Chapter Text
“Harry, you said.” The first reminder would be based on reason, but Harry was assured the second would be a clean octave higher and much more shrill.
“I know what I said, Hermione, I just didn’t…well, I honestly didn’t expect we’d lose,” Harry admitted through a chagrined laugh as he scratched nervously at the back of his head waiting for her response. Eighth Year had just begun, and it felt almost surreal to be back at Hogwarts choosing classes with his mates after everything that had happened the year prior. Harry felt he’d never truly gotten to enjoy this place and the type of opportunity being here allotted him, so he had gone into this year with the distinct hope of doing so. But not like this.
“Harry!” she whinged, and both he and Ron winced at the truly remarkable note she hit. She jogged two steps ahead so she could put two hands up, her robes whooshing around her as she stopped both he and Ron in the middle of the corridor on their way to Advanced Transfiguration. Or at least that’s where he and Ron were heading. Hermione had History of Magical Maths or something like that. She had her hair tied back in a puffy ponytail that only accentuated how wide her brown eyes were at their attempt to renege on their deal. Her lips pursed extra tightly and Harry knew she was gearing up for a real masterpiece lecture. “You said” -she articulated each syllable as if Harry and Ron were simply too stupid to understand that they’d lost the bet- “that if I won a game of Chess, you’d take whatever Elective I want with me.”
“Yeah, well that was before we knew which one you’d bloody pick,” Ron argued, flailing his arms. “Can’t you do something less-” he paused then put a hand on his head with his fingers pointed down into his crown and did a little twirl around. Harry laughed, and Hermione turned nearly violet.
“If you took the class with me you’d learn how to not look like a dolt doing that,” she snapped. “Plenty of Quidditch players take Ballet! It’s proven to enhance hand-eye coordination as well as balance, agility, mindfulness-” she took an inhale and both Harry and Ron reached hands out to her shoulders to stop the madness.
“Fine!” They both wailed. “Fine, Hermione. You can lecture us or we’ll take magical sodding dance classes with you, but you just cannot have both.” She smiled broadly, clapping her hands together.
“Once you go I think you’ll really like it. I have to go or I’ll be late, but I’ll see you tomorrow morning at class!” She yelled the last bit as she started running off down the adjacent coordinator which was a savagely good strategy on her part as both Harry and Ron had no idea it would be a morning Ballet class. They groaned audibly together all the way to Advanced Transfiguration.
Chapter 1
Harry and Ron both sort of oozed out of bed, which for Harry was a short roll onto the floor, but for Ron, who slept in a lofted bed over a small writing desk, was a raucous crash that would likely rouse half the dorm. He mouthed a wide ‘ow’ as he rolled his shoulder a few times, long red hair swishing at the tops of his shoulders as he did. Nearly all the Weasley men had long hair except Percy. Bill, in particular, had longer hair than Ginny even. Harry didn’t know how he could stand it, even having his hair at the base of his neck made him mental.
They went back and forth for at least ten minutes on what they should wear. Hermione hadn’t given them any indicator, so they both just dawned their Gryffindor jumpers and some black trousers and trainers. The walk across the covered parapet walk that separated the eastern and southern towers was far colder on that crisp September morning than either of the two had thought through, and they both sprinted across with arms tightly wrapped around themselves to get indoors on the other side. Pushing the heavy wooden doors open they tumbled into the southern bailey corridor, laughing, faces flushed from the chill and the wind. It would have been fine had Ron not careened bodily into a Slytherin girl as she came up the stairs nearly braining the poor thing as he did.
“You complete oaf! Did you learn how to walk from a bloody troll or are you just too stupid to know where you’re putting your big ugly feet?” Pansy dusted herself off dramatically as she slung insult after insult at Ron who seemed to still be in the process of regaining consciousness. Harry reached out a hand and Ron took it, coming to his feet. Pansy ran her manicured nails through her meticulously managed chin-length black bob, patting each hair Ron mussed back into place. Harry felt a twinge of dread creep into him. He didn’t know much about Ballet or dance or any of that tosh, but he wasn’t so dim as to miss Pansy had forgone her Slytherin robes and instead wore a black leotard with thin green straps and pink tights that accentuated how rail thin the girl was. She had black puffy boots on her feet which gave her an almost cartoonish look and Harry had to purse his lips tightly shut to keep the chuckle that bubbled up from his belly from escaping.
“Sorry, mate,” Ron grunted, rubbing his head where it collided with the bannister.
“I am most assuredly not your mate,” she spat the word out, shouldering past Ron. It would have all been so wonderfully dramatic had they not exchanged glances and then followed her down the corridor. Her deep green gauzy skirt swished with each indignant step, and she did a double take over her shoulder when she realized the two were still there. Pansy whirled around, hands clenching to fists.
