Like a butterfly,
A wild butterfly,
I will collect you
And capture you.
1.
Hermione bent forward and massaged her weary feet. The toes were blood-stained, as usual.
She had spent all night practicing, which most of the girls had told her was a bad idea.
"You're going to nod off during the exam," Ginny had warned her kindly.
But she couldn't have rested if she tried. Her anxiety had reached an unbearable pitch. She could hardly breathe. She was waiting for it to be over.
The other girls were nervous too, but they seemed to have things under control. Most of them were so self-possessed when they danced. Their bodies moved freely, undisturbed by any obstacle, physical or otherwise. Hermione was the opposite in every way. She was always chasing an impossible ideal, bending her body out of shape, struggling to attain a perfection that left her battered and bruised. She lacked the joy and ease of movement. She was afraid of herself when she danced.
And she was more afraid that the examiners would see it too.
But it had always been her dream to enter the prestigious Hogwarts Dance Academy. She had studied the brochures ever since she'd learned how to read. She had always known this is what she wanted to do. It was only that she had such a contradictory relationship with her own passion.
The heavy oak doors were thrown open and Hermione saw Ginny run out into the corridor with her pointe shoes in her arms. She was glowing.
"I got the Fairies dance from Cinderella! It was brilliant, because that's the one I'd rehearsed the most!"
Hermione congratulated her in earnest. "Good job! You surely got in!"
"I hope so! I nearly gutted myself when one of the judges threw me this haughty look like I was doing everything wrong. But he was the only one turning up his nose. Professor McGonagall seemed very pleased. Watch out for him anyway. He's devilishly handsome, but his eyes can kill."
Hermione made a mental note not to look at the judges at all.
Oh, God, let it be over soon.
And then it was her turn. She felt her stomach drop when she heard her name being called out.
Hermione entered the examination room as if she were about to be sent to the gallows.
She kept her eyes firmly on the half-moon windows above the judges' heads. The sky was overcast with clouds and the atmosphere felt repressive. She stated her name clearly and mentioned her previous dancing school. Then, she waited in first position for the music to start.
When she heard the first notes of Act 4 of La Bayadere she was terribly relieved. It was not an easy dance by any stretch of the imagination, but she didn't have to focus on the emotions of the scene. She began confidently enough, going through each fouetté with as much precision as possible and making sure to keep steady.
She was almost halfway through the dance, when a sharp voice cut through the music like ice.
"Stop. Switch to Saint-Saëns, Bacchanale."
The music was immediately cut and she was left standing in the middle of the floor like a fool, with her arms raised over her head.
Hermione turned her face towards the source of the interruption. The man was arresting. He was younger than she had expected, with a fierce and cold demeanour that could make even the bravest tremble. His fingers tapped impatiently on the desk top.
"Mr. Riddle, is it necessary to change her routine?" the older woman she recognized as Professor McGonagall queried from the other end of the table.
"Yes," he answered starkly. "Now. Bacchanale, if you will."
His decisions appeared to be law, since the next thing she knew, Saint- Saëns had started playing and she had to get into position.
Hermione felt like her feet were made of lead. This piece of the Bacchanale was meant to be a pas de deux between Samson and Delilah, but she did not have a partner. She was supposed to pretend she did. And she was supposed to entice him and dance around him in a suggestive manner. All things which she hadn't practiced a great deal, because this piece demanded what she dreaded most, and that was raw emotion.
She tried to smile to hide her obvious discomfort, but each time she leapt forward and pretended she was addressing a lover, something pulled her back. It was her own sense of inadequacy and her inability to lose herself in a dance that was meant to reveal too much of the dancer. The inviting Oriental strings were supposed to lead Samson and Delilah into a trance, but all she could do was go through the motions and pretend she was anywhere else. Detachment was safer, detachment did not allow for mistakes.
She could feel his capricious gaze on her body, watching her every move, waiting for her to fall a step short. Hermione did not want to give him the satisfaction. She was going to finish the dance, even if it made her stomach turn.
"Stop," he called out again, just as she was performing a grand jeté, but this time, Hermione continued dancing, even when the music was cut. The floor squeaked against her feet as she turned in silence, chasing the final movements of the piece.
When it was over, she came to a standstill, panting heavily.
She saw it on their faces. The judges were not impressed with her little show of defiance. Even Professor McGonagall looked down awkwardly.
"When I say stop, you stop," the young man spoke calmly, but his every word felt like a dagger.
"Do you understand?"
Hermione nodded her head apprehensively. "I understand –"
"Quiet. You call that dancing? You were meant to seduce Samson, not run away from him," he remarked with alacrity.
