutiny.

"I don't think my toes will be in any danger," she said with a sly smirk that successfully masked any momentarily-crumbling securities she might have had.

Ron's own smile faltered as he felt a flash of pity. Of course her toes wouldn't be in any danger if, like he suspected, she didn't really have a date. Pity was quickly overcome by another urge to pry the truth from her.

"Oh, because he's so light on his feet, is he?" Ron asked, sounding a bit derisive, as they bowed to each other twice. His conscious mind would not call his efforts 'desperate' by any stretch of the imagination, however much his subconscious knew better.

"Well, he should be," Hermione laughed as she took his left hand in her right and they walked side by side for a few feet. "He is a see--" she stopped, catching the eager light in Ron's eye out of the corner of hers. "Oh nice try, Ron."

"You know, Hermione, people are starting to talk. They're beginning to wonder if you really have a date at all!" Ron informed her with an air of I'm-only-trying-to-help. He spun her.

"Well, then they'll be eating their words at the ball, now, won't they?" she told him flippantly, but he could hear the edge of warning in her voice; he wasn't fooling her.

Her lizard brain urged a smile to her lips; however she might protest on the surface, it was enjoying the fact that Ron was making her the center of his attention for once. Her subconscious agreed: This is what you could have had if you had asked me first! it wanted to scream at the boy. It would settle for teasing him mercilessly. Luckily the conscious mind was seldom privy to the intentions of either the subconscious or the lizard brain -- and when it was, it was usually too late to protest.

Their conversation was halted as they momentarily switched partners with the couple next to them, as part of the dance. Ron's eyes were on Hermione the whole time, but he managed not to crush his temporary partner's toes. By the time they were reunited, Ron had come up with another plan of attack.

They circled side by side, facing opposite directions, right arms raised and nearly touching. "So are you meeting in the common room?" he asked as they moved. If she answered, at least then he would know if the chap was from Gryffindor or not!

Hermione stepped on his toes -- hard. With her heel. "Keep it up, Ronald, and you'll have an excuse not to dance with Padma!"

As they moved to resume the basic waltzing stance, she gasped involuntarily when he touched his hand lightly to her waist.

He removed his hand quickly. "You okay?" he asked, confusion and concern warring on his brow.

"I-I'm fine," she assured him, taking his hand and planting it firmly on her waist.

What is it about that spot? she wondered. Parvati, Padma, Lavender, Hannah, Susan, even Ginny, all agreed that this had proven itself the worst problem inherent in ballroom dancing, even more so than having one's toes stepped on: there seemed to be a nerve cluster that sent a jolt of electricity through one's side when a boy put his hand on one's waist. Doubtless whoever invented the Waltz knew that, and developed it as a way to torment women, she mused. Oddly, though, when Viktor had offered to teach her a few steps, she hadn't felt that jolt, not once. Curious. She made a mental note to look up nerve clusters and ballroom dancing the next time she was in the library. Well, if Viktor wasn't hovering over her like he so often was.

The next step, Hermione's foot slipped on someone's lost Drooble. One hand still holding hers and his other at her waist, Ron managed to slide his arm behind her and halt her fall halfway to the floor.

"Whoa -- I've got you!"

"Mister Weasley!" McGonagall barked. "I believe I told everyone there is to be no dipping during the formal dancing!"

The professor startled him so badly that he almost dropped Hermione. He quickly helped the girl regain her feet.

"But I must say, I've been watching you two, and you've done very well today," the teacher added, her gaze softening. "I daresay you'll bring the rest of the floor to a standstill, if you keep it up!" The pair sputtered in denial, pointing out that they wouldn't even be attending the ball together, but she seemed to have gone deaf, turning her attention to the rest of the class. "That's enough everyone; you're all doing wonderfully. I think we can trust now that you won't embarrass the school at the ball!" And with that pointed warning, she dismissed them.

As they made their way to the common room, Ron couldn't shake the lingering feel of Hermione's presence against his hands. He'd never been quite as aware of her feminine status -- soft, tender, vulnerable -- as he had been in that moment, when he'd been all that had stood between her and the ground. It scared him, the realisation of her fragility; if he had faced a boggart in that moment, it most likely would have resembled Hermione in one peril after another.

For once, Harry wasn't the only one to have nightmares that night. But while Ron tossed and turned, Hermione had the best sleep of her life, dreaming of being held safe in a pair of strong, loving arms.

~ Fin ~