Unofficial Portkey Archive

Where Does The Good Go?

By attica

"And you're just the girl all the boys want to dance with
And I'm just the boy who's had too many chances." - Fall Out Boy, A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More "Touch Me."

Chapter Five: The Initials H.P. Stand For How Pathetic

The word fantastic was an understatement. The Great Hall didn't look fantastic at all - more like: brilliant, amazing, gouge-my-eyes-out-gorgeous. Needless to say, if Hermione Granger's abilities hadn't been noticed until now, its earth-shattering impact resembled somewhat like a very hard slap in the face.

After Ron and Harry had gotten through the so-called "Security" of the party who were checking everyone's costumes to make sure they were appropriate and "first-year-friendly," they had walked in through the Great Hall's massive oak doors and their jaws had completely unhinged from the rest of their face and dropped down to the marble floors.

Harry couldn't tell if Hermione had done big magic for the Great Hall. It certainly seemed like it. He couldn't believe someone their year was capable of creating such a thing, but he supposed Hermione was an exception. She had always been very different and extraordinary to start out with. A tad bit annoying at the most unfortunate times, yes, but nevertheless still very unique in the ways of the mind.

He was too shocked and in awe to notice the rest of his peers stumbling through the doors and becoming just as wide-eyed as he himself was, freezing at the sight of their party.

Upbeat music was thumping and the lights were dimmed down to help contour the haunting atmosphere. There were beams of multi-colored neon lights chasing across the room every random second and he felt a rush of air above him, hearing the sound of fluttering bat wings. There was a very sinister but festive shriveled tree that shook its branches and swiped at people every time they passed by, trembling and giving out a loud cackle. It had glowing yellow eyes and a wide, squinty mouth, and Harry was struck with familiarity from all of those Muggle fairytales, remembering that some had very memorable settings of scary forests and animate trees.

It had a very Graveyard motif. The Great Hall's sky was very dark and ominous, but thrilling flashes of lightning branched across it, all the while accentuating the evocatively milky moon. There was a scatter of stars drifting about, giving it a dreamy, wistful feel and softening the midnight graveyard tone. She had somehow even charmed the floors to make it seem as if they were walking across one vast, glittering, silver spider web lined up against complete darkness. Harry felt oddly disconnected just looking at it, almost feeling as if he was floating. The air was invigoratingly cool and bitter, just as refreshing as night air - a small detail that Harry was grateful for.

But he noticed that every person had a hovering sphere of light beside them, illuminating their faces and anyone else's within three feet of them.

Just as he was still taking in his surroundings, Peeves swept down through him while still drunkenly screeching, and Harry sputtered aggressively, coughing. He made a face as he shook his shoulders, feeling as if someone had just dumped musty cobwebs all over him; trying to brush away the faint hint of mildew Peeves had left on his clothes.

Harry shuddered, feeling his skin crawl. He quickly composed himself as he continued to look around, the tempo switching into a faster beat and the bass pounding through his body.

"Is that real?" gaped Ron, and Harry turned to see that Ron was pointing at the tree, which was now spanking someone in a cat suit who had apparently poured her drink all over its trunk.

"I don't know. Maybe she borrowed it from one of the greenhouses," Harry said over the noise.

Just then, a girl appeared in front of them. A floating ball of light followed her, allowing Harry to see her face and recognize her. She was a Ravenclaw prefect. She was holding a carrier bag that seemed to be bulging with orbs and she was dressed in a fitting, shimmering fairy costume with fluttering, clear crystal wings. Harry thought her ensemble to be quite magnificent.

"Hullo you two," she said, revealing a very pretty smile. "Nice costumes. Ron, you're one of the Chudley Cannons blokes, and Harry…" she squinted at his outfit, thinking hard. "You're…"

"A Muggle," Harry said quite pathetically.

Her blond brows shot up. "Oh. Well," she smiled again, reaching into her bag, "I don't know if you've noticed, but it's quite dark, so we're issuing one of these Glow Globes to each person. To avoid any confusion, you understand."

Both Harry and Ron nodded as she handed them to them.

"Press the button in the center and you'll be good to go. When the party's over we'll have bins over by the door where you can return them. Have fun," she winked playfully, and strutted away.

Harry risked a glance at Ron and rolled his eyes. He could even make out the bright blush scalding his freckled face in the dark. Silently, he searched the globe with his two hands and found the button. He pressed it and it instantly lit up, shooting out of Harry's hands and drifting around above him.