"I apologize, Sir. I am doing my best," Hermione mumbled, although she felt tears gathering at the corner of her eyes, blurring her vision.
I will not cry. I will not cry. She took a deep breath to master her emotions.
He sneered. "If this is you doing your best, then I'm afraid we've seen enough. Good day."
And with that, her dream of attending Hogwarts had shattered into a million pieces. Hermione couldn't believe it.
"But that's so unfair!" Ginny protested as they sat together in the changing rooms. "No First-Year was ever given pas de deux at the entrance exam! That's too hard and unpredictable! He made you perform as if you were already a professional! What a bastard!"
"I gathered as much," Hermione muttered, trying to take off the last bits of makeup from her face. "I was lucky I'd gone over that piece out of pedantry. I wanted to cover everything."
"Of course you did," Ginny sighed, "and I'm so sorry."
Hermione shrugged. "It wasn't meant to be, I suppose. But at least you will be part of the program and you can tell me all about it."
"I promise, if I get in, I'll let you in on every excruciating moment."
"Hey, they're calling out the list," Parvati shouted from the hallway.
"Come on," Ginny beckoned.
"No, there's no point in hearing I failed. I already know, thanks very much."
"Then come for me, please?" Ginny nudged playfully.
Hermione couldn't say no to that. They both arrived in front of the exam doors where Professor McGonagall was talking to the candidates.
"As you know, we only have room for five new bright talents this year, each assigned to an individual mentor. My colleagues have all chosen their favoured students. When I call out your name, you will step forward."
Hermione was grateful that at least the hateful man who had sabotaged her routine was not there to gloat. He would have probably savoured her dismay.
"Abbot, Hannah. Professor Sprout will be your personal mentor. Congratulations."
"Granger, Hermione –"
Her heart leapt out of her chest. She must have heard wrong. Ginny pushed her forward. "Go!"
Hermione walked up to Professor McGonagall in a daze. She wasn't sure if there was enough air in her lungs to sustain her.
"Professor Riddle will be your personal mentor. Congratulations."
And the other shoe dropped. Hermione recognized the name. She opened her mouth to protest, but only air came out. He was going to be her mentor. The man who had almost reduced her to tears. But – why? Why had he chosen her when he had been so scathing of her performance? Was this another trick? Some kind of sick punishment?
Three more girls were selected after that, but Hermione only listened with half an ear.
"Parkinson, Pansy, Professor Slughorn will be your personal mentor. Congratulations."
"Patil, Parvati, Professor Sinistra will be your personal mentor. Congratulations."
"Weasley, Ginevra. I shall be your personal mentor. Congratulations."
"I got McGonagall! How great is that?" Ginny bragged happily, clasping Hermione in a tight embrace.
Hermione returned the hug, feeling pleased on behalf of her friend, but disconcerted about her own success. She had made it. She had got into Hogwarts Dance Academy. So then, why wasn't she feeling euphoric? Why wasn't she celebrating? This was her dream, after all.
"Tomorrow's the boys' turn. Should we go peek at their exam? My brother, Percy, is trying out for the third time! He'll be so jealous when he finds out I did it on my first try."
"I'm sure he will be seething," Hermione replied in good humour. She just needed to cheer up, that was it. Riddle had tested her, and she supposed she had passed. There was nothing wrong with this picture. She was at Hogwarts. That's all that mattered.
Late that night, sitting up in the dormitory with the other girls, she couldn't get a wink of sleep even though she was thoroughly exhausted. She pulled out one of her history books and searched for the name of Riddle. She hadn't heard of him before, which was a surprise, since she had read most of these books religiously.
And then she realized why. He wasn't known as Riddle in the ballet world. His famous stage name was Voldemort.
"Vol de mort," she whispered in awe. Flight of death. She had encountered the phrase before, but she hadn't dwelled on it. It seemed she should have.
He was a young god.
He had been the youngest ballet champion in the country and the youngest dancer to perform with the Russian Ballet. A prodigious talent, he had been renamed Voldemort due to his dancing technique, which was impossible to follow or replicate. He moved so fast and in such a fluid way, it really did look like he was flying.
Hermione resolved to go down to the projection room and watch some of his old footage. She remembered being very little and seeing him on television. She couldn't believe he was her teacher now. Not only that, but her personal mentor.
What had he seen in her? Or...what had he not seen?
She was terrified and excited to find out.
Sooo, I hope you liked the beginning. I was inspired to write this after watching the TV show, Flesh and Bone, which I highly recommend. This will be very mature and dark later on. Let's see how it goes? (yay or nay?)
