So She Dances
(based on the song "So She Dances" by Josh Groban)
On Angels Wings
A waltz when she walks in the room…
She pulls back the hair from her face…
She moves to the window, to sway in the moonlight-
Even her shadow has grace…
There she was- dressed in black, as always. She wore black even in the summer as if she were reflecting the somberness of her mild temperament. Her eyes always shimmered with tears that she held back so as not to appear weak in front her fellow humans. She was the type that had to be strong so that everyone else is able to take a breather and have time for emotional crises- but she couldn't. No, she wouldn't allow herself that. She didn't mind having burdens so long as they would relieve the pressure on the shoulders of another.
Her satin black dress flowed about her in a pool of midnight, softly reflecting the glow of the candles floating around the ballroom. The dresses halter-top style left the smooth, innocent skin of her shoulders and back exposed down to her waist. It had no embellishments to speak of: it was a dress of purpose, class, not to be made a silly gown of sparkle and glam. It was simple and subtle in its radiant beauty. Her silky dark brown tresses fell in a perfectly curled lock from her elegant French twist. As she glided on the lightness of her feet across the marble floor her lightly sun-kissed skin shimmered in the presence of the occasional candle.
She wore no jewelry and, as far as anyone was able to tell, no make-up either. Her face had no natural tints to it with the exception of her pink lips. The long black lashes that surrounded her dark green eyes, which were often mistaken for a very dark blue, weren't full, but long and left flickering shadows on her face as she glanced around the room. Her brow was fair and her cheeks were subtly sculpted- not aristocratic and certainly not bony or high, only just enough to notice.
To everyone's astonishment she came to the ball alone. The most striking beauty of all witches and Muggles had come alone. Most everyone else had at least brought an escort.
It was eight o'clock at the grand hall in one of the better kept castles of the ancient days of Ireland and the wine had been poured, the toasts had been made, and the company was becoming more loose and entertaining with every passing moment and she had only just now arrived and without a partner.
Most of the women (all of whom were either fellow co-workers of hers or the wives and girlfriends of her fellow co-workers) felt a great pity for the young woman in black. They whispered amongst themselves behind their gloved hands and wine glasses what a shame it was that the woman hasn't gotten married yet, or even been on a date since her school days (five years ago).
"Poor girl," said one of the more senior of the women, "she hasn't had much time outside of work these days for socializing with all the loose Death Eaters and whatnot. Being one of the Ministry's most elite Aurors is tough work. It leaves the poor dear with so much at the office and on the field that she has little time for her personal life."
The younger women around her nodded their heads in agreement. Among them was Hermione Granger dressed in a stunning turquoise gown complete with matching long gloves and chandelier earrings. Her hair was tamed into a sleek bun similar to the style she wore it in at the Yule Ball in her fourth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
It had been five years since she graduated from school as well. Now she was happily married to Ronald Weasley and would soon be celebrating three years of marriage. Ron had secured a position as advisor to the current Minister of Magic, Anthony Amberfold. The war had changed him, made him more sensible, more mature. He learned to clean up his manners, tame his short-fused temper, and observe his surroundings. He had become a fine gentleman.
Just after the older woman finished her remark on the woman in black, Ron, dressed in proper dress robes the same vivid dark blue as his eyes, approached his lovely wife for a dance. Hermione excused herself from the gaggle and gave her wine glass to a nearby waiter and allowed herself to be taken away to the dance floor where most couples were now waltzing to a beautiful ballad of violins, cellos, piccolos, and a grand piano.
As Ron turned Hermione around a corner of the dance floor she caught a second glimpse of the woman in black. "Ron, do you know much about her? I remember she went to school with us, but I can't remember her name or House for the life of me."
"Who, love?" Ron asked, confused.
"The woman in the black dress, back there in the corner. What is her name?" Ron stole a quick, inconspicuous glance at the woman who his wife had described.
"Oh, that's Maria, Maria Diciembre. She was in Ravenclaw I think…I'm still not sure. She keeps to herself most of the time," he said casually as if he had read a file on her. "She's one of our top Aurors- always up for a job. From what I've heard, she can take on anything. After Voldemort fell she rounded up most of the group of Death Eaters that had fled from Europe."
"I wonder why she came alone…" Hermione wondered aloud.
"I don't know. I've had the pleasure of speaking with her a few times- she's very pleasant company and gives stimulating conversation. I don't think I've ever met anyone who didn't take a liking to her. I don't know much about her myself, but she is shy, I know that much," replied her husband.
A waltz for the girl out of reach…
She lifts her hands up to the sky…
She moves with the music, the song is her lover-
The melody's making her cry…
When the waltz was over Ron and Hermione stepped off the dance floor and made their way over excitedly to a long awaited guest. He had just stepped in from the far entrance door and was caught in a net of conversation by one of the younger groups of women and a few of the higher ranking Ministry officials.
"Even after three years people still can't seem to get over their fascination with him," whispered Hermione to her husband with a gleeful smirk. Ron let out a chuckle of mutual agreement.
