13. Bow to Your Partner

8 & 8th—Chapter 13—Bow to Your Partner

Hermione found herself staring blankly as Harry and Ginny snuggled together in the Gryffindor Common Room, occasionally sharing a kiss. She was used to their affection for one another, but usually she'd have Ron around to distract herself from it. Via conversation, of course.

As it was, she felt like a third wheel and quietly left to go patrol the halls. Ginny had been doing an adequate job as Head Girl, but every once in awhile, Hermione itched for the slight upgrade in status from Deputy Head Girl to normal Head Girl. She could dock points and award detentions, but all of that was optional. It was nice to have a badge and a position, but there was an air of the unofficial about it.

On the bright side, it did provide her the extra time for her schoolwork and studying that Prefect Meetings and patrol would have robbed her of, and goodness knew she needed to study. NEWTs were in May, giving her a mere six and a half months to prepare.

In classes, she and Malfoy were neck and neck. He'd at least slowed down his arm-raising a bit. She had an idea that he'd strained his own shoulder from it.

Wandering down a corridor, she stumbled into a group of Sixth Year Slytherins. They weren't doing anything against the rules, per se, but the way they stood there whispering was suspicious enough.

She was just about to slip by them when one girl stopped her. She was polishing her Prefects' badge with her thumb. "So it's you."

"Hello Astoria," Hermione said calmly, with just a faint hint of impatience.

The other girl smirked. "I'd congratulate you, but I don't think he's done anything yet."

"Congratulate?" Hermione had to raise her eyebrow at that. And who was this he? Ron?

"Oh, you'll see. He's denying it, but I'm sure he'll come around."

"Denying? I'm sorry, could you be a little more specific?"

Greengrass reached out, as if to pat Hermione's hand, but she froze and pulled it back. "Patience is the key to virtue. But who knows, maybe he'll come to his senses, remember who you are, and change his mind." She turned back to her group. "Come along."

They all sneered at her as they walked by. And so Hermione was left alone in the corridor, dumbstruck.

O

There was something a little strange about going to Good Grief class with someone missing. Because the majority of the activities they did were partner focused, August was left high and dry on that following Monday, due to Ron's busy Quidditch schedule.

"Miss Moon," Amorell said, and Hermione could tell August was hoping she'd be given the period as free time, "with Mr. Weasley gone, you'll be partnering with me." The other girl smiled politely despite the crow's feet of anxiety at the corners of her eyes.

"Professor?" Padma had raised her hand. "Why are all of the desks pushed back against the wall?"

Amorell leaned back against her own desk, shoving some of her blonde hair behind her ear. She slowly surveyed the room, her eyes twinkling at Harry and Hannah, August, Padma and Dean, and finally at Hermione and Malfoy. She seemed to linger on them, and her smile grew. "Today we'll be dancing."

Hermione honestly couldn't help it. She had to look at Malfoy to see his reaction to that. He had been leaning back in his seat with a blasé expression and his arms crossed, but he'd actually deflated some. He sent her a grimace, which she heartily returned.

"What kind of dance?" Padma pressed. She, at least, looked somewhat excited. Hermione wanted to add "and why?" to her query, but she bit her tongue.

"Today will be the traditional wizarding country dance. Next week—" everyone went slack-jawed, "will be something a little more modern. A little in-class dance party—freestyle." She beamed as if she were giving them a special treat they'd been begging her for for months.

Hermione's hand shot into the air. "Will that one be with our partners?" she asked.

Although Hermione knew full-well that Amorell was a witch anyway, she couldn't help but imagine her with green skin and warts, holding a burning broomstick out to a scarecrow. "Of course."

Hermione raised her hand again. "And why are we dancing? What does that have to do with grief counseling, house unification, or tolerance?"

"Why, Miss Granger, I thought it would be obvious. Five points from Gryffindor. Now, girls on the left, boys on the right, please."

O

Draco snickered at the expression on his partner's face. It almost made up for being forced to dance with her. Almost. He stood stiffly at the right side of the room, purposely distancing himself from Potter and Thomas. Granger sneered at him. There was a scratchy trickle of music coming from one corner of the room, which Draco recognized as Alvin Modkin's Fourth Symphony.

He smirked at Granger, and her brown eyes flashed at him.

Amorell clasped her hands, grinning at them before stepping between Draco and Thomas. "Now, Miss Moon? A demonstration, perhaps?"

The Moon girl blinked. "Um…?"

"Very good. Now, first, girls take two steps forward. Come on, Miss Moon. There's a girl. Now, men take two steps back, like so." And Amorell stepped back.

