Dance me (to the end of love)
Why was she here again?
Some things couldn’t be avoided, Hermione knew it well. She was the bloody Minister for Circe’s sake, and she just had to attend every silly ball, every function, every occasion the wizarding world had to celebrate this and that. This brought her right to this moment; where Hermione wore a gown that was too stifling for her taste –Merlin, how did witches survive with such high necklines?–, and was standing in front of a crowd that eagerly awaited their turn to dance with the new Minister.
Watching her closely. Judging her every move. Wondering how she was going to make their world a better place.
It was the first official function after the Auror department found out just which prominent family was trying to get Hermione Granger out of the way, and she was honestly ready to collapse.
All night had been an attempt to appeal to the rest of the Pureblooded families, who felt threatened by the way their fellow family had been reduced after their schemes were foiled. She did everything by protocol: dressed to appeal to the guests of the function, danced per their traditions, spoke sweetly to people she would have hexed if she had a chance. And the more swirls she did on the dance floor, the more people talked to her, touched her arm to gain her attention, or demanded her time, she felt as if she was suffocating.
A twirl on the dance floor, a Madam Minister! shout here and there, another name she had to memorise –and she was losing her mind, forgetting how to breathe.
She had to sit, she had to find someplace quiet to breathe, she had–
The moment Hermione felt she’d shout at the next person asking for her attention, there was a hand on the small of her –overly dressed– back. Turning around, she saw the only man that seemed to soothe her worries: Severus, holding out a single bloom of jasmine for her, the fragrant white flower that she knew very well that was a symbol of calmness.
He always liked to express himself in the flower language.
“May I have the next one, Madam Minister?” he drawled, handing her the single bloom that she immediately made sure to attach to her gown with a wordless sticking charm. As always, he had arrived at the perfect moment: when she needed his serenity, to remind her that nothing warranted her anxiety when he was around to give counsel, or just a smile to her.
As they headed to the dance floor, people made way for them to stand in the middle, and Hermione –always the overthinker– started getting worried again. Would she do this right? Would she bring this night to a close effortlessly? Would she–
Severus’ fingers curled around her right hand ones, and his left arm wound around her back, bringing her close, so close all the worrying suddenly seemed far away.
“Dance with me and pretend the world doesn’t exist” he pleaded, his voice unexpectedly gentle. But why was she surprised? For the last couple of years, he was her grounding rock, the element that kept her to earth when she felt it crumbling.
“I will,” she breathed out. And after that there was no going back; they started dancing in the middle of the dancefloor, and the world finally fell quiet.