Summary: A dancer? Check. Lots of skill? Check. Formal training? Check. A job with a world renowned studio? Working on it. AU DracoHarry
Disclaimer: I do not own anything expect Portsmouth and the plot.
AN: Sorry about the italics. They got kind of screwy so I used slashes instead.
5th Day of the Cycle of Salis
5:09 – Mo's Marvelous Motel, Slums of Portsmouth Just Outside the City
Harry stretched lazily upwards. Blinking owlishly, he reached carefully for his glasses, sliding them slowly on. Glancing at his bedside table, the only piece of furniture in the small room except for the bed, he checked the time on the old wristwatch sitting precariously on the edge of the table. It read 5:09 in glowing green neon numbers.
/Plenty of time./ he sighed happily as he sat back against his one pillow, snuggling under his blankets.
/On second thought./ he thought suddenly as he bolted out of bed. He grabbed his tights, a couple of shirts and some jeans. Snagging his dance bag off of a shelf in the corner, he ran out the door and down the hall. He locked himself securely (as securely as the rickety wooden door with its rusting deadbolt would allow) in the bathroom and quickly stripped off his clothes and jumped in the shower. Harry shivered as the cold water hit his body, rubbing his hands up and down his arms trying to create some warmth. After washing as fast as he could, Harry dried off and got on the clothes he had grabbed before, stuffing the extra shirts into his bag.
Running lightly back to his room, Harry dropped off his pajamas and towel and grabbed his water bottles. Grabbing a rubber band, he deftly twisted his unruly long hair into a ponytail. He locked to door firmly and made his way out into the sunlight that had just begun to make its way over the peaks of the mountains behind the city.
5:10 – Malfoy Manor, Upper West Side, Portsmouth
Draco rolled over and slammed the sleep button on his alarm clock, glancing at the time as he jumped easily out the tangle of his covers.
/5:10. Shit, Pansy's going to kill me if I'm late/ he thought. He sprinted into his private bathroom and turned on the shower.
/Come on. Come on. Heat up, god dammit. There is no way I'm getting into a cold shower at five fricking AM in the morning./ he thought contemptuously. He stepped into the now blissfully warm shower and relaxed as the water drummed on his back.
/It certainly pays to be rich/ he thought smugly.
6:00 – Just Outside Ron and Hermione's Dance Studio, Lower South Side, Portsmouth
"Harry, how long have you been sitting out here?" Hermione asked as she climbed the staircase with her dance bag slung over her shoulder and the morning paper tucked under he arm. the dance studio she co-owned with Ron, her husband.
"Not long. I went running this morning," Harry said looking up from his position on the sidewalk where he was stretching.
"I'm definitely ready for some lessons though!" he proclaimed happily as he jumped up and made his way over to her side. Hermione pulled out the studio's keys and unlocked the main door. She opened the old door and disarmed the alarm as Harry cheerfully waltzed over to the main studio.
"Be with you in a second, Harry," she called after his retreating back. She walked over her office and kicked the door open, dropping the paper on the desk and grabbing her pointe shoes. She skipped over the studio where she could already see Harry warming up with plies.
"Well, my fair lady, shall we begin?" he asked jokingly as she sat down by one of the barres.
"Hold your horses, Harry. I have to put on my pointe shoes. You do, too." Harry grimaced and his shoulders drooped a little.
"I hate pointe shoes," he grumbled as he tromped huffily over to his dance bag. He plopped down and opened his bag. Carefully pulling out pads and toe tape he began the laborious process of putting on his pointe shoes. Hermione looked over his work critically, while he waited patiently for her approval. Finally she sighed.
"Okay, Harry, up you go. Time to see if you've been practicing." Harry stood up carefully and walked over to the barre on his right. Gingerly pushing up onto releve, he pushed up onto his shoes. Hermione walked over.
"Alright Harry. Let's do this."
7:54 – In the Main Studio of Ron and Hermione's Dance Studio, Lower South Side, Portsmouth
"Good, your arches have improved tremendously," she mused, "But..." Harry looked up quickly.
"But what, Hermione?" he asked worriedly, "Do you think I can do it?"
"I know you can, Harry, but is this really what you want? You'll be living a charade for the rest of your life."
"I know," murmured Harry softly, "But you heard the Artistic Director. My dancing is too soft. Too feminine for his tastes. The only way I'll get in is by being a girl. It's not just that though. I've worked my whole life just to get in to the Portsmouth Ballet. I'm not giving up because of some stupid artistic director says I should. I "
"Harry, there's more to life than fame and fortune. Heck, there's more dance studios out there. The Portsmouth Ballet may be the best, but it's not the only one," Hermione replied as she carefully rubbed Harry's sagging shoulders, "It's okay. Maybe we should stop for today."
"No! We have to keep practicing. The audition is less than a month away. The other girls will have had years more practice than I will. We've – I've got to keep working." Hermione frowned at his vehemence.
"Alright Harry. You keep practicing I've got my first students coming in here in five minutes. Go use the studio in the back. The tapes you need are in my office. I stop in a check on you when I've got a moment," she stated brusquely as she strode out into the hall. Good luck, Harry. You're going to need it.
