Just One Dance
Laughter. Jovial voices. Jubilant shouts. Soft dancing music in the background. A smell of summer grass, blooming flowers and a hint of perfume.
Vines climb up the strips of wood that have served as an altar, paper plates lay strewn and abandoned on a long table lined with chairs. A tall, rickety house is enchanted to sparkle and glow down at the back lawn, where a mass of people are gathered to celebrate the uniting of a man, and a woman.
On a bench under a leafy maple tree sits a young woman with chestnut hair and light brown eyes, alone. She puts on leg over the other, smoothes her pretty, lavender dress for no particular reason at all, and pulls a light shawl tightly about her shoulders.
She looks tiredly at the people assembled in the back yard of the Burrow. She sees two of her best friends, a tall, burly, black-haired young man and a girl with vividly red hair and freckles, dancing slowly, their arms tightly wound around each other, while talking quietly. She sees an elderly pair of redheads, also dancing with their faces close together; the father and mother of the groom. She is halfway through a sigh, when she jumps at the sound of her name being spoken.
“Hermione, would you like to dance?”
Bill Weasley, a handsome, burly built man with fiery red hair, like the rest of his clan, steps towards her. Much to his mother’s delight he has decided that he has outgrown having hair long enough for a ponytail, and has recently had it trimmed to a much shorter, rather more sophisticated do. Being the groom, he has a small, decorative corsage fastened to the front of his dark dress robes that matches his newly-betrothed wife’s brilliantly white wedding dress. He timidly extends his right hand, which still bears the marks of bruising from the year before.
The girl with the dark golden locks accepts, and places her hand in his.
***
On the other side of the lawn, against the wall of the worn-down house of the hosts, leans a tall, lanky young man with ginger hair forming a curtain over his freckle-spattered face. His clear, blue eyes are averted towards his feet, with which he is slowly pawing at the grassy ground. His hands are shoved into his robe pockets, and he forbids himself to look up.
Because if he did, he would see all the dancing couples, and for a reason unknown to him, the sight makes him uneasy. The whole day, packed with jovial celebrating and euphoric laughter and singing, has made him uneasy.
His uncomforting thoughts are interrupted by a throaty, tinkering voice.
“Ronald, would you care to dance?”
With an embarrassed flush reddening his cheeks, Ron follows the slivery-haired newly-wed to the centre of dancing couples. After hurriedly wiping his palms against the fabric of his robes, he slowly, almost regretfully, takes her waist.
“Ronald,” she says in a kind voice.
He looks up fleetingly, but then resumes his studying of his own moving feet.
“Ronald, look at me,” she says more sternly, placing a soft fingertip under his chin.
Once Ron meets Fleur’s gaze, he suddenly realises something. Her eyes are blue, almost the same striking, sky blue as his own. He has never noticed this before.
“Why are you so nervous, Ronald? It’s just a dance,” she laughs, her French accent only vaguely noticeable.
Ron’s movements stiffen, but he does not break their eye contact. His mouth having turned into a thin line, he does not respond.
Her eyes soften, and she turns more solemn. “Or is it that… you’d rather have me replaced with someone else?”
The silence that follows is absolute, but their gazes remain upon each other.
“You know,” she continues, “from the first time I saw you, I knew something, something that you still do not understand yourself.”
Still silent, Ron looks at her imploringly. Confused, he opens his mouth, but does not find the words to respond.
With a small smile, Fleur leans forward, closer to Ron, and whispers in his ear, “You’re in love, Ronald.”
***
“Why so sombre, Hermione?” Bill asks after having danced slowly for a few minutes in silence.
“Ah,” she hesitates, “I don’t know. It’s all these people, I guess, everyone’s cheerful and happy… rightly so, but…”
Bill pulls back his head slightly, and eyes her carefully.
She feels compelled to continue. “I suppose it’s just that… happiness is not as much worth celebrating when you have no one to share it with.”
She falls silent, highly aware of the intense gaze of her dance partner. He scrutinises her features, as if searching for something.
Slowly, he says, “Of course you have someone. You have Harry, you have Ron, and dozens of people who care about you,” while keeping his eyes on the young woman before him.
“Oh, no I don’t, not in that way,” she retorts, a tint of desperation in her voice. “Harry’s always off somewhere, saving someone or other; and Ron… Ron…”
Her eyes lose their focus, Bill notices, and glaze over somewhat. He smiles warmly.
“My brother can be a prat sometimes, that much I know. But I also know that he happens to love you very much. The question is, do you know that?”
The mistiness in her eyes disappears in an instant as her head snaps up to face the red-haired man in front of her.
***
His feet pound across the lawn, flattening the grass under his soles in the progress. His head turns this way and that, his eyes wide open, searching through the crowd of people.
He ponders calling out for her, but finds that his throat and mouth are much too dry to function. Desperately he looks around, occasionally standing up on tiptoe, hurriedly making his way across the yard.
***
Frustrated, she sweeps a lock of light brown hair out of her face. How hard could it be to find one of the tallest men of all the guests, who also happened to have a beacon of red hair atop his head?
Her eyes are becoming watery, but she bites her lip, hard. Angrily, she stamps her foot at the ground, and casts one last glance over the crowd.
***
Glumly, he kicks a plastic cup lying rather harmlessly on the ground. His heart, mind and body feel empty and drained, and with slow movements he loosens the tie around his neck. The plastic cup rolls over the grass with a low clattering, and comes to a complete and unexpected stop at a pair of feet.
Ron’s eyes are fixed upon the golden shoes standing mere feet in front of him. His gaze journeys slowly upwards, coming to a halt at a dazzling smile and pair of deep brown eyes.
Without exchanging any words, they throw themselves at each other. Softly, yet passionately they embrace, each breathing in the other’s scent in slow, deep breaths. Finally facing each other, they lock gazes, and Ron raises a hand to Hermione’s neck. Slowly leaning forward, their eyes flutter to a close, and their lips meet in a soft kiss.
***
“Arthur, could you start bringing in the chairs? We really should get them inside before dark… And the plates, we need to clean up the plates! Where’s Ronald, I need him to-“
Molly Weasley suddenly falls silent as she catches sight of two young persons entering the scene, their faces alit with wide smiles and linked together by the hands.