Harmione One Shots

let us dance, just for a moment

Summary: "Dance with me, Hermione." Something had changed with Ronald, he'd been acting odd around Hermione and Harry for days. The behaviour oozing out of the ginger caused a rift between himself and Hermione, forcing her to seek comfort in the arms of the Chosen One. One of his worst nightmares.

Ship: HarryPotterxHermioneGranger

All credit goes to riddikulus_puff on Ao3

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Hermione was humming quietly, thinking to herself over things as she mindlessly trimmed Harry's unruly locks. The realisation hit her suddenly like a tonne of bricks tumbling down onto her body, a forcefield-like push against her body like she had never experienced before. She pulls away the small Muggle scissors, shaking herself as she stops her humming.

"Oh my God," She utters the words as she remains on the small chair behind Harry.

"What?" Harry panics, lifting his hand towards the back of his head in a sudden oozing panic.

"I'll tell you in a minute." Hermione rushes off the chair, moving towards the collapsible camp table as she flickers through the pages of her book. Murmuring to herself as she searches for the specific section she had in mind.

"Or, maybe you could tell me now." Harry rushes from the stool and joins her with hoovering over the table.

"The Sword of Gryffindor." Hermione stands up straight, looking directly at Harry. "It's Goblin made." She continues.

"Brilliant." Harry sarcastically spoke, nodding slightly as he stood there with his thumbs up. He still wasn't getting it.

"No. You don't understand." Hermione is smiling at Harry, waiting for him to understand what she is getting at but he isn't. "Dirt and rust have no effect on the blade," Hermione pushes the book across the table toward Harry, allowing him to look over the pages. "It only takes in that which makes it stronger." She explains with her hands.

"Okay..." Harry stares down at the book, reading over the pages. He still wasn't getting it but Hermione wouldn't get frustrated with him, not yet.

"Harry, you already destroyed one Horcrux, right?" Hermione starts moving around the table, pacing as she speaks. A nervous tick. "Tom Riddle's Diary in the Chamber of Secrets."

"With a Basilisk Fang, if you tell me you've got one of those in that bloody beaded bag of yours." It was a joke but that bag is so completely insane that Harry wouldn't be surprised if Hermione randomly whipped out a Basilisk Fang.

"Don't you see?" She sits down at the table. "In the Chamber of Secrets, you stabbed the Basilisk with the Sword of Gryffindor. Its blade is impregnated with Basilisk venom." Hermione explains slowly, her eyes locked with Harry's.

"It only takes in that which makes it strong." Suddenly, realisation dawns on Harry and it dawns on him what Hermione had been getting at this entire time with her rambles. Merlin, he should be forever thankful for Hermione's glorious brain. He sits down, shuffling the book back around to her.

"Which is why..." Hermione starts.

"It can destroy Horcruxes." Harry finishes with a slow breath.

"And that's why Dumbledore left it to you in his Will," Hermione explains, excitement bubbling out of her.

"You are brilliant, Hermione. Truly." Harry grabbed her hands from across the table, the compliment rolling easily off his tongue as they both smiled largely at one another.

"Actually, I'm highly logical which allows me to look past extraneous detail and perceive clearly that which others overlook."

"Yeah, there's only one problem with..." Harry concludes.