“Why are you following me?” She snapped, her tiny pug nose wrinkling which made her small almost pixie features skirt the line with appearing gremlin-like. She was a pretty girl with wide set hazel eyes and an almost feline mouth that tucked tightly up under her upturned nose. That horrid facial expression did her very few favours.
“We aren’t following you, Parkinson, we’re going the same place you are,” Harry explained, as diplomatically as he could manage. Her pinched hazel eyes peered down then back up as her pout twisted into an almost gleeful grin.
“Oh,” she replied, somewhere between delighted and mocking in her tone, “how perfectly vile.” She turned back forward, nearly skipping the rest of the way down a corridor Harry only then realized he’d never even seen. A droning cacophony of instruments warming up heralded his arrival in what appeared to be the Magical Arts Department.
“Ron, d’you even know this place existed?” Harry asked. Ron’s face answered before he did as it curled into a confused open-mouthed grimace.
“Absolutely ruddy not, mate. Are we even still at Hogwarts?” He asked, turning in an absent circle as he examined the ornately painted fresco ceilings of the hall. Each doorway had a golden filigree frame that swooped around it giving this entire corridor a regal feel that the rest of Hogwarts did not entirely match. It didn’t entirely not match, but this place was certainly on a different level from even the Great Hall.
“There you are!” Hermione’s tell-tale articulation came as she burst from the nearest golden doorway on the left. Harry bit down so hard he tasted blood as he grit his teeth, but Ron had not been so successful in hiding his reaction as Harry had been. Or else he hadn’t even tried, because he burst out in heaving laughter, holding his stomach when he saw her. Like Pansy, Hermione wore a black leotard although hers had red straps, and a deep burgundy skirt that tied around her waist and swished as she moved. Also like Pansy, she wore pink tights and little pink slippers. The look actually complimented Hermione a lot better than Parkinson, but it was a stark contrast to her usual academic look and had clearly taken both Harry and Ron off guard. She wrapped her arms around herself, hugging her elbows and looking down and away, her cheeks flushing as red as her straps. Harry elbowed Ron so hard in the side he made an audible ‘oof’ sound.
“Sorry, we uh,” Harry began. “Ron nearly decapitated Pansy on our way here.” Hermione turned on her heel, her hair was tied behind her head in a tight bun, but it seemed to desperately want out. She marched back inside and Harry and Ron followed behind. The room was ruddy enormous. Fifteen metre ceilings enchanted with flitting gold cherubim and darting pearly doves that swooped overhead giving the whole space a rather ethereal feel. The floors were shiny wood that made a hollow clunk with each step and every single wall was a massive mirror that reminded Harry how out of place he and Ron appeared in their jumpers and trousers. Long wooden poles ran along the two short walls, and an austere older woman leaning on a cane that appeared to be made entirely of moonstone stood at the room’s very centre. The room had a wildly different smell than the rest of the castle. Chemically, as if the floors had been varnished the Muggle way.
“Just there,” Hermione directed, pointing to a line of students who were also, thankfully, not wearing Ballet attire. He did not recognize too many of the students, mostly girls, that made up the queue, but a few familiar faces stood out. Cho Chang, for one. Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood were laughing together a few spaces up. It was evident that there were some, like Pansy, who had not only arrived early, but perhaps had been doing Ballet for a rather long time. Several students were already at the wooden pole that ran across the mirrors behind Harry and Ron. Harry occupied himself by absent-mindedly glancing around the room, but his blood froze in his veins as he did, not only a double take, but a triple take in the mirror followed quickly by whirling around so fast he almost fell over.
“Ron,” he hissed, trying to get the man’s attention.
“What, Harry?” Ron asked, loudly .
“SHH!” Harry hushed, urgently, grabbing Ron by the collar and pulling him around to face the area where the advanced students were stretching and warming up. Pansy was there, yes, but it was not Pansy that had Harry’s heart tucked up against his tonsils. It was Draco sodding Malfoy. Dressed in a long-sleeved black leotard that accentuated his, notably muscular, shoulders with green piping along the neckline and tight black pants that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. He talked with Pansy so casually, disturbingly casually, as the girl stood, with her entire human body, on his bum while Malfoy’s legs were both extended out to the sides in a split that made Harry’s bollocks want to scream. His chin rested on his hands, a lock of blonde in his face, with his chest pressed into the floor as if this was completely normal and not the bonkers display it truly was.
“Blimey ,” Ron breathed. “Reckon I couldn’t do that even if you ruddy killed me first.” Harry wondered if his heart would beat again or if his bloody lungs would inflate, but after a moment they both remembered their important work keeping him alive and he was able to breathe again. Harry turned back forward, stepping forward in the queue as they neared the front, but he was unable to take his eyes off Malfoy in the mirror. After Pansy removed herself from his backside, he stood, holding the wooden pole with one hand, the other outstretched to the side as he kicked his leg forward then back behind him. Harry was near certain that he’d Charmed away his bones to be able to move like that.
