"Mr. Potter, please stay behind for a moment."

Dammit. Harry had been one foot out the door when McGonagall had caught him. He shrugged at his friends, who looked sympathetically at him. "Meet you in the great hall?" Hermione whispered.

Harry nodded. "As soon as possible." He watched his two friends disappear down the hallway and, with a sigh, turned back to his teacher, who looked amused at his clear frustration.

"You'll be free in just a moment, Mr. Potter, I promise."

Harry couldn't help a small abashed smile at being so clearly caught out. "Sorry, Professor."

"It's quite all right. I just need to inform you that, due to your recent celebrity after the TriWizard Tournament, it has been decided that you will once more open the ball, as you did last year."

Harry stared at Professor McGonagall, not at all certain he had heard her correctly. "I…..are you serious?"

"I'm afraid so, Mr. Potter."

"You mean….dancing again? With a partner?"

"That is exactly what I mean."

Harry was finding words of any kind extremely difficult. "But…why? I mean, half the world thinks I'm crazy and the other half think I'm a liar, going on about Voldemort like I did!"

"I am aware of this. But Professor Dumbledore feels that for this very reason, it is important to show that we stand together in the face of the return of this evil."

The words sank in slowly. This wasn't done just to appease the paparazzi; no. Dumbledore wanted to show wizarding world at large that he and the rest of Hogwarts stood behind Harry, that they believed him. If that was the case, then it was worth enduring any amount of public humiliation, dancing included.

He nodded. "I understand."

McGonagall smiled. "I was certain you would."

Satisfied that they were finished, Harry adjusted his bag on his shoulder and turned to the door, but he was stopped once again. "One more thing, Mr. Potter." Biting his lip to control the grimace that was threatening to escape, he turned back to his teacher. "I'm afraid it's slightly more serious than all that. You're going to have to take dancing lessons."

"Lessons?!"

Harry's scandalized voice rang loudly throughout the now empty Transfiguration classroom. McGonagall glanced up from the papers she was rifling through just long enough to give Harry a reprimanding look.

"Yes, Potter, lessons. I do not say this to be cruel, Mr. Potter, but your dancing at the last ball...well...let us just say that it left a great deal to be desired."

Harry flushed and hated himself for it. "But...but I..." he floundered, struggling hard to come up with any excuse that could prevent him from having to take these accursed lessons. "...but there isn't enough time!" he said at last, triumphantly. "The ball is in less than a month!"

"Which is exactly why I have chosen an extremely talented dancer to be your teacher," McGonagall interrupted. "He should have no problem teaching you some basic moves in the few short weeks we have left."

Wait a second...

"...he?" Harry echoed, heart pounding a bit faster out of fear.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, he," McGonagall stressed, and it was easy to hear the annoyance beginning to overcome her tone now. "For your instructor, I have chosen Draco Malfoy."

Before the words had even left McGonagall's mouth, Harry was shaking his head forcefully 'no' and silently mouthing the word. "No, no, no, no, NO!" he spoke aloud as soon as his professor had quieted down. "Out of the question. I can't."

McGonagall arched a skeptical eyebrow. "...oh? And why not?" Harry stood there silently, unable to come up with a better reason than 'I hate the slimy bastard and want him to die.' His professor sighed. "Well, then, I don't really see what the problem is. I know you two don't exactly see eye to eye..."

"We hate each other," Harry interrupted bluntly. McGonagall continued as though she hadn't heard him.

"...but I had hoped that you could both be a little bit mature and put all this past you. However, if you feel this is not the case..." McGonagall gave the slightest flick of her wand and a roll of parchment appeared out of thin air. Catching it, she held it out to Harry. "This is a list of all students in this school qualified to teach you. They are all, as I'm sure you'll be delighted to discover, female...with the exception of Mr. Malfoy." Harry chose to ignore that amendment, reaching for the scroll. "However," and she pulled the parchment just out of his reach as though to ensure he paid full attention to this next bit, "I would implore you to reconsider your decision. First of all, almost any girl you ask will be fawning over you like a house elf on butterbeer."

