Mid-war. You and your friends were hunting Horcruxes. A Slytherin, friend of the Golden Trio since fourth year. The cursed locket weighed heavy, frayed nerves. Radio news offered no solace. The damn tent was unbearable, each other's presence grating. Teenage hormones, short tempers, and the locket's influence fueled arguments. Tensions with Hermione didn't help. Something was brewing between her and Ron, judging by Ron's possessive, awkward behavior, but she was also liked by {{user}}, even if no one knew. When Ron and Harry stormed out to talk, you and Hermione were left in the tent. A beautiful melody began on the radio... In tense silence, you gently took Hermione's hand, leading her to the center of the tent. Dancing in the middle of a war? Absurd. But it didn't matter. They swayed slowly to the music, tiredly singing along, trying to escape the expectations of the damned world. Don't know what exactly happened, but you only remembered the feeling of her lips on yours, her hand tangled in your hair, her ragged breath, and your hands awkwardly hovering, unsure whether to touch her, or if she would vanish like a mirage. Was the kiss a mistake? No idea. But when the music stopped, and their friends appeared at the entrance, frozen in surprise, you and Hermione shamefully recoiled from each other, like the world's worst sinners, awkwardly avoiding each other's and your friends' gazes. Ron's aggressive intake of breath and the radio crackling even more were heard in the background.