"You might want to hold off on turning your Glow Globe on if you're going to look like that the rest of the night," Harry told Ron with a smirk.

Ron finally detached his gaze from the striking fairy and looked at Harry with a glazed-over look in his eyes. "What was that?"

Harry only shook his head. "Turn on your Globe and let's go. Maybe we can find Seamus and Dean."

They wound through the crowd, greeting some of the people they knew, and each time - as Harry saw everyone else's costume - he felt his self-confidence sink lower and lower.

I feel wretched as a Muggle, he sourly thought to himself as they made their way to the refreshments table. And Ron wasn't helping, either. He just beamed proudly as he chatted with Ernie about his costume, while Harry could only look on and feel even more dismal when Ernie looked at him expectedly when he asked him what he had dressed up as. The two-worded sentence ("A Muggle") had become one of the phrases he most despised and it was only about fifteen minutes into the party.

And as Ernie continued to croon over his friend's outfit, he couldn't help but bitterly think that Ron's costume wasn't all that original, anyhow.

Harry was relieved when the Hufflepuff boy finally left them alone.

"You look like you just wet your knickers."

Harry looked at Ron, scowling. "Your idea blows. A Muggle? Is there anyone else who has a costume as stupid as that?"

"Have you seen the teacup girl? Besides, don't get shirty with me," Ron reprimanded. "It's Halloween. We're supposed to look stupid. It's our excuse to wear anything we want and pretend it's actually something for one night."

"Well, it's a stupid holiday and I don't even understand why we have it here," said Harry. "It's an American tradition."

"Oh, shut up. Don't you lecture me on geography."

Then suddenly, two figures appeared in front of them. One was dressed as Albus Dumbledore and the other with thick glasses and layered garb and frizzy hair - an unmistakable Sibyll Trelawney.

"Hullo Ronald, couldn't miss you in the orange there."

Harry and Ron both squinted at them, though it had nothing to do with impairment of the vision.

"Fred and George?" they gaped in unison.

They both nodded, looking mischievous.

"Genius, isn't it?" said Fred, affectionately stroking his Albus Dumbledore beard with his fingers. George's eyes looked enormous behind the glasses. It seemed as if the glass had magnified it ten times its original size, making them exactly bug-like. "I was going to dress up as Snape, but Seamus had already swiped the idea. That horrid little bugger. I rather think I'm going to feed him some of my Mucus Muffins someday soon."

"And I was going to go as Professor McGonagall," commented George. "But she is just too unique. Besides, I thought your little friend Hermione might have already picked up on the idea. You sixth years really are festering turds."

"Bit rich, coming from you," snorted Ron. He was shaking his head, chuckling at the sight of the pair of them. Even Harry couldn't get over it.

"Anyway, we're hoping to win the contest. But with Seamus, we know there's competition. We're off to sabotage him. We'll see you children later." And then they marched off, weaving through the crowd until they disappeared.

"I wouldn't be surprised if they were poofs," laughed Ron.

"Have you seen Hermione anywhere?" asked Harry, looking around. He was feeling anxious and he was suddenly feeling as if being in Hermione's company was better than being in Ron's. One: he had seen Ron eyeing that Ravenclaw prefect fairy across the hall for the last ten minutes, and he knew people were going to be dancing soon and he didn't want to just sit on the sidelines and look even more pathetic than he already was when his friend finally went to go ask her for a dance. And then to probably save himself from humiliation, he might ask Ginny for a dance and then feel like a self-righteous prat because he didn't really want to dance with her in the first place and only did it to avoid looking too pathetic.

Hermione would stay with him. He knew this. She wouldn't leave his side just to dance with some girl dressed up as a fairy as Ron would. He would strike up conversation and people would then look at him and see that he was far too busy having fun talking to his best friend than to dance.

Besides, he was just about the worst dancer ever.

Ron's eyes scanned the place, though he and Harry could only see dark figures from outside their three feet of light. "D'you really want to ask me that?"

"There's no harm in asking."

"She'll be here, don't worry. Just look for someone dressed as a book - that's her."

Harry looked at him. "She told you what she's coming as?"

Ron scoffed. "No. I just know. She's just dreadfully predictable."

Harry, suddenly remembering the Yule Ball in fourth year, wanted to disagree. But he felt that flipping inside his stomach again and he felt too discomfited to utter a word aloud.

Fifteen minutes later, the two boys watched as the lights suddenly flickered on. Their Glow Globes lost their point and everyone looked around and saw everyone else.

