I don't own Harry Potter. Otherwise, Ron would be dead.
XoXoX
Plie. Arabesque. Pirouette. End.
She opened her eyes. The routine was comforting, familiar. Her feet ached, and the blisters in her toes had surely split. She didn't care. As she stripped of her leotard and leggings, she sighed. She'd discovered the room back in third year. The house elf she had questioned told her of it. The come-and-go room. Currently, three of the walls were covered in floor-to-ceiling mirrors, the fourth holding her bar.
She packed her bag and pulled on her robes, reminiscing. She'd started ballet at five, at her mother's request. As the daughter of an Earl, it was expected she knew certain things; such as how to dance (ballroom and ballet) and play an instrument (violin and piano). She trotted off to her next class, transfiguration. As she walked she pulled her wand from her bun, not nothing the molten gray eyes following her.
XoXoX
At his mother's request, he'd returned for his so-called 'eighth year'. He could never tell her no. So when Parkinson began to annoy him, he walked away, the cow not even noticing. He unconsciously walked towards the Room of Requirement. He did, however take note of the fact it was in use, a simple mohagony door leaking what sounded like Bocherini's Minuette. He'd peaked his head in, staring, transfixed. It was the girl he'd been fantasizing about since fourth year, doing things he recognized as ballet. Merlin, how did she move like that? She wore a black leotard and tights, with a pair of beaten pink pointe shoes tied tight to her toned calves. Her hair, which had gone from frizzy to a nest of curls, was pulled into a tight bun, held with her wand.
As the music stopped, he pulled away, for an alcove a few halls away. When she passed he followed her with molten gray eyes, shocked. Who knew Granger could dance?!