Disclaimer: See Part 1
Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for reading and reviewing the first two parts. This is Part 2 of 3 of the Yule Ball, the way it should have been. Enjoy!
The Only Girl
The Way You Look Tonight: Part 2
When everyone was done eating, Dumbledore stood up, asking the students to do the same, whereupon he made all the tables fly back to line the walls, leaving the floor clear. Then he conjured a raised platform along the right-hand wall and a set of drums, several guitars, a lute, a cello and some bagpipes were placed on it.
The Weird Sisters paraded onto the stage to enthusiastic applause; Harry couldn't help but think that they looked rather like the traditional Muggle stereotype of what witches looked like, with wild hair and dressed in ripped black robes.
And then Harry belatedly remembered just why he'd been dreading the Yule Ball so much; the champions all had to dance with their partners. For a moment, he felt a flare of panic inside his chest and he was tempted to flee-where he didn't know, anywhere he wouldn't have to dance in public. But then he felt Hermione's hand on his arm, gently tugging him to his feet, and he stood up, half-tripping over his dress robes as he did so. She sent him a reassuring glance and he felt marginally better as the Weird Sisters began playing a slow, melancholy tune. He kept his eyes focused as much as possible above everyone's heads or, barring that, on Hermione. And he was beginning to feel much better when he and Hermione came to a stop on the dance floor and he realized with a jolt that in order to dance, he and Hermione were going to have to touch, to stand close- too close- together. He swallowed hard and fought back a blush as he placed a tentative hand on Hermione's waist and held her hand with his other hand and, slowly, they began to dance. Or more accurately, they started revolving slowly, taking small steps sort of in unison with the music, while he kept his gaze focused on the walls above people's heads as he could sense Ron staring at them (as he'd been doing off and on the entire evening) with narrowed eyes.
And he absolutely did not notice the warmth of Hermione's body through the rather flimsy fabric of her dress robes or the fact that they were standing so close together he could feel her every breath or the fact that Hermione was the perfect height so that positioned as they were, if she just lifted her head and he met her eyes, their lips would end up within inches of each other. He didn't notice the way her hand fit within his and somehow felt- right- there. He didn't notice some of the lingering curls of her hair just touching her neck or how smooth and soft the skin of her neck looked or how his fingers nearly itched to touch her neck to discover if her skin could possibly be as soft and smooth as it looked.
He didn't notice any of those things. And if he kept on telling himself that, maybe it would somehow come true.
He didn't want to notice any of those things about Hermione, about dancing with Hermione. That way led to things, to thoughts, to feelings, he didn't want to think about; could change things and that terrified him more than anything else in his life to date. He was comfortable with things the way they were, with being simply best friends with Hermione and not really noticing how pretty she was or anything.
Harry was so distracted by his thoughts that he was startled when he realized that other people had joined them on the dance floor, which meant that the champions were no longer the center of attention. The worst part of the evening was over, he realized-and it had even been rather fun. Because it was Hermione.
As if she had read his mind, she looked up at him at that moment with a small smile as she said softly, "See, this wasn't so bad, was it?"
He smiled back, sincerely. "That's because it's you," he told her simply. "I'm sure if I had come here with anyone else, it would have been terrible."
"Oh honestly, Harry…" Hermione demurred but there was a pleased flush on her cheeks.
He shrugged a little, or as much as he could while still dancing. "It's true." He paused and then added softly, partly by way of thanks and partly because he wanted her to know, "You look really pretty tonight."
"Thanks, Harry." She grinned up at him and then, lowering her voice as if she were going to tell him a secret, confessed, "I used up almost a full bottle of Sleakeazy's Hair Potion to make my hair look like this."
He grinned at her, thinking that this was what he liked about Hermione; she wasn't silly about things like this like other girls were and could even laugh about how she'd worked so hard to look good. He seriously doubted there was another girl in existence who would have told him that, no matter how much Sleakeazy's Hair Potion or other beauty-enhancing magical products they'd used. "Did you really?" He made an exaggerated show of pretending to study her hair style before saying, "Your hair looks nice."
She smiled at him, her eyes sparkling with amusement.
And then he surprised himself by blurting out, "But honestly, I think your hair is fine without Sleakeazy's too."
"Harry, my hair is bushy," Hermione whispered in the tone of one announcing a terrible, but obvious, truth.
"Yeah, but it's just part of what makes you Hermione." And I kinda like you as, well, you, he thought.
