I am a college student, who luckily survived Hurricane Irma in my Floridian area. I have been going through writer's block on my fanfics and my own personal novel, but writing prompts in my notebook was a big help. In fact, one of them has been copied into this document, but has details added here than in my notebook that just came from my mind.
This story was inspiration from watching a video of Esmeralda, a live action version of her by the actress Salma Hayek in the 1997 version of the Hunchback of Notre Dame, dancing on a stage in front of a crowd. Her dance was inspiration to do this prompt, and then I thought of Harry Potter - special shoutout to the Mischief Managers! You guys should definitely check them out on YouTube!
Anyway, their Drarry videos made me randomly come up of this prompt. So, in a way, this is a combination of Salma Hayek's Esmeralda dance with Drarry. This is a ONE-SHOT as I'm focusing on my Albino and Golden Rose story; as well, the college homework I don't want to do, but have to anyway.
Hope you guys like it! Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, sadly
The music was one with him. The steps were in rhythm, despite the randomness. He made twirls, flips, and splits and all were done with success. His flawless hands waved around as if wanting others to join, but couldn't. The dance was a solo, and a solo it stayed.
The music was graceful. Old-fashioned one could say, especially if that one has no taste in pure musical creations. The instruments weren't done through a DJ's mixing, but by actual and hard-working musicians, bringing their own sense of music alive. The beat was familiar to the dance as any falters done was not by the unfamiliarity of the song. The song bared no singer, but it did not matter. His dance alone made up the lyrics.
People around the yard gathered but stayed far from the large stage he performed on, cheering and clapping at the beat and his graceful aura he gladly revealed. There are people in the crowd that were amazed by his swift moves, but there are some or most that concentrate on his appearance. His tan face and leaned body was more precious than a princess', his hair was short but flew as freedom-filled ebony waves, eyes were glistening emeralds no gem could compare with a common shielding, and better eyesight, through his round glasses, and a birthmark, a tiny mark on the side of his forehead in the shape of a lightning's zig-zag, was repeated covered and unraveled by the locks. Sweat dripped down his sweet skin, letting some perverts come up thoughts on wishing to have that once-in-a-lifetime chance of licking it off and hopefully more actions along the way – eighteen or not, he got everyone in his smooth and graceful hands.
Especially for a young blond as it was his first time here. Not just the festival, but in the modern village himself. Once he looked over to the ebony and tanned man, he couldn't remove his eyes from him.
"I never seen a man with such beauty," he confessed to himself.
Someone, however, heard him speak. "Even for a young gypsy?"
His eyes finally pulled away from the dancer and over to a young woman in the same age as himself and the dancer with bushy brunette hair. Her dark brown eyes matched the proudness in her smile as she continued to watch. Just looking at her reminded him of a proud mother.
"You know him?" He asked, curious.
"Everyone knows him." She then looked back at him. "It's quite a surprise that you don't. Then again, I don't believe I have seen you around here."
"Just a traveler, looking for a guide."
"May I ask what type of guide?"
"Creativity. I am an artist under a block."
Her curious expression made a gentle smile, filled with hope. He returned it in thanks. "He's my foster brother," she then confessed.
Both looked back to the dancer. The young man's breathing was hitched by his dance moves. The way his hips swayed, his hands circled, and his expression showing lust, a desire for completion. Was it for sex, this dance, or his goals unknown to all but him? It didn't matter. Either way, he hypnotized the crowd, an increase of cheering once another split was done and he effortlessly pushed his body to stand on one foot, his legs still in its split's position before becoming an arch, his torso upside until back up straight again, both feet back on the ground to resume the dance. Any hints or glances of pain reflecting on his face never arrived, not even for a second.
"A gymnastic he is," the artist commented.
"Been one for years. Never stops."
The dancer's movement slowed but remained in sync to the rhythm. He must be exhausted, but he showed no such. His hand brought his hair back, the sweat keeping it that way with a few strands on his face still. His back was turned, facing the crowd on the other side. He must have done something as a sudden scream from a number of women was released before his hips swayed again. Grey eyes followed the swaying even when the man turned around before his back was in view again.
"He's beautiful."
A humored giggle came out of the woman. "Not the first man to say such a compliment."
"He can have any person in the palm of his hands."
"If he's shallow. He merely wishes to entertain in a fair matter."
The grey-eyed blond smiled. "A golden treat, he is."
"Much more than that to others."
He turned his front back to them right before a gush of wind came by. A look of ecstasy came on his face and the grey-eyed man could almost hear a sigh of relief from his ajar pink lips. He then brought his attention back to the crowd before a wide smile came on his face as he stood still. It then came to the grey-eyed man's notice that his majestic performance has, sadly, come to an end.
He clapped along with the others, expressing his enjoyment to the performance while the dancer bowed as his thanks.
"What is his name?"
"Most others know him as 'Potter, the Handsome Gypsy'. He prefers Harry, especially from the people he loves."
His blond hair fluttered by another gush of wind, his eyes watching the relief come back on his face as a man, feeling alive after his first time making love with someone he truly loves. The blond man's own pink lips spread a smile on his face, but of happiness and amazement.
"I hope I get to know about this... Harry."
"I wish you luck then. He's not easy to get to, I warn you."
Harry's eyes glanced over the audience before making contact to the far-off grey eyes' owner next to his foster sister. A seductive look came on his face before giving more thanks to the rest of the audience.
"Or maybe," the woman commented, smirking. She noticed the look. "Maybe, you might get him." He blushed softly from the contact before clearing his dry throat with a cough.
"I don't want to get him like some sort of male concubine. I am an artist—a single one at that—and I never seen someone with such grace and beauty – I wish for his beauty to be drawn in my books."
The bushy-haired woman looked at him, seeing the admiration and excitement in his eyes. What was surprising was the lack of lust like most men had in their eyes whenever her brother performed.
"Would his appearance be displayed?"
"I wish. Such wonders of what the world will approve off, but I can allow myself giving him his own portrait, what I saw in him during his dance." He chuckled softly. "Such a sight will be in my dreams for who knows how long."
The woman smiled, understanding since he's new in her village. "Well, how about I reveal you to my brother? He would be glad to meet someone like you."
He returned the smile again. "Thank you so much, Ms..."
"Hermione. Granger is my family, but we allowed him to keep his surname. Come, let's meet my brother."
He nodded before the woman led the way through the breaking up crowd to the back, where the handsome gypsy was giving his happiness to young children before noticing the pair, his happiness remaining on his tired and sweating face.