Harry swallowed with some difficulty; he hadn't thought of that. Ever since the fourth year, he had been growing steadily in popularity; he was positive that this situation would only worsen now that whoever he invited to the ball would be opening the entire event with him. Harry was not looking forward to being swarmed by over-enthusiastic females. He shook the thought away; McGonagall was still talking.

"In addition," his professor continued, "none of these girls, not a single one of them, has had the sort of training that Mr. Malfoy has had."

At these words, Harry's eyebrows shot so high up that they disappeared beneath the messy fringe of dark hair sweeping across his forehead, and he couldn't fully suppress the smile that leapt unbidden across his lips. "...Malfoy's had dancing lessons?"

McGonagall gave him such a disapproving look that he almost managed to control his amusement...almost. "As I'm sure you are aware, Mr. Potter, Mr. Malfoy comes from a family of good breeding and high standing. He has been well trained in all of the traditional ways expected of a young man who will someday, if all goes properly, become an important figure in this world of ours. There is more to it than just wizardry, Mr. Potter. There is also conversation, etiquette, wit, traditional combat, and...of course...dancing." Luckily, Harry had managed to suppress his amusement, for McGonagall no longer looked in any way pleased.

"...he's really that good, is he?" Harry asked at last after the longest of pauses. McGonagall nodded her head very seriously.

"Indeed he is," she answered. "I have been here many years, Mr. Potter, and witnessed many balls, and I must confess that young Mr. Malfoy is one of the most graceful and talented dancers I have ever seen...and, having witnessed Professor Dumbledore at work when he was young, that is saying something." Thrusting the roll of parchment into Harry's hands (he stood too astonished to take it himself), McGonagall turned and headed for the door. She made it only as far as the doorway before pausing. "Oh, and Mr. Potter...?" Harry glanced up. "You have but three days...three short days to choose an instructor before I shall make the choice for you." And with a sweep of robes she was gone.

"Lessons?" Ron hooted, an expression of wicked glee on his face. "She thinks you were that bad that she wants you to take lessons?"

Harry scowled across the table at his best friend. "Shut up, Ron. I wouldn't talk if I were you, seeing as your dancing is nothing to be proud of."

"Hey, at least I don't need to take lessons."

"That's only because YOU'RE not opening the ball dancing in front of the entire school!" Harry was completely frustrated. He had three days...three, transient days...then it was over. Then McGonagall would MAKE him dance with Malfoy. He glanced up and across the room. It wasn't hard to pick Draco out amongst the others. The slim, sarcastic blonde was seated in his usual spot at the Slytherin table, lounging back in his seat and looking for all the world as if he owned the place. Staring at that blatant sarcasm, it was hard to imagine Draco dancing. Harry thought back as hard as he could to the night of the ball to see if he could remember even one tiny snippet of Draco dancing, but he couldn't; there was none. As far as he could remember, the blonde hadn't left his seat all night.

"Who else is on it?" Hermione asked, drawing Harry out of his stupor.

"...huh?"

"The list, Harry...who else is on the list?"

"Oh...I haven't checked yet." Feeling a cloud of dread settling over him again, Harry pulled the roll of parchment out of his bag and slowly unrolled it, pressing it flat to the table. Immediately his heart sank. "...oh no."

"What? What is it?" Ron tried to snatch the parchment away, but Harry slid it across the table to Hermione's patiently waiting hand.

"I don't know almost any of the girls on that list," Harry mumbled, face buried in his hands. "And the ones I do know...it's just too awkward to even ask."

"Like who?" Ron was now trying with all his might to read the words over Hermione's shoulder, but she was effectively keeping it out of his sight.

"...Parvati Patil?" Hermione read aloud. "That's not too bad, Harry.