But then he saw the way Hermione's eyes shone and her expression softened. "Oh, Harry, that- that's the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
And he realized he had spoken his thought out-loud. Oops. He made a mental note that apparently trusting Hermione the way he did was not always a good thing; it made him too likely to simply blurt out what he was thinking without stopping to reflect on what he was saying.
He hastily took the opportunity to look around him, seeing Dumbledore waltzing with Madame Maxime, which was a rather comical sight given that the top of his tall pointed hat barely reached her chin but he was surprised to see that Madame Maxime actually moved quite gracefully for all her size. Mad-Eye Moody was dancing, in his rather ungainly fashion, with Professor Sinistra, who kept one nervous eye on his wooden leg.
"Hi, Professor Moody," Hermione greeted him with a slight smile.
"Granger," Moody nodded and then added, "Nice socks, Potter," in his gruff voice as he passed, his magical eye staring through Harry's robes and his shoes.
"Oh- yeah, Dobby the house-elf knitted them for me," Harry grinned.
Hermione smiled to herself; she hadn't known that Harry would still be wearing the mis-matched socks Dobby had knit for him with his dress robes. The fact that he was- and that he'd admit it so freely (and she had caught, even if she knew Harry hadn't, Parvati's look of disapproval as Parvati had been within ear-shot when Harry had admitted that), was just one of those things she really liked about Harry. He was nice, for lack of a better word; he wasn't mean or thoughtlessly cruel or a bully or any of the things he could have become after finding out that he was such a hero in the wizarding world. He was nice to Neville, nice to Colin Creevey despite his irritation at Colin's enormous case of hero-worship, simply nice.
Harry looked back at Hermione after attempting to catch Ron's eye as he passed close by but Ron seemed deliberately avoiding looking at him and at Hermione, to see the lingering soft smile on Hermione's lips and the oddly- soft was the only word he could think of- expression as she looked at him. "What is it?"
Hermione shook her head slightly as if to dismiss her thoughts and only admitted, "Nothing; I just remembered one of the reasons why you're my best friend."
The look in her eyes told him more than anything else, although he was still at a loss to imagine what had brought this on, and so he fell back on humor. "You mean, because I'm one of the school champions?" he joked lightly.
Hermione laughed, falling in with his joke. "Oh, that of course, and the fact that you're famous and all."
Harry laughed, reflecting that only with Hermione, really, and with Ron now, could he joke about this because he knew that Hermione, of all people, was the one who really cared least about his fame or his hero status.
The final quavering note of the bagpipe ended and everyone applauded. Harry was aware of a distinct reluctance to let go of Hermione and that feeling terrified him enough to make him resolve that he shouldn't dance with Hermione again, at least not immediately.
"Let's sit down," he suggested instead. "I'm kinda thirsty," he lied as the Weird Sisters began their next song, which was a much faster one.
"Okay," Hermione agreed and they started to make their way off the dance floor, skirting around Fred and Angelina, who were dancing so energetically that everyone was leaving a wide radius of room around them.
"Uh- Hermy-own?" Suddenly Viktor Krum was standing in front of them, looking distinctly uncomfortable as he nodded rather stiffly at Harry who nodded just as stiffly back.
Hermione smiled in a friendly fashion, the same sort of smile she used to make Neville feel less self-conscious. "Hi." And for a moment, Harry wished, irrationally, that Hermione weren't such a nice person and inherently incapable of exploiting someone's obvious nervousness, if it would mean that she wouldn't smile like that to Viktor bloody Krum.
"Vill yu dance vith me?" he blurted out.
Hermione hesitated and then turned to Harry. "Harry, do you mind if I dance with Viktor for this song?"
Yes! A small voice inside Harry's brain nearly shrieked out a protest but he squelched it. He would not be mean. After all, he told himself, it was just one dance and she was still there with him and would be spending most, if not all, of the rest of the evening with him. Only one dance. He could be nice-and, after all, he knew that Krum had wanted to come to the Ball with Hermione in the first place and might even have come with her if it hadn't been for him, pushing away the automatic flare of protest at the thought of Viktor Krum coming to the Yule Ball with Hermione as his date.
He managed a smile. "I don't mind. Go ahead. I'll just go sit with Ron," he added, spotting Ron sitting on the sidelines with a disgruntled-looking Parvati sitting close by.
And he felt that his magnanimity was (almost) fully repaid by the bright smile Hermione gave him and the brief touch of her hand on his arm. "Thanks, Harry."