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. But that was before he realized that now everyone could see how he was dressed - and not just the people who just happened to come within three feet of distance in front of him.

By some odd occurrence, it was then that they found the twins roguishly standing in front of them again.

"That means break time," said George. "Or someone was trampled over because of the darkness. I like the second one better."

Fred agreed.

"Still can't miss you in the orange there, Ronald," grinned George.

"Sod off," Ron told him.

"Has anyone seen-?" asked Harry, before his question was answered by none other than the person he was looking for.

"Seen who?" asked Hermione, who had also just miraculously appeared before them.

"My, my, my," said George, looking at the sight that was Hermione Granger. "And who might you be, Senorita?"

Harry's eyes were bulging out of their sockets. Ron seemed just as startled, but quickly composed himself - something that Harry was not able to do.

"Who… who are you supposed to be?" Ron asked, astounded.

Her face was bright and her hair was tamed into charming curls, a satin black ribbon in her hair. She was wearing a sky blue dress with a white apron that looked frighteningly familiar. And though Harry's heart was somehow attacking itself inside his ribcage, he could still recall his fairytales and he remembered that she must have dressed up as-

"Alice," Hermione said simply, looking jubilant. "You know, Through the Looking Glass? Alice in the Wonderland? It was one of my favorite books as a child."

"Really? I thought you'd go as a librarian or something, like Madam Pince."

Hermione's smile descended into a scowl, looking at him. "Oh, and you look just great in orange, Ronald," she said dryly, clearly not meaning it and meaning the exact opposite of her statement.

Ron responded by glaring at her.

"Hullo Fred, George," she said, finally acknowledging the two grinning idiots standing in front of her in a beard and in a dress. "I like your beard. And… I like your… wig." She tilted her head, squinting her eyes and slightly pouting her lips, scrutinizing George's costume. "You look exactly like her, you know."

Fred smirked seductively. "Hullo Alice," they both said in unison. "You look smashing."

Hermione smiled modestly, her cheeks flaring a rosy tint. "Thank you."

She then turned her gaze and looked straight at Harry, who quickly closed his mouth. She gave him a sincere smile, and he felt as if someone had just reached into his tummy, yanked it out, bounced it around, and roughly put it back in. His heart was also doing very odd things.

"Hullo Harry. I like your costume."

Harry could swear he heard singing in his ears. A violent jerk happened in his chest and he wondered if anyone else had seen it, or perhaps, heard it.

"Hullo… Hermione," he weakly said, trying to moisten his throat and mouth that had lapsed into a dry famine. He knew she was lying but he found it so hard to care. "I-I like yours, too. Very original."

She beamed at him. "Thanks."

Harry didn't know why he was feeling the way he was. She was dressed in a simple ensemble. Granted, her hair looked better than usual and she was wearing an actual dress (the first he'd seen her wear ever since the Yule Ball), but it wasn't as if it was anything special. It was no shimmering, fitting fairy outfit - that was for sure. So why was it that his conscience had seemed to dissolve down into a flimsy puddle when he'd first seen her? Even now?

He figured it was the whole dress thing.

Yeah.

The dress thing.

"I hear this is all your fault," said George, motioning towards the whole hall. "Congratulations. I have never been more tempted to beat up one of my own House - and one of my brother's best friends."

Hermione laughed. "Thanks. It was nothing, really. Just a few spells. I altered a few, especially for the floor," she said, looking down for a second. She was thrilled and he knew this because her beaming face gave everything away. "See, what I did was, I took the-"

"See, I didn't ask for an explanation," said George again. He was grinning again. "I reckon I can do just fine without it. Thanks, anyway. Maybe you can tell Ron."

"What took you so long?" said Ron. He pointed to her dress. "This took you nearly half an hour?"

"No," she answered. "I… well…"

"Forget it," he said, raising his hands and shaking his head. "I don't even have the will to want to know. But I think it's time for the dancing to start so just stay here with Harry while I go ask that fairy over there-"

He trailed off as he disappeared into the crowd. Hermione laughed, walking to where Ron had been, standing closely to Harry. Somehow, he was more aware to this and so was his entire body as it reacted a tad bit differently than before. He suddenly felt… warm.

"Having fun?" she asked him. Harry could see her looking at him from the corner of his eye. He could smell her dizzying natural fragrance and that didn't help so good, either.

