Title inspired by "I'll Back You Up" by Dave Matthews Band.
“Come and dance.” Just like that, Ron Weasley had asked me to dance. I wonder how well I hid the shock. It was not the most romantic of propositions, especially with the way he threw it at me, but who was I to resist? Isn’t this the moment I had dreamed of for well over three years? Well maybe not the moment, as there was no way I was going to let Ron snog me in front of all these wedding guests. No, that particular moment would have to wait for a more private location, but surely dancing was such a lovely, unexpected, and exciting gesture.
We rose from the table, leaving behind a surly Victor and a discomfited Harry, though I hoped his uneasiness had more to do with the Polyjuice. Ron clasped my hand is his large, clammy one, and directed me toward the dance floor. His hand was shaking a bit and I wasn’t sure if it was out of anger toward Victor or nervousness with the idea of dancing with me. Would it be wrong if I hoped for the latter?
The surprises continued when Ron led me to the very center of the dance floor, near Fred and George no less. There had been an awkward moment when we both tried to decide where to put our hands, bumping one another and muttering more than one “Er, sorry.” My hands finally settled on his shoulders, nearly stretching my arms to their limit, while he laid his hands gently on my hips; It was heavenly.
I glanced up in time to see Ron giving me a crooked smile, his ears glowing bright red. I heard a low whistle and some chuckling coming from the direction of the Weasley twins and their dance partners, but did my very best to give Ron an encouraging smile. After a few moments of just holding one another (though I must admit, Hagrid could have fit in the space between us), we started to sway together ever so slowly.
There were several embarrassing moments during that first slow dance where we’d both step forward at the same time, bumping into one another and blushing like mad. However, there were also some incredibly lovely moments as well. God, the heat from Ron’s sweaty palms pressed against my sides, the way each puff of his breath would stir the curls by my forehead, the pull of his muscles as he directed me inelegantly around the dance floor. I was positively dizzy with elation.
Of course, Ron chose this moment to bugger it all up. “So am I a better dancer than the egghead?”
I scowled up at him, “Oh for God’s sake, Ronald! This is the first time I’ve seen Viktor in years. You can’t honestly still be jeal-, er, I mean upset with him, can you?”
Ron narrowed his eyes at me, and I tried to keep my face neutral, masking my horror at almost calling Ron out on his true feelings over Viktor. “You know, Hermione? On second thought, I don’t want to waste one more effing minute on Viktor bleedin’ Krum.” Then, he gripped me possessively, pulling my willing body tight against him. My mouth went dry, my jaw went slack, and my eyes went wide.
Without thought, I licked my lips, and he gripped even tighter as his eyes, too, grew just a bit. Is this the moment? I asked myself. A catcall from one of those damned twins broke our reverie, and just like that, the spell was broken. Ron’s hold slackened just a bit, but his sweaty fingers still clutched my hips. He took a step back and we both chuckled awkwardly.
Then fate intervened as a more upbeat song started to play. We pulled our arms away (mine more reluctantly) and started to dance to the fast, jazzy tune. It took every part of my willpower to not laugh outright at Ron. He was all uncontrolled, swinging arms and goofy smile. I doubt I can even accurately describe what his over-sized feet were doing. It looked like a cross between an Irish jig and the moves a person would make if their trousers caught on fire. A guffaw just below the surface, I had to stop him before this ended badly, like the twins seeing or him knocking someone out.
I grabbed his biceps and thought quickly, “Let’s try a Muggle dance. How about Swing? That’s good for a song like this.”
“I don’t know,” he looked at me skeptically. “Swing? Sounds a little dangerous to me.”
“Nonsense! It’s easy!” Of course, I had absolutely no idea what I was talking about, having never tried to dance like this before. However, this was one of the great parts of being friends with Ron as he’d never know the difference anyways.
I slid my hands down his arms until our hands clasped. I can’t believe I thought his hands were clammy before, and yet having his large hands engulfing mine was simply… divine. Leading with our joined hands, I leaned us first towards the left then back toward the right. I was praying we didn’t look as ridiculous as I felt. At least I hoped we looked better than Ron did a moment ago, like an octopus out of water.
After we were swaying quickly from side to side, leaning from one foot to the next, I instructed him to step back with his left foot as we swayed right and vice versa. Pretty soon, we had created our own little dance, laughing as we clumsily made the moves up as we went along. With the quick tempo and thrill of dancing with Ron, I was quite breathless as we continued dancing, one song through the next.
It wasn’t pretty. It wasn’t coordinated. It sure as hell wasn’t elegant. But damn it was fun! Ron’s brow was all sweaty, and the edge of his hair was a bit darker, dampened from our work out. I could hardly take my eyes off his though. I’d never quite seen them sparkle like that before. It was enthralling.
There had been a few slow dances mixed in, and each song brought us closer and closer. By the fourth slow dance, my arms were as wrapped around his neck as my short limbs would allow and his arms were snug around me. I rested my head against his chest, and I could just barely feel the weight of his cheek against my hair. At one point, it felt as though he was smelling my hair, but it could have been my over-stimulated mind.
We only shared a handful more fast-paced dances, when my throbbing feet made their presence known. After a new song had started to pick up, I had to yell, “Enough!” It wasn’t with much conviction though as I could barely keep my laughter in check. “My feet are begging me for a break. Why don’t you grab us some butterbeers and I’ll find Harry?” Harry. I felt so guilty about neglecting him all night, and hoped he found someone to keep him entertained.
“Whatever you say, m’dear,” Ron said in an overly dramatic voice as he waved his hand down, bowing toward me. He grasped my hand and placed a playful kiss on my hand. It had been quite obvious the kiss was in jest, but it didn’t stop my hand from tingling or his ears from turning crimson. He made his way toward the bar and I scanned the room for the Polyjuiced Harry. I spotted him sitting at a table with Ron’s horrid Aunt Muriel and a very elderly gentleman. Reluctantly, I made my way to toward the odd group.
However, I just had to spare one more glance over my shoulder. When I spotted his fiery red hair above almost everyone else, my heart somersaulted. There was just no denying it any longer.
I, Hermione Jean Granger, am irrevocably in love with Ronald Bilius Weasley.
