A/N: This has been sitting around, waiting to be posted for a little while. Basically, it's inspired by the fact that I RP as Angelina, and I use Zoe Saldana as her face. So, when I watch Center Stage, I kind of see Angelina Johnson... And then it went from there. Hope you all like it, and please leave reviews if you enjoy it!
"Well, you know what, Fred? Sometimes, I HATE YOU!" Angelina screamed, hastily grabbing her books from wherever she had left them and shoving them quickly into her bag. She had a nagging suspicion that she had just smudged and squashed an essay (and probably an important one), but right now, she really didn't care at all. Fred only huffed and glared, as she finally found all her things and shot him one last scathing look at him before storming out of Gryffindor Tower.
It was most certainly the biggest fight she and Fred had had so far, and while they had only been dating a few months, it worried her. She shivered a little in the cold December air of the corridors – the torches lining the walls of the castle did little to warm her as she rushed past them - they never did make much difference, at any time of year. Her sudden movements caused the small flames to flutter and gutter madly before slowly settling back to a steady glow. Without pausing, she walked through the corridors of Hogwarts, ignoring the flames and virtually everything else; she knew exactly where she was headed.
Angelina walked quickly towards the seventh floor, her school books under one arm and her bag haphazardly slung over her shoulder. Seemingly exasperated, she paced in front of a painting, back and forth, back and forth, all the way on the top floor of the castle. It had been a long and stressful day, and there was only one thing she wanted to do right now. As the door opened, she sighed with relief.
Inside, the floor was perfectly polished wood, somehow still springy underfoot. The walls on either side of her were completely mirrored, a barre across one side. In the corner, there were benches and a cabinet, and Angelina knew there was a change of outfit inside for her. Smiling now, she walked over into the corner, shrugging her bag and jacket off at the same time and leaving them where they fell in a pile on the floor. Reaching into the cupboard, she retrieved the few things within it – tights, leotard, practice skirt, legwarmers, and her well-worn, perfectly fit ballet pointe shoes. Removing the rest of her uniform slowly, almost reverently, she pulled her tights on, putting on her leotard and other items, save the shoes.
Walking into the centre of the floor, she sank into a half-split, stretching out her legs gracefully; she also raised her arms, stretching them at the same time. As she continued to stretch her legs, spreading them and bending one knee, she reached for her shoes, bending them backwards against the floor, putting almost her whole weight into them as she stretched. Once she had done both, she stood, bending in half and stretching her back, harshly bending her shoes the other way. Having warmed up her body and her shoes, she walked back over to the bench, shoes hanging loosely from her hand. Concentrating hard (it could almost be seen on her face), she thought about what she needed, and a tap appeared above the bench with a small sink. Turning on the water slowly, she pulled on the shoes before soaking one, bending it even more under the water. She flexed the muscles in her feet, making sure her shoes were perfectly moulded to her before entwining the ribbons up her legs, pulling her legwarmers down to cover the perfect pink ribbons.
Walking over to the barre now, Angelina raised onto pointe slowly, the muscles in her legs flexing and one hand resting on the barre to ensure her steadiness as she lifted the opposite leg. She leaned forward at the hips towards the mirror, and moved slowly into a perfect arabesque. Releasing the barre, she stepped out onto her raised foot, propelling herself in a spin, taking small steps and spinning her way across the room, watching herself in the mirror as she went. Landing neatly, she paused, and sighed deeply.
She had missed this – doing ballet classes all through her life before Hogwarts, she had become accustomed to dancing almost every day, using muscles that outside of this room, she rarely used anymore. Even dancing during her school breaks, taking extra classes while she was home for the holidays, there was always a part of her that was missing dancing while she was at school. Turning back towards the mirror, she leant forwards again into a grand plié, brushing the tips of her fingers across the ground before raising her hands into perfect fifth position, her feet turned outwards. Raising up again onto pointe, she leans into another arabesque, arms outstretched and leg perfectly pointed, stepping gracefully into a second one before leaning into her landing leg and using her arms to propel her into a turn, her neck relaxing and her head turning to follow her movements before finishing on pointe again, arms out by her sides as she stayed as still as possible with tiny steps. She grinned to herself – already she was feeling much more comfortable, having pushed her emotions aside and trying her as best she could to channel them into the poise of her dancing. The smile still wide on her face, she bounced a little on her back leg, running a few bigger steps before leaping into a grand jéte, stretching her legs into the splits as she almost flew across the room. This was the closest she could get to Quidditch in the Muggle world, leaping through the air, and for a moment she was weightless and flying, even without the support of a broomstick. Then she landed, as lightly as she could (although a thump could still be heard), raising her arms this time as if she was taking a bow to an imaginary audience.