Feeling a bit awkward to actually look at her right now, he fixed his eyes on the cat ears of someone in the crowd. "Yeah…. No. I'm not," he admitted. "Not at all."

"Oh." She sounded disappointed. "Well, it's not over yet, you still have some time. Why don't you ask someone to dance?"

"I don't like dancing," he told her. "I hate it."

"Are you hungry? There are some snacks and refreshments-"

"Not really."

Harry didn't know why he was acting like this. He seemed cold. He seemed rude. He seemed very detached. And he had no idea as to why. He couldn't even look at her because he could already feel his face flooding with heat.

Oh, how he wished the lights were turned down now.

"Harry?" He was startled as he suddenly found her face hovering too close to his. His breath stopped short in his throat, taking a step back.

Her face shrunk as she lengthened the distance between their faces, suddenly sidestepping in front of him. He was forced to look at her now, and he felt his face grow hotter.

If this wasn't humiliation, he didn't know what was.

"Are you feeling all right? You're-you're all flushed," she said, and she pressed one of her hands to his face. It felt cool and soft to his cheek, yet he felt a pool of warmth submerge from inside his belly. Harry shivered, his eyes locked on hers and he experienced a feeling of nervousness and fright start to flower inside his chest.

He wanted to avert his eyes to anywhere, anywhere except those adorable brown eyes of hers… but it was unfeasible. Since when had it become so impossible to look away from his best friend's eyes? Since when had they become adorable? Since when had she affected him like so?

It was the dress.

Definitely the dress.

"I'm-I'm fine," he stammered. "Just great."

"Are you sure?" she asked, looking skeptical. "Did you drink or eat anything that Fred and George offered you? Because if you did, then I positively think we should get you to the hospital wing straight away-"

"No, no," said Harry. "I didn't eat anything at all."

"Oh." She looked at him carefully. "Maybe that's it, then. You're getting awfully skinny."

She reminded him of Mrs. Weasley. Always fussing over his clothes, his health, and anything else that concerned him.

They fell into silence as Harry watched Hermione suddenly get a faraway look in her eyes. He felt uncomfortable as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, not knowing what to say to her but indeed knowing that this silence was almost really killing him.

"Are you… are you going to ask anyone to dance?" he found himself asking.

Her eyes regained their focus and zeroed in on him. She smiled sincerely. "Maybe. I don't know. I haven't danced since fourth year at the ball, and I'll feel sort of foolish…."

"If it helps, you can always look at Ron," suggested Harry. "You won't feel as big a fool then."

Hermione laughed, her eyes sparkling with amusement. "Even so, it'll be difficult. I do like your suggestion, though. But let Ron overhear it and he'll rip your head off." She was looking at him intently. "What about you? Certainly you can't just be standing here all night."

"I won't. I'll be sitting. Right over there," he pointed, directing his finger to the seated area. He could feel his face turn back into its normal temperature and he was all too glad of that.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous, Harry," she insisted. "You've got to ask someone to dance. And I know you don't like dancing - but that's not even as nearly a good excuse as it once was. Maybe… maybe you can ask Ginny," she said, brightening. "I've heard she's a great dancer. Good and coordinated on her feet, you know."

Harry felt something in his body slump. He didn't want to dance with Ginny and he guessed it showed on his face because she then mended her proposition.

"…Or, someone else to your fancy," she added on. "Anyone else. I just want to see you have fun. I don't want all my hard work on this night render useless because you're being a coward and won't even risk stepping out into the dance floor."

"Thanks," said Harry sarcastically. "I'll be sure to remember that."

She tried to smile reassuringly at him, but that was when the lights dimmed down again. It wasn't as dark as before - he could still see Hermione and everyone else, even Ron, who was chatting up that Ravenclaw prefect across the Hall - but the ambiance of the place had instantly turned romantic in a very subtle descent. Harry looked around above him, observing the surging and flashing lightning above him and then the immense illusion of a spider web beneath his feet. It still expressed that same dizzying infinite darkness and frailty that made him feel faint just by looking at it.

"All right, ladies and gents," boomed a familiar voice through the Hall. It was Lee Jordan, and Harry figured that they had asked him to be the emcee of the event, which didn't surprise him at all. He had a suiting personality and voice for it. "It's time to get groovy and to step on those toes of your partners. I assume now you've already got a dancing partner, and I say: good for you - Yes, to you too, George. Now let's get this party started."

The music was turned up, releasing a poppy, melodic beat. A thick, striking voice blended along with the song and Harry and Hermione only watched as the mob of their peers started to move along to it.

