Hello lovelies, I hope you are all well. Took me a while to write this one, I've not written much Draco-Hermione dialogue as yet and there was more in this chapter so I hope you like it. Once again I must express my gratitude for the people who read, follow/favourite and especially those who review: Gracie Laufey, MemoirsofaLostCause and Sweeney B. There's nothing more helpful than insightful comments, and I love reading feedback, thank you.
Chapter 4
"What is it Malfoy?" Hermione questioned, her voice evidencing exasperation. He smirked down at her in the deserted corridor, the passage was dimly quiet as most people were still at dinner. That included Weasel and Pothead, and Malfoy had enjoyed their disgruntled faces when he drew their Gryffindor princess away.
"Calm down Granger, I just didn't think you'd want Potty and co spying on our first rehearsal. I've come up with a schedule that I'm sure you'll be amenable too." Draco smirked as she drew herself up to her full height at the idea of being 'amenable'. She was still much smaller than him, only a little above the height of his shoulder as she held herself indignantly straight.
"I have no intention of-"
"Yes I heard. But until you give up on finding a fool-proof excuse, do you mind moving your feet while you think? I won't have you make a fool of me when we're lagging behind everyone else. Tomorrow, 8 o clock. I'll meet you outside the Common Room."
…
Hermione let out a barely audible growl at Malfoy's retreating back. He had dropped that bombshell and stalked off, arrogantly assuming her compliance. Hermione sulkily hoisted her bag on her shoulder and resisted the urge to stamp her foot, instead contenting herself with a glare in the direction he had headed.
She ran a hand through her hair as she headed towards the library – she had lost her appetite and didn't feel like braving the atmosphere in the eighth year Common Room. Perfect. Just peachy. All she needed was more pressure and a dead line. If she wanted to escape an evening with Malfoy being superfluously snide and superior then she had about twenty-five hours to come up with something, and she definitely wanted that escape. With that thought she let her heavy bag clunk onto her favourite table and resolved to begin her search.
Hermione Granger had traversed even the dustiest sections of the vast Library in her time at Hogwarts. She knew where to find details of the Blue Salamander's mating habits, amongst other even more obscure magical particulars. Indeed, it was safe to say that Hermione knew this Library as well as any student down the years, but, as she was familiar with her wizarding rights, she was going to have to search for a section on dance. That was one of very few topics she had never researched. The Head Girl saw she was going to have to enlist the help of the one person who she could be certain knew the Library better than she did.
"Madame Pince?"
…
Tapping his foot was beneath Draco. He had too much dignity, too much composure, to betray impatience so obviously. But if that bloody mudblood was another minute late he would be marching into that Common Room to get her. Secrecy or no secrecy.
The corridor was quiet, dark as the minutes moved further and further along their journey past eight. Draco was just about to carry out his unvoiced threat when the fore-mentioned Head Girl rounded the corner. There was an expression in her eyes of abject apprehension and Draco almost felt guilty for the less than sympathetic way he had been treating her. But then she caught sight of him and her gaze hardened. Draco inwardly scoffed at himself; this witch was un-pitiable. She'd probably kept him waiting just to try and show him she didn't accept his control.
"So you didn't find a get out clause?" He asked without looking at her as she fell into step beside him and he led the way to the practice room. From his peripheral vision he could see her stepping quickly to try and keep up with his long stride, but didn't bother to slow. The less time they wasted together, the better – for both of them. It seemed she wasn't wasting anything either; she hadn't replied and he assumed he could take her presence as confirmation enough. The little genius is yet to come up with a master plan? – shock horror. Draco mentally shoved aside the sarcastic voice in his head as he physically pushed open the door to the empty classroom.
They were in the lesser-used West Wing of the Castle, on the fourth floor. Draco knew from experience that this room was very rarely occupied – he had completed covert business and enjoyed discrete pleasure in the shadowy recesses of it. But he had come up here earlier and cast a few charms to transform it: the classroom that had always seemed dim was now lit brightly; the battered desks that had been strewn in casual order were banished to a corner and stacked haphazardly; the dirty windows were now clean and tinted a little, the wall opposite them was completely reflective. It was quite convincingly a dance studio.
