The Power of Dance

By: MystyKitty

She stood at the entrance to the club. The European trip hop beat invaded her mind and deadened the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her carefully maintained balance. She stood in the humid heat of a New York summer and waited as the bouncers checked ids making sure all that entered were 21. She looked at the id resting in her palm. It looked just like it should, the black italicized Maryland stretched across the top, and an unflattering picture of herself glared back at her. Hermione looked up from the id and looked at her cousins. Standing together they were overlooking the boys that surrounded them. Even at the best of times they tolerated her. In the beginning it was because they were four years older, and as time progressed it was because they just didn't have anything in common. That changed after the summer of her fifth year at Hogwarts. Then the horrible year changed her so much.

She could feel the anger and the fear boiling ever-present below the surface, even after two years the emotions were strong enough to take her breathe away. Inhaling the putrid smell of garbage and hot sweat, Hermione tried to clear her mind. She reached out with her thoughts and grabbed on to the pulsing beat. She let it fill her mind, until all there was there was the steady thump of the bass. Seeing her turn with the bouncer was next she rolled her head along her shoulders, exposing the pale column of her neck an unconscious gesture that screamed sex to all of the people gathered around her. She stepped up to the hulking man collecting the money and handed him the id. He looked at it and back at her face.

"A little from home aren't we?" His voice meant to tease, hit a little to close to the scars that decorated her soul.

"Farther than you think actually."

Her clipped English accent turned heads, while only managing to intrigue the man more. He swept his eyes up and down her body. He took in her waist length chocolate hair, streaked with auburn, bringing to mind a chocolate covered cherry. He slid his eyes over her slender body, compact and full of restrained energy, small but high breasts that rounded over the low neck line of the glittering piece of cloth that she pretended was a shirt. Down over her flat hard stomach to the short, worn denim skirt that caressed her mid thigh, low enough to cover but short enough to tease. He carried his eyes down her slender legs to the low heels that accentuated her tiny feet. He forced his eyes to return to hers, and was struck by the amber orbs that gazed back at him. Her eyes were filled with anger, strength, and urgency, but underneath it was an encompassing feeling of sorrow. Looking into her eyes the bouncer wondered what possibly could have happened in her life that would make her eyes resemble that of an emergency worker, or a war veteran. Shaking his head, knowing the long lines of people that tried to get into Pulse, he let the girl go in, not bothering to get the twenty dollar cover fee.

"Hermione," He called, recalling the strange name on the id. "Be careful in there; don't let anyone try to take advantage." She lifted the corners of her mocha lips in a sad smile

"Don't worry Anthony, no one will try anything with me." Somehow he didn't question why she knew his name or her quiet confidence. She waited as he collected the entrance fee of her cousins, before sweeping into the darkness of the club.

Hermione turned to her cousins and waited until they came to join her by an empty table. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a tiny wad of cash. Carefully, so not to draw attention to the action, she handed a few bills to the other two girls. Cab money for when the club closed, they never returned together. Manda always got smashed by midnight and ended up at the apartment passed out by quarter till while Courtney found a new guy every time they went out, and would end up catching a cab from his apartment or from the hourly motels that sprang up in the clubbing district. Hermione, well she would catch a ride from the club, leaving a few moments before the place closed, the echoes of music never leaving her ears, she would return to the tiny apartment, fall dreamlessly to sleep and wake-up the next day at five ready to begin the process all over.

Standing at the table for a few moments longer Hermione watched her cousins walk in different directions, Manda to the bar, and Court to the largest group of preppy boys. Hermione, or My as she was called for this summer, walked to the dance floor, the beat in her ears and already spreading to her whole body. Starting at the outside she felt the music take her feet in its hold, followed by her hips and shoulders. She moved with the music her body twined around the notes in the air, her head gently bobbing with the beat. She danced and danced for hours, sometimes with a partner, mostly without. No one had the heart to try to add another rhythm to the perfectly aligned girl and music.

On the dance floor she was alone, the throngs of people near her were figments of another's imagination, and she didn't feel the oppressive closeness or the heat. Instead all she felt was the beat. She let the music roll over and through her, her hips were swaying and her body rolled, her actions demanded a partner, someone to share the sex that she seemed to promise, there were no takers though, none could match the skill she showed, or the passion she had with the music.

That isn't to say no one noticed though, many eyes were on the slender person on the dance floor. Most watched with a combination of awe and lust, desire for a wavering flame. There were a few however, that wanted more than sex from the dancer. A watchful pair of blue eyes took in the scene, the normal twinkle gone as he watched the most promising student in fifty years dance as though her life could end in a moment; which as he forced himself to consider it could. If any of the dark followers knew she was here her life was worse than forfeit, not only would they murder her cousins and friends, but anyone she spoke to. Then after that they would torture her to the point for breaking before killing her, the girl that ended the Dark Lords reign of Terror before it could really begin. He shook his head and hoped that she found peace before she returned to school, her final year wouldn't be happy, the rumors were rampant, and her disappearance did nothing to quell them. With one last look at the girl on the dance floor he left the club, none of the dancers ever noticing the strangely dressed old man that spent an hour staring at the clubs mystery dancer.

On the other side of the club a pair of eyes followed her every move. A body mimicked her motions, the perfect counter for her body. A mind pictured her in his bed, actions the same, with different results. Buried below the sexual images were thought her never thoughts he would have, the instinctual feeling that the dancer was his partner, a soul mate. He walked out on to the dance floor, his body pulsing with the beat and danced into her little world. Together they danced. The beat throbbed around them, their actions perfectly in sync; they performed a battle for dominance; they dance out anger, hurt and repression. Finally My found a partner that truly felt the beat and could assist her in dancing the pain and thoughts away. They danced long into the night, lost in the music and in each other's bodies.

Finally the music slowed and cut off, the club announcing last call and closing. My reached her hands up and lifted her heavy hair from the back of her neck, entwining her fingers in her hair, she piled it on the top of her head, letting the air conditioned air hit her neck and the damp layers of hair, before it tumbled back down. She looked up into the eyes of her partner and lost herself in two silver pools. She looked into a pair of eyes that screamed emotion, anger, pain and sorrow dominated his eyes as well, but the overwhelming one she stared at him was lust. Lust for her body, and lust to return to the dance that they had shared. She lost herself in those silver pools, swimming in the eyes of a soul mate. A second passed, an eternity. My could feel the after effect of the dance begin to fade, the thought began to surface, before they could fully form she tore her eyes away from the man in front of her and started to walk to the exit. She felt a warm hand on her wrist, a contact far different than the dance, both intimate and strange. She looked back at the man standing in front of her eyes now questioning.

"Do I get to know your name?" He refused to let go of her wrist, as if he needed her name before he could let her go.

"My." Her voice was formal; speaking after dancing was something she hadn't done in a long time. His eyes narrowed, she continued feeling the need to make him understand.

"My name is My, I guess I may or may not see you around." Her accent flooded him with images of home, the pain he had tried to leave behind. Just as she turned to walk out the doors, he looked her right in the eyes, silver to amber, grey to gold.

"My. My name is Drake. We will meet again." He let go of her wrist and watched as the girl walked out of the club, silver eyes watching her every move.