They were quiet for a few moments, just watching the throng of bobbing heads and bodies.

"I finally see what you were saying," said Hermione. "Ron is a terrible dancer. He looks like a confused ape with epilepsy."

Harry laughed. "You should've seen him before. I think he's actually improved from last year."

Hermione smiled.

After two songs of making remarks of the so-called "moves" of their peers, they retired to a table while sipping their butterbeers.

Harry felt more comfortable now, and he was entirely grateful for that. Though he did notice that his heart participated in a knee-deep plunge every time she smiled at him or laughed, or even just locked eyes with him. It was really starting to creep him out, but after an entire mug of butterbeer, his body's internal reactions started to simmer down. He began to think that maybe it was just because of a new perfume she was wearing - though he thought she certainly didn't smell any different.

But she was. Different. She just was, somehow. Maybe it was because he hadn't seen her this happy since Crookshanks died, or wear a dress since the Yule Ball. Or seen a black satin ribbon in her hair since… ever. But she was just different. Different.

Somehow, he just couldn't figure out the word.

The bass-pounding beat switched to a catchy slow melody and Harry's eyes trailed Hermione's lips as it stretched into a dreamy smile.

"I love this song," she told him. "It's beautiful."

Just then, as if Fred had been just standing by and eavesdropping for the perfect opportunity to ask her for a dance, he swooped on down, almost pouncing on her.

"Hermione - I mean, Alice," he said, tuning his voice to sound suave and very professional. "Couldn't help overhearing-" Yeah, no kidding, Harry bitterly thought. "-But I need to tap dear Ronald on the shoulder for a quick second and I even get near to him without-"

"Would this, by some chance, have a point in sight, Fred?" Hermione asked him.

"Albus, Albus Dumbledore," he corrected her. "And yes, yes it does. I was hoping you'd want to ditch Muggle Potter for a few minutes to dance with me - and maybe trip Ron on the way." He was smiling impishly.

"You're up to your old tricks, then," Hermione said amusedly.

"I hardly think `old' is the appropriate word. `Original' is more like it. So, what do you say? I don't think small talking Harry here would be quite as fulfilling as dancing with me."

Hermione craned her neck around. "Where's George? Why don't you dance with him?"

Fred looked thoughtful, stroking his white beard. "See, I thought of that. But we're brothers and even if we're in costume it'd still just be too strange and horrible and wrong on so many levels."

"And dancing with your youngest brother's best female friend isn't?"

He shook his head. "No, not nearly as that, no. Come on, aren't you fond of charity? Helping people out? I heard about that SPEW thing and I really want to trip Ron-"

"It's S.P.E.W.," she hastily corrected.

"My brother's a rat and you know it. So just dance with me until I get the chance, fulfill my destiny in making him look like a clumsy fool in front of his fairy, and then I'll even let you off scot-free by saying you had nothing to do with it."

She wrinkled her nose. "But don't you think it's a bit… I don't know -mean?"

He waved his hand. " `Mean' is only a point of view."

Hermione looked at Harry, looking doubtful. Harry realized that he didn't really want her to dance with Fred, but who was he to say such a thing?

She turned back to the waiting faux-Albus Dumbledore. "No, I apologize," she told him. "I won't do it."

He made a disgusted noise from his nose. "Well, you don't fancy him anymore, do you? What have you got to lose?"

Harry saw Hermione noticeably tense. Her face seemed blank for a moment before he could see the lines of strain embed on her face. She narrowed her eyes at him, giving him a teeth-gritting scowl. "Integrity. But I highly doubt you'd know what that word even means."

Fred pretended to flinch. "Ouch. Well, nice chatting with you children, but time's a ticking," he said cheerily. He turned away, his back to them. "Oy! Patil! Come here a second!" And then he whizzed out of their view.

"They live to rub that in my face, I'm sure of it," she grumbled.

Even Harry himself had felt more than a tad bit queasy when Fred had brought it up. "Yeah. It never gets old," he managed to say; though a big part of him wanted very badly for it to - in fact - get very old very fast.

Then another figure appeared before their table. It was Ernie Macmillan dressed as one of the Three Stooges, which made Harry then remember that he was a Muggle-born.

"Hullo Harry, Hullo Hermione," he said politely. He was grinning underneath his bristly mustache.

"Hullo Ernie," said Harry and Hermione consecutively.

