Dancing Lessons
Or
I Just Can't Take It Anymore
The Yule Ball was approaching. In fact, it was coming much too quickly in the mind of a certain gay, teenage, wizard, werewolf. Remus hated the Yule Ball, with a passion. He hated the mistletoe. He hated the cheery atmosphere. He hated the icicles. He hated all the girls clinging to his Sirius. Ah, that's the rub, "girls". He had actually been asked to the ball by three of them. Remus was not sexist, he did not hate all girls, just the ones that spent what seemed like all their time hitting on Sirius, which also seemed like everyone, minus Lily. He couldn't stand the constant talk of the most minute details, how they were going to do their hair, what dress they would wear, and of course who would go with who. The sooner it was all over, the sooner Remus would take the figurative blindfold of his eyes.
The one part of the Yule Ball Remus actually liked was, strangely, the dancing. Though it wasn't so strange when you thought about it. Remus was good at dancing. He could not only groove, he made disco look good, and ballroom dancing was easy. He could do the tango and the foxtrot, waltz, and anything else at the drop of a hat. Line dancing was not his favorite, but he had a bizarrely good memory for dance steps. For the past three years, since he was thirteen, he had always placed in at least the top five at the Yule Ball dance-off. Usually, Sirius placed just behind him.
And yet... ballroom dancing classes were obligatory for all sixth years. Even ones with a dance-off trophy.