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“Come and dance,” said Ron abruptly.
Hermione looked up at him, surprised, but unable to hold back a smile. Maybe he had listened when she’d said that next time there was a ball, he should have asked her before someone else did, and not as a last resort.
Pleased and a bit flustered, Hermione got up, following Ron toward the dancing floor. He walked forward with resolve, and Hermione could barely keep his pace, her heels unsteady on the grass.
“Ron,” she called with amusement, tugging at his sleeve. “My legs are quite shorter than yours, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Ron turned, his eyes wide in realization, his ears bright red. “Blimey,” he said, getting at her side with one stride. “Sorry.”
“Don’t worry.” Hermione smiled, linking their arms together. “I won’t let you run away so easily.”
Ron stared at her for a long moment, and Hermione’s cheeks heated up under his intense gaze. She could sense her blood pumping fast in her veins.
“I’d never run from you,” said Ron, voice low and deep.
She swallowed. “I know.”
There was a brief moment of silence, then Ron playfully nudged her shoulder. “Shall we go?”
They were soon engulfed by the growing throng, whirling around the dance floor with her hands on Ron’s shoulders and his long fingers tentatively laid on her waist.
“I think your legs are the perfect length, by the way,” said Ron with an affectionate smile. His eyes dropped on her bare thighs, and Hermione’s face flushed in a heartbeat. When their gazes met again, he definitely noticed the blush on her cheeks, because his eyebrows shot up, as he’d just realised what he’d said.
“I mean, er… with the heels, and… you know…” He made a vague gesture, shrugging. “It’s not like I’ve seen you often in a proper dress. It’s… you look great.”
“Thank you,” said Hermione, trying to ignore the butterflies in her squirming stomach. It was the second time he’d complimented her appearance in a single day, and she was pretty sure it’d never happened before. “You look pretty dashing yourself.”
She had spoken sincerely, but her honest remark was met with a scoff.
“I mean it!”
“Sure,” mumbled Ron skeptically, fidgeting with his collar.
Hermione smoothed it with her fingers after Ron had finished tormenting it. “Well, at least you’re more elegant than your ghoul.”
Ron chuckled, and she beamed at him.
“How flattering,” he joked, rolling his eyes, but Hermione could tell he was quite pleased from the way he tightened the grip on her hands to make her swing around the dance floor.
“What about Krum?” asked Ron abruptly one song later, his uncertain tone tainted by a hint of dread.
Hermione hesitantly lifted her head to lock their eyes together. “What about him?”
Ron’s Adam’s apple bobbled up and down, and he stayed silent for a long moment, holding her closer. Hermione suspected it was a pretext to avoid her gaze, but she still savoured the proximity of his lean body, the cosiness of his arms around her torso, the firmness of his chin against her temple.
“Would you pick him over me?”
The concern in Ron’s words was so blatant that Hermione felt her eyes prickle.
“For being so good at chess you’re really thick, sometimes,” she murmured.
Ron’s lowered his head and looked at her, a poorly-concealed and quite endearing hopefulness written all over his face.
“How so?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper. His breath was warm on her cheek, and she could smell the musky scent of his hair lotion.
“I’m here with you, aren’t I?”
Ron nodded slowly, his nose almost brushing hers, his lips slightly parted. Her skin tingled, and a shiver run down her spine. He was close, wonderfully close. Excessively close.
The realization of what they were about to do cut her breath, and Hermione hastily took a step back, her hands pressed against his chest to keep them apart, pushing away any lingering temptation to close the infinitesimal, immense distance between their lips.
Hurt flashed over Ron’s face, crumpling his beautiful feature, and her heart ached with sorrow.
“We can’t,” she said in a low voice, clasping his wrists. She needed him to understand, she needed him to see why they couldn’t jeopardize everything for that . She’d dwelled about it too long not to know it was a terrible idea. “We… we need to stay focused. We can’t let ourselves being distracted by… by anything that isn’t a Horcrux, or Harry, or… or getting back to our families in one piece. Getting our families back in one piece.” Her eyes watered as every damn time she thought about her parents, but before Ron could offer her a tissue, she pressed her fingers under her eyes to stop the tears without ruining her makeup. “I wish everything was different, Ron. I really do. But… we can’t afford to have other priorities. We can’t afford… this . Not now. Harry –” Hermione shut her eyes and inhaled deeply, bracing herself before saying out loud what they’d both always known, but had never dared to put into words. “Harry has to come first. At least… at least until everything is over,” she added, hoping it didn’t sound as desperate and naive as it did to her ears. Hoping she wasn’t the only one dreaming of an after that might never come. She grabbed his arms with urgency. “Please. Please, tell me you understand.”
Ron’s expression was pained, but he took a long breath and nodded. “I do. You’re right, we have to be there for Harry. We will be there for Harry, and we’ll do everything we can to get rid of those bloody Horcruxes and end fucking You-Know-Who, and then we’ll bring your parents back, and then…” His gaze flickered down to her lips and her heart beat erratically, then Ron cleared his throat, looking into her eyes with an adorable mix of sheepishness and determination.
“I could really use something good to look forward to for when it’s all over. You know, in case a world without You-Know-Who turns out to be a bit boring.”
“Yeah… I could too,” said Hermione, her lips tugged upward in amusement.
Ron looked at her with a tenderness that made her knees wobble. “So… just until it’s over?” he asked, voice loaded with hope and promises.
Hermione wrapped her arms around his waist, flushing their bodies together to rest a cheek over his beating heart.
“Just until it’s over.”
They kept swirling and dancing for several more songs, fueled by the prospect of a brighter future waiting ahead, driven by the certainty of having yet another thing to fight for.
They only stopped when her feet ached too much to stand, beaming at each other in the delusion that, at least until they left tomorrow, it didn’t mean having yet another thing to lose.