"Hermione, I was just wondering if you'd want to… dance with me," he asked.

Hermione looked surprised. "Oh," she said, quickly glimpsing at Harry. "Harry, you don't mind, do you?"

"No, of course not," he answered very quickly, though there was a mild squirming in his stomach that very much disagreed.

"Great," she smiled. "Thanks. I'll be right back."

She stood, smoothing out her dress and hair, taking Ernie's arm as he thanked Harry and giving him one last look as they headed out to the dance floor.

And as Harry watched them, watched as Hermione laughed and Ernie made her laugh, the pair of them having clean old fun out there, he suddenly decided that: yes, he did mind, and an awful lot too, at that.

Though he couldn't figure out why. His best guess was that he had come to some assumption that Hermione would just sit there with him and keep him company while keeping him from looking like a total loser - and not leave him just to go off dancing with an attractive fairy as Ron had. But he noted somewhat sourly that he was quite wrong. She had left him not for a fairy - but for a Stooge. Things could not get any lower than that.

When she had finally returned, rosy-cheeked and looking absolutely over the moon, she hadn't even had the chance to take her seat when Seamus Finnigan appeared by her side. Harry found himself actually refusing the urge to glare at him.

"Greetings Harry, Hermione," he said merrily. "I just wanted to ask Hermione here for a dance."

Again, Hermione looked utmost surprised. Harry didn't feel so delighted his friend was suddenly getting a crate-load of attention from the opposite sex.

"Um, sure," said a flustered Hermione. Harry found himself feeling faintly disturbed at the fact that this time she hadn't asked his permission to go traipsing off with his bunkmate.

And then he was left all alone again, with only his empty glass of butterbeer to keep him company. He watched Hermione and Seamus for a few moments before he turned away. He felt sick seeing her with him.

I think it's all the butterbeer I drank, he silently groaned to himself. It's making me feel ill.

What Seamus failed to tell him was that he would be dancing with her for not one - but two whole songs, and that left Harry feeling rather perturbed. Both Ron and Hermione having fun and not him? Not only was he feeling laid up with jealousy but it was also maliciously unfair.

And when she did return to their table and a stuttering Neville arrived with a smoldering shade of red plastered all over his face, Harry was fed up.

"Hermione, I-I w-was j-just going to ask y-you for-"

"Yeah, what a surprise," muttered Harry. "Why don't you go ahead, Neville," Harry spoke up. "Hermione'll dance with you."

"Not that it was your offer to accept," said Hermione, "but thanks."

"No problem," he said, his voice giving out a slightly cold edge. "Now, excuse me. I have to go ask Ginny for a dance." He stood up, his wooden chair scraping against the tile floor, and he made his way to the cluster of girls beside the fountain where he had spotted her before.

When he finally found her, he was hesitant, but he pushed on. "Ginny?" he called through the music and the chattering of her friends. "Ginny!"

He tapped her on the shoulder and she turned around, smiling. She was wearing a mask that looked like cat on the top of her head with glowing green eyes. She was shocked to see him. "Harry," she said. "Are you looking for Ron? Because he's dancing with that Elsa Bel-"

"No, I'm actually not," said Harry. He felt awkward and nervous. "I was just wondering if you wanted to dance with me."

Her friends quieted down and stared at them. Harry wanted to tell them to sod off and forcefully shoo them out in another direction so they could give them some privacy.

"Really?" Her voice was high. "I mean - yeah, I'd love to." She was blushing and her friends looked lethally envious.

"Great," said Harry, though he knew someone who would strongly disagree: himself. He led the way as she followed behind him until they finally made it to the dance floor. He stopped, swallowing down hard in his throat, as he turned around. She was standing before him, smiling expectantly. She was wearing a slinky black leotard that hid nothing of her figure - a provocative number that he knew Mrs. Weasley would throw a hysterical fit over were she to ever see her daughter's outfit that she actually wore in public.

"Well… I suppose this is where we're supposed to start dancing."

Someone bumped into his shoulder, and his eyes were darting around for a sign of Hermione and Neville. "Right."

He awkwardly moved closer to Ginny and he observed that she looked completely at ease. She placed her hands on his shoulders and he tentatively put his hands on her waist.

It was a slow song and he scolded himself for his bad timing. Had he been quicker he would've caught a fast song and they wouldn't have needed any physical contact at all.

"Are you having fun so far?" she asked him as they swayed to the music.