"Oh yeah, after it went SO well last time, I may as well just ask her again," Harry shot back sarcastically.

"I guess I see your point." Hermione scrolled down the list. "I don't even KNOW some of these people! Rose Zeller? Daphne Greengrass?"

"Pureblood."

"What?"

"She's a pureblood. That second one. I wouldn't even go there."

"Oh." Hermione nodded knowingly and kept reading. "Well..." shrugging, she handed the list over. "Sorry, Harry. Looks like you're on your own."

Harry groaned. "Why can't someone cool be on it? Like...I don't know...Katie Bell?"

"Because girls who play sports aren't good at dancing?" Ron suggested.

"Not necessarily true," Hermione objected. "That's like saying that someone bookish wouldn't make a good ballerina." She tossed a handful of fluffy hair over one shoulder as she said this, and Ron arched an eyebrow, gesturing towards her.

"Just to prove my point."

"Shut up, Ron." Hermione was a bit pink across the nose now and looked as though she would rather like to hit Ron, but she held back, instead turning her attention to Harry. "Well, why don't you just ask Ginny?"

It was Ron's turn to change red...or orangish, really, sort of the color of his hair. "THAT IS OUT OF THE QUESTION!"

Harry grinned. "Actually, I think I'd do it just to piss Ron off...cept she's not on the list, so it'd never fly with McGonagall." The grin faded away as he groaned, allowing his head to fall to the table with a thump. "Ohhhh, this is never gonna work! I'm screwed! I am so totally screwed! There is just no way to get around this without asking Malfoy!"

"So why don't you just do it already and get it over with?" Hermione obviously had no patience for Harry's complaints. "REALLY, Harry. What's the worst that could happen?"

Harry turned his head ever so slightly, staring incredulously up at Hermione. Unfortunately, the look didn't get through. She either didn't get it or didn't care. "What's the worst that could happen?" he echoed. "WHAT'S THE WORST THAT COULD HAPPEN?!"

"Um, yeah. Honestly, Harry. So he could laugh at you a lot and ruin your reputation. So what? You've been through worse than that before."

Harry realized then that Hermione had a point. He had been under the scrutiny of the entire wizarding world for far too long now...been mocked by thousands of people. So why was this one opinion so important?

Turning his head, he gazed across the room in Draco's direction, and noticed with shock that the boy was already staring in his direction...no, not in his direction...those ice gray eyes were locked right onto Harry.

The Gryffindor felt his heart freeze, his entire body shrinking under that gaze, skin growing warm and flush. Swallowing hard, he stared back, determined to ignore the blush along his cheeks, mouth setting firmly, green eyes unblinking.

Draco seemed almost to smile at that, though the line of his lips didn't change at all...at least not noticeably. It was something in the sudden softness just around the corners of his eyes, or the way roughness of his brow seemed to ebb away like foam on the tide.

"...Harry?"

Harry jumped. "What?" he squeaked out, turning. Hermione and Ron were watching him, Ron with a quirked eyebrow and Hermione with some curiosity.

"What are you doing?"

"Um...nothing. Nothing. Just thinking..."

"Any solution yet?"

"Not really." Harry took a deep breath. "But...maybe I will ask Malfoy."

"ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!"

"Shut UP, Ron!" Hermione smacked the other boy.

"Yeah..." at Ron's words, Harry felt butterflies in his stomach again, but he swallowed them away. "I mean, you're right, Hermione. What's the worst that can happen?"

Hermione smiled. "I'm glad to see you being so mature about this, Harry."

Harry returned her smile weakly and turned away, green eyes searching out that pale smooth face across the room. It wasn't there. Draco had left. He was surprised to feel a wave of disappointment echo through his body as he realized this. The absence of Draco could usually only be regarded as a good thing. Oh well. It was something that could be figured out later. Or ignored.

A memory of silver gray eyes boring into his own hit him like an icy snowball and he paled.

Yeah...ignored was good.

~tbc~