Draco drew himself back to the moment, aware of Granger's quiet and hovering presence to his left. He turned to face her, trying to keep to the idea of 'mind over matter' and maintain an open posture as he thought of what was about to happen. He had to fight his natural aversion to her presence, and combat the instinctive disgust at the thought of touching her. Draco closed his eyes briefly and drew in a quiet, life-giving, breath. When they flashed open again a moment later, he was ready.
"Alright Granger, let's see what you can do."
Hermione jerked her head a little at his words and held her breath as she approached him. He stood tall and lean and elegantly dressed in black trousers and an ice blue linen shirt. His posture was relaxed, entirely casual and confident. To Hermione, everything about his slim and silent figure was expectant and intimidating, and she was aware that the last time they'd been as close as this, she had punched him. Hermione took the plunge and copied the illustration she'd seen in 'Dance: the duo's discipline'.
Was this actually real? Surly this was some joke? or bluff?
Granger's hand was too heavy, despite its tiny size, in his hand. Her grip on his shoulder was far too tight. Defying the hand he had steeled himself to press to her waist, she stood excessively far away from him. All of this was wrong.
Draco was quite sure no one could feel weirder about this than he did; it was hard to know how to be 'normal' when he was about to do something that he would never have contemplated even a week ago. Something for the past seven years he would have adamantly refused to do, if anyone had the impudence to suggest it.
Yet none of this effected what he was trying to do. This stance, the ballroom hold, the poise, was easy. It was as natural as breathing to him. How could she, feisty war hero, be so discomposed she was failing to simply be in hold?
"Granger, you do know we're about to waltz? This isn't a barn-raising, barn-dance whatever you call it."
His voice was imperious, and Hermione felt his disdain showed that he had expected little better from a 'mudblood'. But his stormy eyes were filled with genuine confusion and it was clear he wasn't just baiting her. She was doing something wrong, even after her attempts at researching escape had become research to avoid humiliation, she had got this basic stance wrong. And Hermione hated that she didn't know how to do it right. It went against her nature, this not knowing, and she suddenly became aware of how vulnerable she was – in a realer way than simply being alone with Malfoy.
So her guard was up and she snatched her hands from him. "Look, just because you think your God's gift doesn't mean I'm thrilled about having your hands all over me! And you're dead wrong if you think I'm going to let this humiliation happen – these rehearsals are nothing because I'm not doing this competition with you! Oh, and don't pretend you're so eager to touch a filthy muggle-born like –"
"Granger, calm the hell down!" Draco's voice bellowed through her babbling tirade and Hermione realised there was nothing she could do, she had to admit her ignorance and get it over with. "What the Salazar is wrong with you? Just get in hold and we can be out of here in an hour and you can get back to your feckless friends…"
Hermione took a deep breath, her arms folded defensively and her head dipped down so her eyes could examine the grain in the wooden floor. She said it, and stared at the tiny shapes, unblinking, until her eyes were sore and watery blind.
"Granger, I didn't quite catch that. If you'd maybe have the courtesy to lift your head-"
"I can't dance! Okay? The only time I've danced anything like this was the Yule ball, and that was years ago…"
"Yes, but you didn't show Krum up then."
Hermione flashed her watery eyes up to his grey stare and her cheeks flushed rosily as she made another confession to the last person she felt like sharing with. "My shoes were charmed."
Draco was baffled. He assumed she'd know the basics, and expected she'd be able to perform the obvious dances (waltz, tango, salsa) at the very least. He hadn't even considered that she might know nothing. He'd just started to think muggles were alright, but this showed they really were uncivilised – no young woman could get through their childhood of wizarding education without learning those simple steps. This was… inconvenient. To say the least.
"We're not going to be done in an hour Granger."