Cruel as it was, Harry didn't really care if he stepped on her toes or not. He realized this as he watched her wince as his uncoordinated feet waltzed all over hers and didn't feel the need to apologize so rapidly. He did feel pity, though. "Sorry," he said, not sounding as if he meant it at all. A picture of Hermione with Ernie, Seamus, then Neville bounced into his mind. "No, not really," he answered truthfully.

"Oh. And why is that?"

Harry just stared at her. He knew he couldn't tell her why (he himself wasn't even certain why) but she was waiting for his answer. "I…I don't know."

"Well, maybe you should dance more." She winced again as Harry felt her foot underneath his. "Or maybe not. But I've seen Hermione dance with Ernie and Seamus and you've just sat there."

Harry suddenly felt defensive. "Is it a crime to feel tired and just sit down?"

Ginny looked taken aback by his aggressive tone. "N-no. Not at all. I was just trying to say that you should take advantage of this night."

Harry held back his snort.

Thankfully, their dance was a short one. He did feel guilty because all he did was look around for Hermione and Neville and didn't even try not to trample all over her feet, so he sincerely apologized for his bad dancing (if it could even be called that) and she only nodded, politely saying that it was all right, before she limped back to her friends.

He wearily made his way back to his table. His empty glass of butterbeer was gone and he figured that someone had picked it up and put it away. He leaned back on his seat, closing his eyes. His body felt heavy. He didn't know where Ron was for reason that he hadn't seen him all evening after he had taken off after Elsa the Ravenclaw, he didn't know where Hermione was-

"Harry?"

He opened his eyes and discovered a concerned face staring back at him.

Oh. There she was.

Her brows were cast downward, her lips pressed together with worry. "Are you all right? You look tired. Do you want me to take you back to the dormitories?"

"No," he said. "No. The party's not even over yet."

"Well, I can see that. But you aren't looking too good."

"That's rubbish."

She was unconvinced. "If you say so."

Oddly, as he sat there with Hermione again (she declined every offer to dance after Neville, which greatly relieved Harry) and they talked and watched everyone else dance, he felt better. More than better. He felt… great.

He even laughed at some of her jokes. Hermione was actually quite funny if she wasn't surrounded by her studies her books. And she was also quite… well, charming in Harry's eyes and he thought that to be peculiar for he'd most definitely never considered anyone to be "charming" before.

Maybe it was only because she looked so pretty tonight.

Yeah.

That was it.

The fast electronic song was momentarily silenced as Lee Jordan's voice dominated throughout the Hall again.

"All right, lads and lasses," they heard him say. "This is the last song for the evening before the costume judging. So let's make this worthwhile - and, no jiggling your bum, all right, George? For Merlin's sakes, let's keep it clean - but if the ladies want to get down and dirty, then I have no authority to object-"

Another slow song overlapped his voice and Harry could almost hear Professor McGonagall scolding Lee again as they watched her snatch the microphone from his hand.

But as Harry turned back to Hermione, he saw her gazing longingly at the dance floor. Her arms were folded on the table and her brown eyes were faraway and thoughtful. He gulped, looking down at the surface of the table, feeling his throat itch.

Her voice was quiet when it broke through his barrage of dazed contemplation.

"Harry?"

His head snapped up, locking eyes with her. Her brown orbs were uncertain but hopeful.

"I was wondering… since it's the last song… would you like to dance?"

Now, Harry hated to dance. He absolutely did. He hated the coordination of it that he completely lacked, the fact that every little step had to be done a certain way, and the awkwardness of it all. It was annoying and he hated it. If he had his way, he'd never have to dance again in his entire life.

But as she waited for his answer, looking hesitant but utmost earnest, he came to find that the word "No" had been swiped clean from his vocabulary. He couldn't turn her down - and the worst part was: he didn't want to. He actually did want to dance with her, no matter how horrible he was or how much he hated dancing. He knew it was because he was much more comfortable with her than he was with Ginny or with anyone else in this room, and so he knew there was no way it could be as uncomfortable as it had been with Ginny.

She was Hermione. His friend. She knew him almost as well as he knew himself. She knew he was a bad dancer, yet she was asking him. She was welcoming his clumsy feet, his terrible lack of synchronization. She knew the trouble she was getting herself into.

He felt his heart flutter violently.

"Okay," he finally said.

She was immensely relieved. "Splendid."

