Author's Note: This is the first chapter (no, really) in my latest FanFic. (Sigh), yet another Draco/Ginny. (Squeals happily.) I'd really like to know what you think of it, and I thank those of you who contributed to the 60 reviews for Puffy Red Eyes. Wow. I am nearing the end of this story, so I won't be uploading but a few chapters at a time. This story is quite a bit longer than the last one. The entire story should be up in a few weeks.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine except for Heather, Skye, Janet, the plot, and whatever else you may not remember from the books that I'm too lazy to find.

Dancing Life

Chapter 1: Two-stepping with Trouble

A slender red-head tapped her foot impatiently, glancing down a deserted hallway.

Heather should be here be now. Ginny Weasley thought, pacing the floor in front of a closed door.

It was Ginny's sixth year at Hogwarts, and this year was shaping up to be a very pleasant one indeed. The threat of Voldemort had been diminished greatly; some saying the evil dark lord had been incapacitated to the point of near non-existence. Through the combined intuition of the Aurors, the Order, and to a lesser extent, the Ministry of Magic, most of the Death Eaters had been captured and sent to Azkaban, including Lucius Malfoy.

This was reason enough for Ginny to celebrate for the next two decades. Lucius Malfoy had been a thorn in her father's side for as long as she could remember, and had nearly gotten her killed in her first year when he gave her an enchanted diary that had belonged to none other than the sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle; the boy who would grow up to become Lord Voldemort. Lucius Malfoy had been a prominent Death Eater, and rumored to be Voldemort's right hand man.

And now he was in Azkaban, rotting away in some filthy cell. And his prat, ferret of a son no longer marched around Hogwarts as if he owned it. Draco Malfoy was still venomous and sharp, but he had mellowed out significantly after his father's downfall. He barely ever bothered Ginny or her friends anymore, though it was true that he could never pass the opportunity to show up Harry.

Ginny sighed regretfully. Harry Potter had been her girlish crush since her first year at Hogwarts. How can you not ogle over someone who saved your life, and who was besides, too good-looking to be allowed.

But after following him around for six years and hanging onto every word he said to her, treasuring them like gems, she had finally given up. She was tired of worrying over how she looked when Harry never saw her as anything other than a little sister. She was tired of going out of her way to spend time with him. She was tired of being ignored.

It wasn't that she wasn't interested in boys. No, she was very much interested in the opposite sex, and vice-versa. She'd dated Colin Creevey and Seamus Finnegan alternately at the beginning of the last school year, but both had been innocent fun. Just flings with good friends.

Ginny stared down the empty hallway. Her friend, Heather Rambinski was supposed to be meeting her for the introduction of a new course that was being offered on weekends to fourth years and above with decent passing grades.

It was a dancing class.

Not ballet or street dancing, or Ginny would have downright refused Heather's pleas to join her. It was a serious class that dealt with dance history, different cultural dances, and a variety of styles and how to dance them. The course included a small party after Christmas, which would present the rest of the school with some practiced dances, including an interpretive style.

Heather had glanced at Ginny during her debate to get her friend to go with her. "C'mon Gin, look at you. You're the artistic type, you'll love this." She'd been right. With her twin brothers opening up their joke shop, Ginny had found they sent her monthly allowances, understanding her love for pretty, colorful clothes, which her previous wardrobe had lacked greatly.

Ginny looked down at her outfit today and smiled. Normally she simply wore her school robes, but seeing as it was Saturday, and a lovely, expressive morning, she decided to wear clothes that reflected her exultant mood.

She was wearing a long, flowing mint green skirt with a pattern of maroon and dark green roses splayed across it. She loved the way it swirled around her legs, making her feel elegant and graceful. Her top was a simple green sweater, which contrasted brilliantly with her flaming red hair, which she'd cut short over the summer, much to her mother's protests.

It now wisped out just below her ears, several strands coming down to frame her face, giving her (along with her pointed nose, faint freckles, creamy skin, and angular chin) a very pixy-like look. In fact her entire body gave her that image. She was of average height, with irregular, jagged features.

She wasn't beautiful or pretty, but something about her captured the attention of others and held it. She had fascinating features, especially her eyes, which could go either amber or a nice coffee color. They were, as she was, expressive. They were wide and sparkling with fair lashes; incredibly sharp and perceptive.