Upon their approach Harry Potter looked up in time to see his two best friends walking his way. He grinned congenially, his bottle green eyes sparkling. His hair was more black and untamable than ever. He had grown a good four inches in the two years after Hogwarts and was now a proud 6' 3". He looked dashing in his dark green robes that matched his lively eyes.
"Ron! Hermione! It's been forever!" Harry said dramatically, still grinning.
"It's been three days, Harry!" said Hermione who embraced him warmly and kissed him on the cheek. Harry and Ron shared a brotherly embrace and gave each other a hearty clap on the back.
For a while they talked and greeted and danced and laughed. The wine was taking its toll on some of the younger, more foolish men, creating dangerously loose tongues that almost cost them their jobs several times during the evening. Overall, though, the company was still enjoyable.
The atmosphere was growing still more lazily relaxing as the evening progressed. Everyone had made their rounds of making acquaintances with everyone else and conversing had turned into mostly dancing and spending time with good friends. Soft melodies resonated off the stone walls, sending a vibration of calmness throughout the occupants of the grand hall.
Wine glasses abandoned, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Harry Potter stood near the orchestra politely watching the people around them, making quiet observations of behavior and commenting on a colleague every no and then. It had taken some time, but Harry finally managed to spot the dark, womanly figure near the end of the hall.
His gaze fixed upon her firmly as she walked to the luminous window across from her. Her gait was so smooth, so fluid. A manner of unobtrusiveness surrounded her despite her otherwise commanding presence. Power enveloped her, surrounded her in a protective coating, something of caution. It was not the kind of power that resides in physical ability or politics. Her power was the kind only a woman could have. What Harry found most intriguing about her was that she did not appear to abuse this power as most women do should it be in their possession. This mysteriously beautiful woman in black tried to hide it. Men would do as she commanded without question. Harry was certain her beauty could make any man weak with awe and lust. He found himself wondering what her voice sounded like.
"Who is that?" he whispered to Ron.
"Maria Diciembre, the Auror," said Ron. He looked at his friend quizzically, "Why do you ask? I thought you knew her."
"Maria…" repeated Harry, thoughtfully."The one from Ravenclaw?" Ron nodded his head in confirmation.
Just as Harry decided he would make his way over to speak with her, another man had already walked up to her. Harry recognized him immediately as Oliver Wood. Oliver entered a promising Quidditch career after he left school. He was now the star chaser for the Raving Rancors, one of the top five ranked teams in Europe. He'd been invited tonight for public endorsement for the Ministry.
He must've spoken to get her attention for she turned to face him in a startled manner. Oliver gave a small bow and offered her his arm. She took it unsurely, like she'd never been asked to dance before. As Oliver led her to the dance floor his eyes glowed with his good fortune.
Harry watched them as they danced. She was still fluid and never lost her astute posture. She nodded her head politely as Oliver spoke to her. She didn't say much, she wasn't used to the company of an international Quidditch star.
It was clearly written across her face that she was uncomfortable with Oliver. But it was doubtful that anyone else was able to tell. She moved to gracefully with a false confidence for anyone to see through her protective walls.
The trio began moving amongst the crowd once again, livening up conversations and debating on political issues. They walked by a group of women commenting on Miss Diciembre's luck of a dance partner. Harry was sure to listen intently without revealing that his ears were open.
"Oh, would you look at that? Someone's finally asked the girl to dance!"
"I know- she's been standing over there all evening…"
"I wonder if she's lonely?"
"I doubt it. If she wants to put that much effort into her job then she's more than welcome to because I certainly don't mind that she's locking up more stray Death Eaters than anyone else out there!"
"Well I think she should take a break. My husband's in her same unit, he says that she's very withdrawn when it comes to personal conversation but when it's all about work she's always halfway down everyone's throats. He thinks highly of her, though."
The women went silent for a moment before moving on to even more trivial matters. Harry, though, found his interest in Maria Diciembre increase even more and he continued to watch her graceful figure weave in between other dancing couples.
So she dances…In and out of the crowd like a glance…
This romance is from afar calling me silently…
Harry wanted ever so badly to dance with her, to talk to her. Confidence was never his best attribute when it came to women. He hadn't dated in about a year after he realized that the type of women he was attracted to weren't the kind that were attracted to him. Getting out of the dating game wasn't very hard, though he still had a few insane fans that were determined to make him like them.
He didn't know enough about her to be sure that he should ask her for a dance. But there was a nudging in his mind that wouldn't stop. It pushed him to her.
A waltz for the chance I should take-
But how will I know where to start?
She's spinning between constellations and dreams,
Her rhythm is my beating heart
After debating a bit (the angry flush in his cheeks earned him a quizzical look from Hermione) he realized that he couldn't just let her go without ever knowing. It would tear him to shreds if he didn't talk to her.
Finally, he couldn't help himself any longer and marched up to where Oliver and Maria were currently stationed just as the song was ending. He tapped Oliver on the shoulder and took his place in front of Maria.
"May I have the next dance, Miss Diciembre?" She did not reply as hesitantly as she did to Oliver, but she didn't answer more quickly either.
