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He’s not quite sure when it started. Neither of them are. He knows it’s been building up since Ron walked out. If he were to be honest with himself, it’s been building longer than that. Much longer.
Possibly seven years, two broken hearts, and a train ride longer.
But who’s really counting.
He’s not sure what compelled him to move that night. What force of nature took over his feet and guided him across the room towards her. He doesn’t know what made him get up, but it was all his own decision to hold out his hand.
He’s not sure what he’s waiting for. Acceptance, rejection, a gentle let down, declarations of bottled up feelings. The look that passes through her eyes is unreadable to him. For once in his life he has no idea what his best friend is thinking.
He’s almost surprised when she places her much smaller, warm hand in his.
Almost.
He knows what she feels, and she knows that he knows. She knows he feels the same thing. That this is the last thing either of them expected to happen and sweet Merlin what are they doing. Why now. What’s so special about now, that this couldn’t have happened a year ago after that Quidditch game or three years ago at the Yule Ball or even four years ago on a moonlit night, sitting in the Forbidden Forest with a hippogriff catching birds from the sky behind them.
He reaches behind her, unhooking that godforsaken locket, and she fights back the shiver that runs up her spine when his fingers brush against the back of her neck.
It’s like gravity after that. He walks them backwards and she lets him. She forgets to put up that wall that she’s been hiding behind for the past who knows how long and every emotion, every thought and feeling, parades through her eyes, unfurled across the tent floor.
He never quite imagined that happening - didn’t imagine any of this - and he thinks he should be afraid. But he’s not and he doesn’t question it. He lets it happen because somehow he just knows. Knows this is supposed to happen. Knows something about this is right.
It’s like gravity and he’s not sure what’s moving his feet, but he leads and she follows.
Once they reach the middle of the tent though, that force of nature pulling him decides to leave; throws him out into the middle of the ocean to drown or make do with what he’s been given. He almost flees. Almost ducks out with profuse apologies and promises of it never happening again. But there’s this look in her eye; a spark of something he can’t pinpoint or name and he knows she doesn’t have a word for it either, but it holds him there. Holds them both there.
He mentally grasps at straws, knowing he can’t run and he can’t just stand there. He does the first thing his muddle mind thinks of.
He dances.
It starts as a slow sway, easing them into some sort of blundering rhythm. She’s hesitant and he has to steer her along; tentatively moving their bodies to a beat that doesn’t match the song in the background. Some sort of beat that’s all their own.
She’s still uncertain and rather confused and startled by the whole thing, but it doesn’t take much coaxing to break her out of that shell.
The dance is sweet and playful and carefree. He can’t remember a time he’s felt this good, this happy, in so, so long. His entire existence has been wrapped up in all the must do’s and the have to’s and the ‘save us, Harry!’s and he doesn’t even remember a time he wasn’t worrying about one thing or another. Now it’s gone and all thoughts and worries have flown out the window and its all hermionehermionehermione and absolutely nothing else matters.
The song picks up and they still aren’t matching the beat, and neither of them could care less.
But every song comes to an end, and this one is no different.
They slow down; match the ending. He presses his face into her shoulder, inhales deeply. She rests her chin against his shoulder, inclining her head so it rests against his. They slowly turn. Slower and slower. He unconsciously holds her tighter, doesn’t want to let go just yet. Merlin, please not yet. They come to a full stop and he’s pretty sure he’d be perfectly content to stay like that forever, but she’s the one who pulls away.
They watch each other; carefully as if walking on shattered glass. She keeps averting her gaze, not quite able to look him in the eye. He wants to duck his head, catch her eye and hold her there. But that’s her decision and he knows it. Knows that she knows it.
Finally, finally, she looks at him. His hand is still on her waist, his fingers curling loosely around the fabric, and their hands have dropped to their sides; both still suspended in mid-air. Not quite touching but so so close to doing so. So close that he feels when her fingers twitch, as if she were fighting some sort of inner battle with herself over taking his hand again. Her eyes drop to said hands and she takes a breath, holds it. She looks back at him and there’s that spark again and his breath hitches.
That’s it. That’s it.
And suddenly the world’s not quite straight anymore; tilted on its axes and he feels a bit dizzy. He wants to fall forward; fall into her. With her. Anything, as long as she’s part of it. He realizes that this is why everything with Ginny has never felt quite right, always empty. This never happened with Ginny. This is what was supposed to have happened with Ginny. He’s not sure he wants it to happen with Ginny anymore. He’s positive he doesn’t. This kind of thing doesn’t happen twice anyway.
It takes her a heartbeat longer to get it, for it to click in her own head. He knows when she knows. She inhales deeply, holds it again, her eyes widen just barely and her body tenses. He almost lets go. Almost gives her space. Almost makes her decision simpler.
But then that would be making things easy, now wouldn’t it.
And now that the world has tilted and his heart is no longer his anymore, he’s not about to offer up the easy way out.
He waits. His hand still outstretched towards hers, finger tips barely touching. And he waits. He can almost see the wheels turning into overtime in her head. Her mind trying to analyze and pick a part every word, every thought, every action since this began. She won’t get it, but she’ll damn well try. Try until her head is spinning and she must face what’s always been there, staring right in front of both of them.
They stand there, and it feels like forever. They’re both exhausted but neither move. He waits and she thinks.
She finally comes to the conclusion that she’s overthinking the painfully simple.
'Harry..’ the name passes from her lips, softer than a whisper; if he hadn’t been so close he’d have missed it. And there’s everything in that one word, that one utterance of realization.
He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and she leans forward, leans into him. She tucks her head under his chin and he wraps his arms around her, pulling her closer. He feels her breathing pick up pace and her arms hesitantly, cautiously, come up to wind around his waist.
And he knows that their not quite there yet. That she’s not quite ready and he still has to face his death and there’s still a war going on around them and they still have to save the world. But now he knows and she knows, and that’ll be what keeps them going from then on out. That’ll be what keeps him alive and what keeps her digging through numerous books for the answers. It’ll be what eventually saves them all.
It’ll be what helps them sleep at night because Ron will no longer be the one that she sits up thinking about.
*
If this was our last chance, I’d ask you to stay
for one last dance.