“Name, please,” a nasally woman’s voice startled Harry enough to visibly jump. Ron gave him a good shove and he shook his head attempting to shake loose thoughts of Malfoy and how flexible he may or may not be.
“Uh,” Harry stammered.
“Harry Potter,” Ron answered for him. “And I’m Ron Wealsey.” The woman was willowy, with thin pointed glasses that gave her a sort of angular, severe look. A measuring tape hung around her neck and her hair was cut short in a blunt brown bob that reminded Harry of Pansy. She considered Harry through squinted eyes for a long moment then waved her wand. Harry, for a second, thought she’d Vanished his clothes entirely, but when he looked down he saw that the woman had Transfigured them into the same outfit as Malfoy, only the piping was red and the sleeves cut off at his biceps. It felt ludicrously tight, and Harry wondered for a moment if she’d done the spell right, but she nodded her pointy chin and shooed him away before performing the same spell on Ron.
“Oi, woman!” Ron called, clasping his hands in front of his crotch. “Can’t we just wear trousers like normal people?” Harry grabbed Ron away from the Witch whose eyes had squinted further and the mole above her lip seemed to almost twitch in irritation. Hermione strode up to meet them, ushering the two towards a group of girls that contained Ginny, Luna, Cho, and a Hufflepuff with curly blonde hair that Harry did not recognize.
“You look like a carrot cake pop,” Ginny laughed, eyeing her brother out of the corners of her eyes as if she did not want to commit to being seen with him. Luna giggled, her platinum curls were Charmed back into a bun like Hermione’s though it seemed a lot more contained. Her leotard piping and skirt were a deep blue, same for Cho.
“Yeah well, you look-” Ron began, but Harry elbowed him in the stomach before he could make another rude comment like he had to Hermione. “Fine,” he amended.
“Harry, it’s so unique seeing you here. Are you classically trained?” Luna asked. Harry noted her use of the word ‘unique’ to describe his presence and how that was neither identifiably good nor bad. He breathed an awkward laugh, running a hand through his hair which suddenly felt far too unkempt for this class.
“Uh, no, Luna, can’t say I am,” he answered, uncomfortably. “You?”
“Oh, no, I’m just here for Ginny,” she replied, honestly. Ginny smiled, putting a hand on top of the one Luna had resting on the wood floor. They’d started dating during the summer after Harry and Luna’s seventh year, and seemed to be continuing on like that.
“It’s supposed to be good for Quidditch,” Ginny explained, her freckled face flushing slightly.
“See?” Hermione interjected, never missing a good ‘I told you so’ moment. “Cho’s been dancing for quite a while,” she added. “Same for Amelia,” she added, gesturing to the Hufflepuff girl.
“And you, Hermione,” Amelia said, tilting her thin chin up.
“What ?” Ron gaped. “You said you’d be a beginner, too!”
“And I am!” She argued. “I never said how beginner.”
“You ruddy-” Harry elbowed Ron again. The man would likely have a bruise after all this. A hollow clonk, clonk, clonk interrupted their argument as the older woman in the centre of the room banged her cane onto the floor. Her hair, like most of the girl’s, was tied back in a tight almost militant bun that drew back her features making her high cheekbones and thin, pursed lips all the more apparent. Her skin was a warm pale complexion almost like desert sand, but her hair and eyebrows were jet black. Harry could tell even before she spoke that she was not British, but he could not tell where she was from until she spoke French, but in a thick Italian accent.
“Bonjour . Buongiorno . Good morning,” she called. Her voice filled every nook and cranny of the room and Harry would have bet real Galleons she was using Sonorus to do so, but he’d have lost that bet. Both of the woman’s hands were clasped at the top of her cane, and she wore simple black shoes with a small heel as she stood with her toes pointed out, heels together. Everything from the top of her head to the tips of her toes screamed ‘trained dancer’, and Harry swallowed a heavy lump with the realization that this class might not be the easy ‘O’ he’d hoped for.
“Sono Ilaria Da Veneto, ” she spoke so fast that to Harry it seemed all one word. “But you will be calling me ‘ Signora Ilaria’.” Harry was grateful for the moments when Signora Ilaria spoke English, though they seemed sparse. “This class will be broken into two parts.” She emphasized every single syllable as though everyone in the room was half-deaf and half-daft. “The first will be technique, and the second, pas de deux.” Harry didn’t know that second bit, but hoped that it wouldn’t be a problem. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malfoy exchange a high-five with Pansy. “Technique will be by level and experience, but the pas de deux will not rely on such things.” There was a tense silence that followed that Harry didn't quite understand. “Wands,” Signora Ilaria called with a wave of her hands. Everyone made their way to their things and retrieved their wands.