"Professor?" Granger had her arm raised as far as it would go.

"Yes?"

"Professor," she bit her lip, "doesn't the original dance require apparition from one side of the room to the other? Wouldn't that be a bit dangerous?"

Amorell waved her hand in dismissal. "You may be thinking of a different dance. The only magic in this one is some sparks." Draco really didn't like the way she emphasized sparks.

"Moving on, girls then walk to the end of the aisle on their left and men to the end of the aisle on their left. Then girls step back, men step forward, and everyone repeats that until we're in our original positions, just shifted apart a bit. That's called the First Mab. Now," and she stepped back in her original position and waved Moon into place, "let's all try it, starting with you two." And of course she was pointing at them.

Draco's mother had once tried to enroll him in dance lessons, and this was precisely what he would have been learning to do, if it weren't for the fact that he'd thrown a temper tantrum and broken a five-hundred-year-old vase with both magic and kicking, screaming that that was sissy stuff for girls and babies. His mother had used reparo, of course, but the point had still been made.

Now, unfortunately, it looked like he didn't have much choice, unless he wanted his marks to suffer. And so, when Granger took two steps forward, he took two steps back, with only a frown marking his discontent. He took his position next to Potter, and Granger stepped back where she had been before. Amorell and Moon went again, followed by Patil and Thomas, and finally Potter and Abbot went, each getting squished into their respective side of the classroom.

"And now Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger will each step forward. Now you're going to turn to face one another, bow," it took longer for them to bow to one another than anything else, "and then step forward to meet one another. Then the rest of us will repeat that. That's the Second Mab." With what was an incredibly disjointed grace, the rest of them finally ended up in two lines in their original positions, just squished together and facing a different wall.

Granger wasn't looking at him, and he couldn't say he especially wanted to look at her, either. They were scarcely a foot apart. He almost felt relief when Amorell deigned to put her hand on his shoulder and told him that he and Granger were to take a step back, crab walk to the other end of the two lines, and form an arch with their arms.

Almost relief. He still had been touched by Amorell, and though he and Granger had some space between them, they now had to keep their fingertips touching. The other couples—partners, he corrected, couples sounded too intimate—repeated their actions until they had all formed a long tunnel.

"Now, Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy will break off, join hands, and go through the tunnel together."

Amorell had been sent from the fieriest pits of the underworld, hadn't she?

Reluctantly, he held his hand out, and Granger just stared at it. "Professor, I really do have to obj—"

"Oh, come on!" With what was an entirely alien force within him, Draco grabbed her hand and pulled her through the human tunnel, Potter looking like he was having difficulty deciding between anger and laughter.

He'd been about to let go of her hand and wipe his own off against his robes, but she was staring at their hands again, and suddenly a different memory involving his hand sprung to his mind. His hand pressed into her mouth.

The most sickening wave of something went through him, like goosebumps and nausea and warmth, and he wondered if she were remembering the same thing.

Her hand wasn't really so disgusting as he would have preferred to have believed. There might have been a callus on her index fingertip, probably from turning pages, but otherwise her hand was completely soft, and warm, and… dare he think it, delicate.

He should not be thinking of Hermione Mudblood Granger's hand as delicate. Weak, yes, but delicate, no.

She seemed entirely transfixed, and the others were busy going through the human tunnel.

And so he did something entirely weird. He moved his thumb slightly to caress—tickle, he corrected—her palm. And her eyes snapped up to his. His thumb continued its circular motion as he watched her, and she bit her lip nervously.

Her lip. Why was he staring at her lip?

They were both snapped out of it as Amorell awarded them each five points for knowing to keep their hands held for the next part of the dance. Granger gave a tug, as if to pull away, but he wasn't done yet, and they apparently needed to hold hands and walk in a circle around the room together.

O

Hermione felt very odd. This was not how it had been when she'd dragged him around the school when he'd been blinded. This time they were actually holding hands, and Malfoy, the greatest git in the world, seemed to be finding some sick enjoyment in it. He was intentionally walking slowly, and his thumb was driving her insane. The ridges on it were slightly rough against her sensitive palm. By all accounts and means, it should have tickled.

But instead it was doing something entirely different to her. It sent the strangest little wave of tingles up her arm. And it was recalling to mind that time on the stairs and how his fingers had been pressed to her lips.

If she didn't know any better, she'd say that on some very surreal level of reality, Malfoy was flirting with her, and she was turning into a tingly pile of goo because of it.