They both stood and he followed behind her as the slow harmony and the yearning, velvety voice filled their ears when they stepped into the land of slow-dancing couples. She leisurely came to a stop and slowly turned around, facing Harry with a small smile on her face. He could see that she was slightly nervous and he understood completely - he himself wasn't exactly so calm, either.

He came towards her until their bodies were only a foot apart and he gently laid his hands on her waist while she placed her feather-light and dainty hands on his shoulders, making shivers creep up his spine and weird sensations to buzz through his entire body.

She was only a few inches shorter than him and so he could easily look into her eyes without having to completely duck his head. She was smiling at him so softly, so tenderly as they swayed to the song that he unknowingly wound his arms around her waist, bringing her closer to him.

He'd never been this close to her before, and as he could see the dark flecks in her eyes and the adorable freckles sprinkled across her nose, it made something in his chest - his heart, his lungs, his ribcage - flop aggressively. He could smell the intoxicating, heavenly scent of her hair and he felt that rush of lightheadedness fluidly sashay across his skull again. Even his kneecaps felt a bit weak, as if they suddenly weren't strong enough to hold him up.

He saw her face twitch in pain as he felt his feet crush her own. His face heated up, mentally telling himself to mind his foot coordination, though he had never really had any at all.

"Sorry," he quickly said to her, embarrassed. "I… I told you I was horrible."

"It's all right," she reassured him. She smiled wryly and Harry could almost make out the pink tint of her cheeks. "I was prepared for this."

Though after the subsequent four more times he had managed to flatten her toes, he could have sworn he had reached new levels of blushing profusely. He'd never been so mortified and ashamed by his non-dancing skills before. He'd been more caught up in more serious matters than to actually consider taking dancing lessons… but right now, in an impulse just to impress her, he wished someone had taught him, even if it made only little difference.

Trying to avoid stepping on her toes again, he tried to focus on the pattern of their motion. Soon, he found his feet safely stepping down onto the tile floors. He hadn't noticed when she had suddenly strayed her gaze from his, but when he finally realized that he was no longer looking into her eyes and instead distantly looking at a point somewhere beyond her head, he discovered that she was now leaning her head against his shoulder. He was then overcome with a flurry of different sensations, his hand clutching her delicate hip and then brushing against her slender waist, the soft fabric of her dress sweeping against his warm fingertips.

He'd never danced like this with a girl before. He'd always been tense and awkward and at an arm's length, but with Hermione it felt… normal. How he could possibly distinguish what felt normal from something he had never done before, he hadn't a clue, but besides the light and flighty current state of his brain and the hot flipping of his stomach like it was a hotcake over a pan: it felt nice. Nice. She was soft and warm and smooth and he had never thought holding a girl could ever be such a mind-boggling experience.

His chin was beside the top of her head; her downy, gentle curls pressing against his face.

His heart was booming like a bomb ticking to its destruction. It made his throat unbearably dry all over again.

With the soft lights dimmed down and his heart beating in muffled thuds against his chest, having the sudden urge to close his eyes and soak in the moment, there was a flighty feeling inside him. One that made him curl his fingers against the material of her costume and his stomach partake in a How Warm Can You Get? Contest.

A feeling of pleasantness misted inside his brain and inside his lungs. The smell wafting about her almost made him want to bring her closer and just inhale that divine fragrance that made the rhythm of his breaths become languorous and savoring.

He didn't look much into the dreamy sensations that overtook his body while he was out here dancing with Hermione - his best friend. Because then that would involve thinking. And right now, right at this moment, all he could think about was how soft she felt, how lovely she smelled. And, oddly, how grateful he was that she had asked him to dance.

When the music slowly faded and the sound of Lee Jordan's voice echoed throughout the Hall despite the protests of one certain professor, all of the couples pulled apart. Harry and Hermione slowly did so, with Hermione grinning at him. Harry actually found himself smiling back.

"Thank you for the dance," she said. She extended her hand. "You're not too bad a dancer, I think. Have you had a few private lessons from someone? It certainly seems like it." Her eyes were sparkling radiantly.

He shook her hand. "If I said yes then I'd be lying."

Her smile firmed its place on her face. "I wouldn't have believed you anyhow. It's a natural talent, dancing."

Trying to ignore the rowdiness of his heart, they left the dance floor with a joyous Hermione on his arm.

And as Seamus beat Fred and George by a handful of cheers in the costume contest (infuriating the real Severus Snape), watching and laughing as Fred took his fake hooked nose and the twins dashed away with it, he couldn't help but think that this was the best party he'd gone to in a very long time.

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