“What do you reckon we need wands for while dancing?” Ron asked.
“I dunno, mate,” Harry answered, honestly.
“They aren’t for dancing,” Hermione explained the way she explained everything: aggressively. “They are for choosing partners.”
“What?” Ron asked, his face scrunched. The thonk, thonk, thonk of Signora Ilaria’s cane retrieved their attention as all the students held their wands in their hands. Harry couldn’t help but glimpse Malfoy’s Hawthorn wood wand. Fiddly thing, it was. Even though Ollivander had told Harry it had shifted allegiance to him, he’d felt a strange desire to return it to its true home and sent it by owl back to the Manor the previous year.
“The spell is consummatus bilateralis . Repeat.” She knocked her cane onto the floor in a rhythmic staccato as everyone repeated con-su-mma-tus bi-la-ter-al-is in a droning chant. “The hands will be,” she went on, pulling at the top of her cane to reveal the wand within. Harry was suddenly and unceremoniously reminded of Lucius Malfoy. She moved her hand down and across her body, then up and back in a kind of figure eight tipped on one side. “Begin.”
“Consummatus Bilateralis, ” Hermione stated, immediately, expertly adding the accompanying hand motion. The tip of her wand gleamed a brilliant red. They all turned back to Signora Ilaria who nodded sternly and gestured for everyone to follow Hermione’s lead.
“Consummatus Bilateralis, ” Harry said. It wasn’t as pretty as Hermione but a moment later his wand glowed red as well. It took a few tries but eventually Ron got it as well followed by the rest of their group. Ginny’s and Luna’s wands glowed green and Signora Ilaria interrupted the chorus of spellcasting with her cane once more.
“Aha! A pair. Step to the side,” she gestured for Ginny and Luna to move from the middle of the room. “You may need to move around a bit. This spell is designed to match on many things. Height, physical ability, flexibility, but also heart, desire, or how we say in ballet, chimie . Chemistry.” Harry moved his wand near Hermione’s, but it stayed obstinately red. Cho’s as well though Amelia’s and Ron’s came near and glowed a brilliant green like Ginny’s and Luna’s. “To the side!” Signora Ilaria called as soon as she saw, and they left the floor, both appearing relieved to be with someone else in their small group. Across the room, Malfoy tipped his wand elegantly towards Pansy’s and Harry expected the green to be nearly blinding between those two.
However, it was not. Both wands stayed red. Pansy appeared near tears. The numbers had dwindled noticeably. Cho had paired with another Ravenclaw, he was one of the advanced students who was warming up with Malfoy and Parkinson, whose name Harry did not know. Hermione began the long march over towards that group, as very few remained. She held her chin up proudly and held her wand out in front of Pansy.
“I’d rather partner with a rabid hippogriff,” Pansy remarked, crossing her arms and keeping her wand near her chest. It was evident that she was gutted by not pairing with Malfoy and was taking it out on Hermione. Harry followed behind her, holding his wand out as well in solidarity with his mate.
“That could probably be arranged, Parkinson,” he said, and Pansy’s face twisted into an awful expression. She huffed, sticking her arm out indignantly. It turned green almost immediately, but Harry’s did not. Hermione’s did. “What?” She hissed, but Signora Ilaria was already slamming her cane into the floor.
“To the side!” She called. Hermione turned and walked away forcing Pansy to jog behind her to catch up. They were of a height, both slender, though Hermione was a bit curvier than the waifish Parkinson. Honestly, the spell might be onto something because they were both brutal perfectionists who would accept nothing less than one hundred ten percent from their partner. Harry’s heart skipped awkwardly in his chest. Part of him hoped his wand would stay red, that he’d just end up without a partner, but the other part…he could not even bring himself to admit what the other part was feeling as he held his wand out in front of Malfoy. Malfoy’s expression was unreadable, an ice cold apathy that turned his grey eyes to steel.
“Of course,” he said, arms crossed with a deep sigh that seemed to huff from his soul. “I suppose this is my permanent penance.” Malfoy unfolded his right arm from his chest, wrist up, letting his wand hang from his grip with an arrogant indifference that made Harry’s face burn. They were so much closer than they’d ever been before and remarkably, neither was trying to eviscerate or decapitate the other. Harry could smell the soft floral of orchids around Malfoy. A cologne? Or perhaps that’s just what his cleaning Charms smelled like. Harry wondered briefly and inappropriately if his own Charms had a smell and then hoped it smelled good and then wondered why he gave a toss if Malfoy thought his Charms smelled good. He shook his head, running his left hand through his hair. Their wands met, and the light glowed green. Well, it was more blue than green, and Harry wondered if that meant they actually hadn’t paired. Signora Ilaria’s cane knocked against the floor.
“Bravate. Such chimie .”