Tango * dramione

Chapter 39

Chapter 39: The Dance

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Draco and Hermione: Center Stage
Setting: A literal stage

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It started with a step, one of which jumpstarted Hermione's heart like battery cables. She wasn't sure if it was the crowd, or the pressure, or the way Draco looked at her, but she was sure of one thing: she hadn't been this nervous since hunting horcruxes, on the run and freezing all those years ago.

But she was here with the man who claimed to love her. She wasn't going to let nerves get in the way of this historic experience. Even if it felt like the Hogwarts Express had hit her smack dab in the ribcage.

Forwards and backwards they stepped, careful and considerate of one another - as two strangers meeting for the first time. Draco's hands stayed light as they established their cadence on the stage, but they were everywhere: her thigh, her hip, her arm. Every turn or spin, his hands found another place to be.

This part of the dance, Hermione concluded, represented the beginnings of an infatuation. You could deny it, go with the steps just so, but the sizzle between them hung in the air like the smell of fresh bacon.

Speaking of bacon, the little bit she'd had at breakfast threatened to make an appearance as she glanced at the crowd.

"Not them," Draco whispered, jerking her and pressing them chest to chest. "Right here. Eyes on me." His hands trailed up her hip, her side. The motion relaxed her, and Hermione felt herself melt against his touch. She extended her arm outward, toward the crowd, and Draco took her cue. His fingertips traced the length of her side, against the side of her breast, and then skimmed the underside of her arm.

They stared into each other's eyes, nose to nose. Hermione's skin was aflame. Everywhere he touched stirred emotions within her, each more sinful than the next.

Lust, it seemed, had taken hold within both of them, and at such an unopportunistic time.

It took everything in her not to giggle when his fingertips brushed along her elbow (it was one of her more ticklish spots). He seemed to notice she was about to break character because he pulled her closer with his other hand, which rested on the small of her back. The mood shifted immediately, and Hermione suddenly forgot why they were there in the first place. All she could focus on was the commanding, carnal pulse of want rushing through her. Through them both.

Crowd? What crowd? There was only Draco.

And when the pads of his fingers finally traced their way against her extended wrist, slipping a warm hand into hers, she couldn't help but lick her lips.

The music sped up slightly, and with it their passion. Today, Draco danced like he planned to conjure a bed right here on the stage. It was a far cry from the klutzy, unsure man he had been when they first began dancing together.

Maybe Señior Diggle, for all of his faults, could still have an eye for chemistry. She'd have to send a fruit basket to Azkaban.

In unison, their feet slid across the stage, drawing a line with the tips of their shoes to each other as if to say, Here is the line. Dare to cross it. The way their bodies conformed to one another to meet the other's needs...it was all symbolic, Hermione thought, to the art of the horizontal tango.

Kick. Step back. Kick. Forward. Each moment mirrored an act of trust. Their bodies pushed and pulled, tormenting, like the mental games they played as children. But they were grown now. Hermione knew this. She could see how much Draco had grown - not just physically, but emotionally as well. He'd given so much to help people he claimed not to care about, all in the name of fairness and pride. The pride didn't surprise her, but the fairness sure did.