Hogwarts Cotillion

By Charlene

“Why so distant, Harry?”

Harry awoke from his thoughts as he again focused on the woman he was dancing with. She was one of his partners at the Ministry, Madeline. “Oh, I’m sorry, Maddy. My mind seems to be elsewhere.”

Madeline smiled, one hand clasping his and the other resting on his shoulder. She was very pretty with her straight black hair and her milk-chocolate-colored skin. “I noticed. It’s amazing just how far away from yourself you can be sometimes, Mr. Potter. Even when you’re standing right here in front of me.”

He grinned as they danced to the slow mournful tune that quivered from the orchestra in the front of the room. “Oh no, trust me. I’m right here in the room.”

They were at the Hogwarts Cotillion that took place every year. Students from before who had graduated came back to visit for an evening of dancing, champagne, and fun. Everyone was dressed in old ballroom costumes and gowns, and the Great Hall had been magicked into a wonderfully lit ballroom with a breathtaking crystal chandelier that dazzled over the smooth stone dance floor.

The song ended, and the audience applauded lightly as Harry, clad in a flattering emerald green suit with a ruffled collar, tan pants with tall socks, and black buckled shoes, stepped back from Madeline and took a courteous bow. But it didn’t matter how handsome his outfit was; his hair wouldn’t lay flat. The thing is, no one really seemed to think any less of The Boy Who Lived. The guys he shared his dormitory with during school laughed with him like always and offered him champagne from possibly every country in the world; every woman in the room had asked him to dance, and needless to say, he danced with every one of them. Everyone that is, except for the only woman he wanted to dance with. . . .

He glanced around to ballroom, trying to see if he could spot her. Where had she gotten to? She had walked in with him into the Cotillion, now she was missing. For a moment, he thought his eyes had landed on her, when suddenly, Parvati Patil, who had danced with him a good five times, jumped in front of him, grinning widely with her sparkling pink ball gown.

“Another dance, Harry?” she asked as he struggled to get around her, but she wouldn’t let him pass.

He shook his head, attempting and failing to sidestep her. “No, sorry . . .”

Parvati tried to grab his hands, but he slipped out of her grasp, thoroughly annoyed, and walked past her with a short, “Sorry . . .”

“Owl me later!” she called to him, but he rolled his eyes, and realized the place he thought he’d seen his missing woman was now void of her.

Walking around the room, he began asking everyone if they had seen her. “No,” they replied. “Why don’t you ask . . . ?” But he’d already be walking away to someone else.

Finally, he gave up, and decided to get some air. It was rather stuffy in the Great Hall, and the costume wasn’t making anything better. Loosening his collar slightly, he made his way to the balcony and opened the glass door only to find her standing right in front of him. Her honey brown ponytail and beautiful sky-blue gown were rippling in the light midnight breeze as she leaned on the magically lit rail of the balcony, gazing at the stars almost . . . sadly.

“Hermione.”

Hermione gasped and looked around, and then when she saw Harry, whipped back around, but not before Harry saw her tear-filled eyes. “Oh, hello Harry,” she said in a forcibly pleasant voice. “I haven’t seen you almost all night.”

Harry walked over next to her, placing his hand on hers to get her attention. “Hermione, why are you crying?”

“I’m not.”

“Yes you are. I can see it.”

“I’m not crying, Harry.”

Sighing heavily, Harry dropped the subject. “Okay then. Well, here’s another question then. Where were you?”

“Here.”

Harry flushed stupidly. “Well, yeah, but why didn’t you tell me? I’ve spent the best on three hours looking for you. I wanted to dance with you, and I couldn’t find you!”

To his surprise, she shrugged, still staring at the velvety sky. “Didn’t seem so. You were too busy dancing with all those women; I didn’t want to butt in.”

“Butt in?” he said incredulously. “Hermione, I’d have stopped mid-step to replace one of those broads with you if you asked. You know that, sweetheart.”