Quite candidly wishing that the entire country of Bulgaria along with every person named Krum could be at the bottom of the ocean, Harry trudged over to where Ron was sitting.
"Hey," he greeted Ron with an attempt at a grin.
Ron acknowledged him with a rather sour glance. "Where's Hermione?"
Harry felt his grin vanish as he waved a hand in the general direction of the dancing couples. "I let her dance this song with Viktor Krum."
Ron turned to gape at Harry as if he had just announced that Hermione was dancing with Voldemort himself. "You- what? She's dancing with who?" Ron swung his head over to glower at the dancing couples until he caught a glimpse of Krum and Hermione over at the far side of the dance floor.
Harry looked too, unable to stop himself, noting darkly that Krum seemed to be quite a good dancer and that Hermione appeared to be enjoying herself.
Bloody Krum. Bloody Durmstrang. Bloody Bulgarian. Bloody Quidditch star.
He was momentarily distracted from his brooding on Krum and Hermione by Parvati leaning over to ask Ron if he minded whether she danced with a boy from Beauxbatons.
"What?" Ron asked distractedly, still glowering out in Krum's direction and Parvati flounced off with an angry sniff and a "Never mind," that made Harry feel a fleeting moment of pity for her. It wasn't her fault that Ron could be single-minded at times and was currently focusing that attention on Hermione and Krum.
He wondered, not for the first time, whether Ron fancied Hermione to make Ron so dour all evening or whether Ron was merely being over-protective as he was with Ginny.
The idea of Ron fancying Hermione sent a jolt of dismay through Harry and he studied Ron out of the corner of his eye, wondering if it could be true. Could Ron fancy Hermione? He still fought with her and argued with her as often as ever, still disagreed with her and still said things that were almost exactly designed to, if not deliberately hurt, at least anger Hermione.
No, Ron couldn't fancy Hermione, not with the way he bickered with her. And the fact remained that Ron's glowering expression showed remarkably little difference when he was watching Hermione and Krum than when he was watching Ginny with Neville.
Harry's eyes went back of their own volition to where he could just see Krum and Hermione past the other couples and felt something clutch at his chest as he saw Hermione laugh at something Krum said. He tore his gaze away from them, trying to focus on the sight of Hagrid dancing with Madame Maxime or Cho dancing with Cedric (in a futile attempt to forget about Hermione).
And then he felt Ron dig an elbow into his side, making him start, as Ron hissed, "Look, he's kissing her hand!"
Harry turned his head sharply to see that Krum was, indeed, bending over Hermione's hand and kissing it, in a gesture that would have seemed ridiculously fake if anyone else (that is, if Harry) had done it but which Krum- the blasted Bulgarian- somehow managed to make seem merely gallant.
Hermione looked surprised but also, Harry noted with dismay and a growing dislike of Krum, flustered and a little flattered and a little pleased.
Bloody Bulgarian trying to charm someone else's date like that.
Hermione made her way over to where they were, her face slightly flushed from dancing to the fast-paced song, and smiled at them both. "Hi."
She sat down next to Harry and smiled brightly at him.
Harry returned her smile automatically. "Did you have fun?"
She nodded and answered, "Viktor's actually quite nice if you get to know him. He-"
Ron cut her off sharply. "Viktor? You call him Viktor now? What, he hasn't asked you to call him Vicky?" Ron's tone somehow managed to make both Viktor and Vicky sound more like epithets than names.
"What's up with you?" Hermione asked in surprise and some dawning irritation.
"If you don't know," Ron bit out scathingly, "I'm not going to tell you."
Harry guessed that Ron was only saying that to make Hermione angry because every inch of his posture, to say nothing of his expression and his tone, told that Ron was positively itching for a fight when he could tell Hermione exactly what was bothering him.
Harry turned to Hermione, trying to pretend he hadn't noticed anything unusual about Ron's deliberately baiting manner, and suggested, "Let's go get something to drink. Aren't you thirsty?"
Hermione gave him a grateful look, standing up immediately. "Yes, thanks, Harry."
Harry stood up as well and carefully avoided looking back at Ron as he and Hermione left, wondering why he suddenly felt like a traitor to his best friend for trying to evade what had all the promise of turning into one of Ron and Hermione's worst rows yet, a positive brawl rather than simply bickering.
To be continued with eavesdropping and the Yule Brawl the way it should have gone…