A slower ballad followed and Harry pulled her waist closer to him and held her hand gently with his free arm. Suddenly Harry was fully cognizant of where his hand was. His palm was placed against the soft satin of her dress, but his fingers were left on her exposed skin. It was softer than silk and he had to fight the urge to pull her closer to allow his hand to rest fully on her back.
She smelled of sweet vanilla and strawberries- the combination was surprisingly intoxicating. Up close, her face appeared more angelic, more innocent, than it had far away. It had a justifying softness to it, barely defining the crude hardness an ordinary Auror's would have.
Harry stared at her with gentle eyes, fully aware of how coy she was and avoiding all possible eye contact with him. It wasn't a flirtatious sort of coquettishness, but genuinely modest, afraid of exposing a secret or too much interest.
"Miss Diciembre, I was wondering if we've met before. You wouldn't happen to remember if we have, would you? Because I'm almost certain that I would remember such a meeting," said Harry, attempting to sound aristocratic.
"We have met before Mr. Potter, but not formally," Esther responded.
"I remember you from Hogwarts," he began, "You never talked much"
She smirked in the faintest way that seemed to say to him 'is that all you can come up with?'. "I'm afraid, Mr. Potter, that talking is very different from speaking- and my faith in talking is small and brittle."
Now it was his turn to smirk. She was playing with him- and she was doing it well. She did with natural coyness and wit and without being obtrusive about it. But she would still not look directly at him.
"Perhaps, you could explain to me the difference? I imagine you would have nothing against me listening?" he inquired politely.
"To talk, one does not have to say anything of meaning or importance. But to speak, one must make a valid point with their words," she said as Harry spun her around the floor, as was required for this particular dance.
"It's funny that you're able to explain such an abstract thing to me," Harry said flirtatiously as he has built up his confidence in courting women since his school days when he would fumble over each word in front of a girl he liked. "Usually I'm unable to grasp such concepts."
He smiled broadly in hopes of coaxing her eyes away from everywhere else but his face. It almost worked too.
So she dances…In and out of the crowd like a glance…
This romance is…From afar calling me silently…
She just barely managed to keep her eyes on the other dancers. Her protective walls were crumbling and she knew it. For years those cold, stone walls had stood firm. It took so long to build them; they had protected her from so much. Now they were crumbling under the gaze of a good-hearted, honest man. Dancing with him, being held in his arms, made her tremble, made her feel weak.
Little to her knowledge, Harry felt the same way. He didn't show it either, but he was entranced with her. His defenses were vulnerable to her shy demeanor, her gentle voice. She made him powerless. If she called, he would answer; if she fell, he would catch her.
Unbeknownst to them they had been dancing for nearly two hours at this point. No matter how loudly the clocks chimed, they would not be heard.
Ron and Hermione stood next to each other, Hermione's arm linked lovingly around Ron's. Ron leaned over to whisper in his wife's hear, "I've never seen anything like this. They're barely saying anything and they're still dancing."
"I know," said Hermione with a knowing smile. "They're in love and they don't even know it."
I can't keep on watching forever…
And I'd give up this view just to tell her…
They continued dancing in a pool of luminescent dark green and captivating black. Every twist and turn sent Maria's dress spinning out with entrancing depth. The song ended in a world of color, of vibrancy, as he dipped her low to the floor.
Finally, in this moment, she let her eyes meet his. Their gazes locked perfectly in place.
When I close my eyes I can see-
The spotlights are bright on you and me.
We've got the floor and you're in my arms-
How could I ask for more?
Only then were they aware that they were the only couple left as the spectators stood to the sides clapping their hands together enthusiastically.
A deep red blush crept into Maria's pale cheeks as Harry pulled her back up. She unceremoniously nodded to Harry in dismissal and fled the hall with unmatched dignity- her dress flowing gracefully behind her.
Harry had no time to think, his legs did that for him. Soon he found himself in the gardens outside the hall. His feet took him straight to her; she was standing by the pond, her head bowed, the silver moonlight glowing in the water that reflected on her skin, turning it silver.
Standing next to her, her rested his hand on the small of her back. She didn't move. With his other hand he gently took her chin and directed her face to his.
Their souls intertwined between their shared gaze. At this moment Harry knew that he needed no words. He leaned forward and gently presses his lips to hers. Her body released a violent tremble and he pulled her closer as he felt her knees start to give away. His hand moved from her jaw to the nape of her neck. He felt her hands press against his chest.
Too soon they pulled away. Maria's gaze immediately redirected itself to the water after he released her.
"I should go," she said. Harry strained to hear her.
"When can I see you again?" There it was- the cliché line that was heard in all the Muggle movies in which the girl gets away. This is why he was so surprised when he heard her answer.
"Tomorrow," she said as she looked up at him with loving eyes. He smiled.
She turned and walked away across the dewy grass and through the rose vineyards, the moonlight on her back. No more than a lovely woman in black- a woman that was loved. Fireflies danced around her, sparkling in the darkness. Again, Harry smiled to himself.
So she dances…In and out of the crowd like a glance…
This romance is…From afar calling me silently…
I can't keep on watching forever…
And I'd give up this view just to tell her…