“And you know how rude that is,” she snapped, whirling her head around to glare at him, and then, thinking better of it, softened, turning back to lean on the rail that had multicolored lights strung around it. “I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t feel like dancing, to tell the truth. Besides, it’s nice and cool out here . . .”

Harry’s eyes unconsciously dipped down her pale neck to the astounding sapphire around her neck. On her arms were long white gloves that went all the way to her upper arms, matching the white folds at the neck of her dress. All in all, she looked simply amazing. Harry couldn’t take his eyes off her, and a warm feeling was spreading through her from where their hands were touching. When, he thought, did this girl become such a . . . such a woman?

“You know,” she said softly, jerking him out of his reverie, “I’ve never really looked at the stars. I mean,” she added with a short laugh, “of course I’ve looked at them. In Astronomy. And then the occasional glance into the sky at night. But I’ve never really looked at them. Really taken in how marvelous it is.”

Harry nodded, leaning on the balcony with her, not looking into the sky, but rather at the gorgeous woman standing next to him. Luckily, Hermione didn’t notice, because he was sure she’d probably walk away. “Likewise,” he murmured, still entranced.

Hermione whistled. “Whew, what a view. Beautiful, eh?”

No answer.

Looking around at her best friend for almost ten years, she saw, with a jolt of surprise, that he was staring at her, deep green boring intently into warm chocolate. When he spoke, his voice was deep and rumbling. “Yes. Beautiful.”

He heard her breath hitch in her throat. Slowly, he took a step and turned towards her. “Very beautiful, in fact. You were right. I never did notice.”

Hermione’s breathing was now fast and croaky as she turned towards him in turn, closing the distance between each other. Harry reached a white-gloved hand up and brushed a loose strand of honey brown hair out of her eyes, which were glistening in the many colored lights surrounding them. He lifted his other hand, holding her face between them with tender softness.

“Harry, stop . . .” she whimpered untruthfully.

He blinked, shaking his head slowly. “I can’t.” She shut her eyes as his thumb brushed over her cheek with such a gentle force she looked ready to cry. “I’m sorry, Hermione, but . . . but I think I love you.”

Biting her lip, her eyelids fluttered as he pressed his lips to her forehead. “Harry . . .”

He pulled back slightly, to look into her face, and her eyes opened slowly, gazing wearily into his. “Harry,” she breathed, “I . . . I --”

But Harry ended both of their troubles and brushed his lips against hers in the softest of kisses, but he didn’t deepen it. It was like testing the waters; merely dangling his toes in, unsure if he wanted to plunge in without her consent.

Her eyes closed absentmindedly and her lips parted slightly, the sound of her panting driving both of them over the edge. It wasn’t long before her arms eased themselves around his waist, lacing her silk-gloved fingers behind his back. Then slowly, very slowly, she stood on her toes and gently covered his mouth with hers.

It was as if fireworks had gone of in Harry’s head at the feeling of her angelically soft lips crushed against hers. In all his twenty years, he had never felt this way. Not only did it feel right, it felt as if he had never lived until now. All his doubts, fears, worries, troubles . . . all of them were swept aside and the rush of a friendship with the one he loved suddenly second to what they were now was gushing nonstop from his heart.

The tiniest, sweetest whimper escaped Hermione’s throat, and Harry’s tongue was suddenly against her lips, teasing her, begging entrance, which she hesitantly granted, and Harry’s fingers had wended into her hair and pulled her tighter against him. The arms around him got tighter and tighter, and their chests were mercilessly pulled against one another.

Then, Hermione tore her mouth away, her breathing ragged and rough as she rested her chin on his shoulder, her mouth beside his ear. “Harry,” she gasped. “Harry, not now, not here . . . it can wait until later . . .”

He grinned, his breathing equally heavy. He stroked the open cleavage made visible by the backless dress, making her shiver and collapse against him completely, and whispered to her, “My thoughts exactly.”