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Anonymous said:

for the prompt game, "Dance with me", fandom of your choice

There was one thing to be said for 1930s dancing halls: the music they were playing was leagues better than the shit she'd have been confronted with in her own time.

No laser flashes either.

Instead there was a fog-like cloud of cigarette smoke hanging in the air, creeping into her lungs. (Well, that saved on the fog machines, right?)

No one had money for much of anything, but dancing was free.

Harry straightened her shoulders, hooking her arms with Hermione's and Ron's and was steered to a small rickety-looking table.

Seeing Hermione dressed up to the nines, red lipstick included, was strange enough. But Ron in his transfigured robes was a sight to see.

"I'll get us some drinks," Ron announced, then vanished into the crowd.

Hermione searched through her trusty beaded purse, looking for only Merlin knew what.

Harry observed the dancers on the floor. They looked elegant, making the complicated steps look easy, somehow.

"Eyes on the target?" Hermione whispered out of the corner of her mouth.

Harry scanned the crowd once more, this time including those still arriving and those seated around the room.

"No. Probably not here yet. We're early."

A moment later, Ron returned, carrying three bottles of beer. "Barkeep will alert us if he knows anything."

Ah, bribery.

Their table was approached by a young man with slicked-back hair, wonderful cheekbones, and a cheeky, quirky smile.

"Good evening."

Hermione took one look at him, then nudged Harry in the side.

Subtlety, thy name is definitely not Hermione.

"Good evening. Ron, why don't we take a turn? I love this song."

Ron sent a slightly desperate glare at Harry, over his partner's shoulder.

Harry just shrugged. Why would he assume she could help him?

"Dance with me?" The brave stranger asked, offering her his hand.

She blinked a bit stupidly, because bloody hell, this guy had a voice.

"Why not?" Harry smiled, hoping to make up for the lack of excitement in her words.

He took her hand gently, his palms cool and confident.

"I just have to warn you, I am not a great dancer," she hurriedly added because the band was playing something fast now.

"Don't worry, I'll help with that."

And he was as good as his word, twirling her around faster and faster, but with a hand placed just right in that zone between Too Low and Too High, which strangely felt safe.

When the song was over, Harry's mouth hurt from smiling so much. "Thanks. This was fun."

"Well, fun, my name is Bucky."

She laughed. "My friends call me Harry."