8:00 – The Old Studio in the Back of Ron and Hermione's Dance Studio, Lower South Side, Portsmouth
Harry cautiously tiptoed into the empty studio in the back. He sneezed violently as he stirred up some stray dust particles. Walking carefully past the pile of tap boards and boxes of old dance shoes, he placed the CD with his variation for the audition in the player. Adjusting the volume, he grabbed the remote and walked over to his starting point.
/Five. Six. Seven. Eight./ he breathed.
And the music began.
7:45 – Just Outside the Portsmouth Ballet School and Theater Building, North Portsmouth Arts District
Draco sighed in contentment as he inhaled smell of his morning coffee in its Styrofoam cup.
/Delicious./ he thought as he took a sip of the dark black liquid. He climbed the stairs to the Portsmouth Ballet School and Theater careful to avoid any wet patches. Draco pushed the door open and walked into the halls. Whistling cheerfully, he leaped his way down the hall. When he finally reached his dressing room, he stopped with a flourish. Someone began to clap.
"Bravo, Draco, bravo," came a voice from behind him.
"Good morning, Blaise," Draco said coolly as he turned to face the other principal dancer.
"What got you so chipper this morning?" Blaise replied as he took a long drag and the cigarette stub that hung easily from his fingers. Draco frowned and moved away from the smoke.
"Stop it, Blaise. You know you shouldn't smoke. How will you have any breath for your grande allegros? Or in fact, even barre work?" Draco remarked, waving at the smoke that continued to drift towards him. Blaise sighed.
"You're so uptight, Draco. Coffee is bad for people, too, you know," Blaise sniffed as he flicked the ash off the end of his cigarette. He dropped the rest to the floor and ground it into the linoleum with his heel.
"That better?"
"Yes."
"Talkative this morning aren't we boys?" asked a slim girl as she walked gracefully towards to the two dancers.
"Nah, Draco is just being his usual friendly self," Blaise commented, smiling at ballerina.
"Pansy, tell Blaise to go away," Draco ground out as he spun around to the door of his dressing room.
"Tell him yourself. He's right there," Pansy smirked. Draco groaned.
/Aren't ballerinas suppose to be tittering females with no brains in their heads?/ he thought spitefully, /Why couldn't I have gotten stuck with one of those?/ He forced the door of his room open and thankfully dashed in, slamming the door behind him. He could hear the muffled voices of Blaise and Pansy through the door as they began to walk down the hall to the theater.
/Why would they be heading towards the theater?/ Slumping gracelessly to the floor, Draco groaned.
/Of course. Auditions./
12:00 – Inside the Portsmouth Ballet Theater, North Portsmouth Arts District
Draco sauntered slowly into the theater. His eye swept quickly over the mass of dancers waiting to audition. All their eyes were riveted on the stage where Portsmouth Ballet's Artistic Director Severus Snape stood. His black outfit draped almost comically on his long thin body, but no one would ever laugh at Snape.
/No one except me. Even then only in private./ Draco thought snidely. Snape cleared his throat and looked pointedly at Draco. Nodding slightly, Draco jumped lithely up onto the stage and stood just to the right behind Snape.
"As I was saying," Snape said coldly, "Each of you will be required to perform one variation. One. That is your only chance to impress me. At the moment, we have only one opening so competition will be fierce. We only take the best of the best. If we do not find what we are looking for, we will simply hold another audition later. So there is absolutely no guarantee that anyone here is worthy." He looked witheringly at the shy boy in the back of the crowd, who seemed to wilt under Snape's intense glare.
"This is Draco Malfoy. I'm sure all of you, if you have any interest in Portsmouth at all, know that he is our best male dancer," Snape snapped, "Since I'm sick of people thinking they are better than they are coming here to audition, he will demonstrate for you what it takes to be a dancer in the Portsmouth Company." With these words, he stood swiftly offstage and down into the audience. The dancers scattered before and he took his seat in the dead center of the first row.
"Whenever you are ready, Draco," Snape said cordially. He smirked at Draco, and Draco could not help but smirk back.
/It was so fun to disillusion people of their skills./ he thought maliciously. He took his position. Then the music started.
And he let go.
12:04 – Inside the Portsmouth Ballet Theater, North Portsmouth Arts District
Harry stared at Draco Malfoy, best dancer of the Portsmouth Ballet. Draco was incredible. Every move, every leap, every
second of Draco Malfoy's dance was perfect. Not a single hair was out of place.
/How does he have his over splits? I only have mine, because I've been working with Hermione. Boys aren't supposed to bend that way!/ Harry thought furiously. /No wonder I never got in./
/As a boy that is./
End Chapter 1.
Well, I was going to go on, but I thought I would see people's reactions to this first. Do you like it? Do you hate it? Do you need translations of ballet terms? Review and give me some feedback. Thanks for reading!
Definitions:
plie – to bend; standing at the barre in any position, you bend your knees so they point outwards
releve – to rise; the equivalent of going on "tippytoe" or up on the balls of your feet
barre – the ballet way of spelling bar (as in a ballet bar)
en pointe/pointe shoes – On point; Pointe shoes are evil torture devices from the depths of hell – ahem...point shoes are the ballet shoes that you would see people perform in. They have a hardened box (area around your toes) that allows you to rise completely onto the tips of your toes.
variation – a dance from a ballet. There are thousands of them.
Thanks again for reading! Please read and review.