She paused for a moment, walking daintily back to the barre on flat feet, as she thought hard once agian. Music floated out from somewhere, sweet classical music, and although it was new to her, Angelina immediately picked up the beat of the piece. She leaned backwards onto the barre, stretching one leg out in front of her and lifting it into the air, until she could clearly see the threads of her legwarmers. She wished her pas de deux partner, Erik, was here – she would love to be able to practice some of the harder dances she could remember, but they required a male dancer to lift her and support her as she floated through the air. Instead, she replaced her leg on the floor, sliding it away from her and sinking gracefully into a full split, floating her arms around her as if she was trying to fly herself away from the floor.
Now even more calm and breathing slowly and evenly, Angelina allowed her knee to bend a little as she twisted her body around so that she was now in a side split, and leaned forwards to rest her elbows on the floor. She laid her head on her hands, just staring absently at herself in the mirror, deep in thought. There was something she had always wanted to try, something she'd seen just last summer when her parents had taken her see Cinderella at the ballet in London for a 'home for the holidays' present. She stretched a little while longer, before standing and stretching her legs in front of her using the barre, leaning into her hip muscles, feeling them pulling. It hurt, but it was the best kind of hurt, because she knew it was helping her in the long run. After all, if a spot on a Quidditch team didn't happen for her, she could even try out for a ballet school after she graduated; she thought she was good enough, anyway. And any stretching and toning she gained from ballet would be helpful in Quidditch anyway.
Now that she thought she was stretched well enough to try it, she stood in the middle of the room, twisting one leg in front of her and using it to spin herself in a circle. The first one was slow; she was making sure her arms were outstretched for balance and that she snapped her head back to centre to make sure she didn't fall. After completing a few slower ones, she readied herself, concentrating absolutely as hard as she could on this one moment, preparing mentally as well as physically.
Then, she launched herself onto pointe, quickly flicking herself around now, dropping onto her foot flat for just a second before hopping back onto pointe as she spun around again, and again, and she was concentrating, making sure every turn she caught her own face in the mirror, spinning again, again, adjusting her arms as she went, around again, pointing her other toe as the leg flicked out, touching it to her knee before she dropped from point back to flat and back up again, going around again and again, and just before she got there, to the magic number she was aiming for, just as she was going up to pointe again, a muscle twitched in her foot– and not in a good way. She fell, dropping heavily towards the floor, sticking out her extended leg to try and break her fall and using it to steady herself just in time, despite the fact it was at an odd angle, planting her hands firmly on the floor. Her face, perspiring slightly, was now only inches from the floor, and she could see her breath fogging up the polished wooden floor. Sinking onto the floor in a seated position, she held the offending foot in her hand, bending and flexing the muscles as best she could to try and correct the twitching before trying again.
After a few minutes, she stood again, preparing as she bounced a little on the balls of her feet. Then she was off and moving again, once, twice, three times quickly, checking her arms again, around again, again, again, twisting her hips outwards even more, again, again, checking her toes were pointed to perfection, again, again, and she was drifting closer and closer to the mirror but she didn't care, and again, again, again... Until finally, she was perfect and it was done, the magical '32 fouettés en tournant', thirty-two continuous turns from the Grand Pas d'action of Cinderella, and she was so jubilant, so pleased with herself, that she burst out laughing. The music had, at some point, faded away, and she was laughing, so very loud, into an empty room. But she was glad there was no one around to hear her.
When the sound of her laughter finally died away, she padded back over to her things, a smile still on her face as she gently pulled her legwarmers off and replaced them in the cupboard. Untying the ribbons on her shoes and slipping them off, she rubbed her feet and flexed her muscles, reaching into her bag for some plasters – her toes were bleeding from her efforts, but she didn't even care. Maybe tomorrow she would, but not now. Quickly, she slipped her uniform back on, tying her shoes to each other and slipping them back into the cupboard together. Now that her shoes were off, and her regular school shoes were back on, she picked up her robe and her bag, making sure it was all packed.
Then she turned back to the room, gazing at the spot where she had just been, picturing herself spinning and twirling like a woman possessed. She knew that image would stick with her for days, ingrained in her memory. But she wouldn't tell anyone, not even Fred. Nobody here at Hogwarts knew about her dancing – she went to great lengths to conceal her feet at times from her dorm mates. She just wanted, no, she needed to have something to herself, somewhere to escape sometimes. And that thought kept the smile fixed on her face as she left the Room of Requirement and closed the door behind her, heading back to her friends and her boyfriend.