They finished their circuit around the room, and he still hadn't let go. She wasn't sure she could stand it much longer. "Having fun?" she whispered.

He smirked. "Heaps." And he moved his thumb from her palm across her fingertips, the devil. "You've got a nice little hand here, Granger," he hissed, the smirk still in place.

The funny thing was that his smirk was reminding her of Astoria Greengrass, her own smirk, and her cryptic message.

And it clicked.

Oh, Merlin, she felt like she was about to vomit right then. She felt her hand go clammy in his, and he finally let go.

Greengrass hadn't been talking about Ron or anyone else who might have been on Hermione's okay list. She'd been talking about Malfoy. She'd been congratulating her because Malfoy had his eye on her, or something like that.

But it didn't make any sense. For years now, he'd gone on and on about how unattractive she was, not vice versa. And then there was her blood status. He wasn't supposed to overcome his prejudices against her blood status. It would be nice if he did, but was it even possible?

Unless he was just toying with her. A Slytherin like him was probably allowed to do that.

Out of the corner of her eye, she waited for him to wipe his hand against his robes, but he didn't. He was holding his hand loosely, fingers all apart, as if to preserve the muscle memory.

Maybe it wasn't too late to vomit.

Wouldn't it be nice if she sneezed on her hand? Then maybe he wouldn't want to hold it in the future.

Amorell went through several more circuits with them, but luckily Hermione was able to keep her hands to herself this time.

O

Well, Granger certainly seemed disturbed, in any case. Now that class was over, he found himself feeling oddly bashful, which wasn't exactly a normal emotion for him. He had no reason to be playing… well, not footsy. Handsy? With her.

Sweet Merlin, he was playing right into everyone else's trap.

Trelawney's idiotic prediction was swinging over his head like Damocles sword, and Greengrass's suggestion was an exact duplicate of it. Did that make it a double-edged sword?

He did not want to fall in love with Hermione Granger. He was not currently in love with Hermione Granger. He would not fall in love with Hermione Granger.

What he should do is go and wash his hands.

It occurred to him that it probably hadn't helped that he had played such an integral part in breaking the relationship between Granger and Weasley.

One week. In one week, he and Granger would be dancing again, and there would be no foolish folk dance to blame. Amorell had said it would be freestyle, which meant the possibility of slow-dancing, which meant being close to her. What if he liked it?

As much as he was loath to admit it, he had liked holding her hand. He had liked making that reaction go through her.

But he had always liked making her nervous, right? This wasn't the same.

O

Hermione felt weirdly jittery all throughout the rest of the day. In Candanver's class, she and Ginny and Harry worked on a potion together, and she somehow managed to keep herself from staring at the back of a certain blond head every five minutes. She got it cut down to every half hour instead.

"Ron should be back tonight," Ginny said, as she chopped a fig into twenty-seven equal parts.

It took Hermione a moment to answer. "Oh? Good." And it was good. She had said she wanted to remain friends, hadn't she?

"He should be staying until the weekend after next. He's got his first big game coming up. Mum and Dad are trying to get tickets. Maybe we can all go?"

"Of course, right, Hermione?" Harry asked, looking skeptically at her.

She smiled, perhaps unconvincingly. "Right. Unless he doesn't want me there," she added.

Harry waved his hand. "I don't think he'd have it any other way." She didn't answer, choosing to juice a shriveled bean. "Anyway, with him back, I'm sure August will be happy."

And that made her snap her head up. "What? What do you mean by that, Harry Potter?" she nearly shrieked.

Harry had to hold his hands up in surrender. "Just that I don't think she'll be wanting to partner with Amorell for dancing a second time, is all."

She blinked. "Oh. Of course not." Ron would be there during their little dance party, wouldn't he? That might prove awkward.

It had been thirty minutes, so she allowed herself a quick peek at the back of Malfoy's head. He seemed immersed in making his potion, though that didn't mean he hadn't been listening in. He was prone to that, after all.

He and Greengrass were probably just playing with her, like a cat with its prey. If he hadn't made that comment about her hand being nice and little, she might have been able to say he had a nervous twitch, and he hadn't meant to caress her at all.

But she could only delude herself so much.

O

A.N.: Well, this took me awhile to write. Sorry about that, ladies and gents(?). I did warn you that updates are slowing down over the summer. I've got a lot of other things I should be doing instead.

This chapter can be blamed on all of the square-dancing I had to do in P.E. in third, seventh, eighth, and ninth grade. This dance was completely made up, though I had Pride and Prejudice in mind.