Her body was still too slender, but she was beginning to mature, physically at least; she was already a developed young adult mentally. She was really, though, just a slip of a girl.

But her personality and dress completely defied her looks. While her appearance suggested weak delicacy, her spirit was strong and defiant. She had a whip-like tongue, razor sharp, with snide comments perpetually balanced on the end, ready to lash out if she ever felt the need.

Her humor was dry and subtle, and she always dressed to defy the way the rest of the girls in school did. The fact was, after finally giving up her hopeless chase for Harry, she really didn't care much about what people thought of her. Most of the Gryffindors (her brother Ron and his friends included) was shocked to find that she was a born rebel, but only in the sense that she didn't allow herself to be dragged along with the crowd. Instead, she put her foot down and dressed, talked, and acted whatever way she felt most comfortable in.

She tapped her foot again, glancing down the hallway, waiting for her friend to show up. Heather Rambinski was a Gryffindor a year younger than Ginny, but still incredibly sensible and practical. She also stood up against the grain, but not as vividly as Ginny.

Heather was less striking than Ginny was. She was probably better classified as pretty, though in a more exotic way; she was immensely atypical from the other simpering, bubbling blondes in the school.

She had long, waist-length black hair, starkly set against smooth, ebony skin, which covered her entire, shapely body. Her wide eyes were such a dark shade of blue that they appeared black, hemmed in by ridiculously thick eyelashes. She moved gracefully and talked smoothly and sophisticatedly, setting her apart from the other fifth years, whose vapid chatter never went any deeper than who was dating who.

She was adamantly opinionated about Muggles and purebloods and how they should get along better (coming from a Muggle home, it was no wonder). She loved discussing politics, though became utterly unapproachable when Cornelius Fudge's name was brought up. She was odd in nearly every way, but still surprisingly well-liked throughout the school, with a few friends in every house, save for Slytherin. Ginny was more solitary, and other than Heather, she didn't really have any true friends.

Ron, Harry and Hermione were great, but they preferred each other's company to Ginny's. Ginny had spent most of her fourth year lonely and depressed (save for the odd boy or two) when suddenly, it was like she just realized there was an incredibly potential friend in her own house: Gryffindor.

Despite the fact that Heather was a year younger, she and Ginny had bonded rather closely and quickly under severe circumstances, and were rarely split up except for classes. Heather loved Ginny's dark wit and Ginny appreciated the intelligent girl's firm grasp on the world.

Ginny shifted her bag on her shoulder and stole a glance at her watch. No wonder she's not here. Ginny thought. I'm early. She looked up just in time to see Heather gliding towards her, looking, as always, calm and composed.

She wore lots of bold, dark colors. Today she'd opted for a deep crimson sweater, which hugged her tightly against the cool weather and a pair of baggy black jeans. She smiled up at Ginny. "Didn't think you'd be eager to get here early." She rumbled smoothly.

Listening to her friend talk was one of the most soothing things possible. Ginny felt instantly at ease. She smiled back at the younger girl, who stood at near eye level.

"Fine, you got me interested. My curiosity peaked, so I had to come down here and check things out." She grinned wickedly. "Plus Ron was looking for a partner to practice Switching Spells with." Her older brother's problem with charms was notoriously well known throughout the Gryffindor common room.

Heather smirked again. "Well, we're a little early, but do you want to go ahead? Maybe we can get good seats and meet the instructor. I hope it's a guy." She added. Ginny rolled her eyes. Heather was sensible, but she was also a fifteen-year-old girl. Hormones overtook practicality.

They entered the small classroom. Desks had been hastily shoved against the walls, leaving a small, but workable area in the middle of the class. Standing to one side was a surprisingly young witch with short, but frighteningly blue hair.

Once you got over the initial shock of her intense hair, which was spiked in the back, she was rather attractive. She had a wide, smiling face and pleasant blue eyes. She smiled warmly at the girls, who seemed to be the only two in the class so far.

Striding forward, she extended a hand, with equally bright blue fingernails. "Professor Skyellamorendolus." She said, grasping each of the girls' hands and giving them a firm shake. "But you may call me 'Professor Skye', if you prefer." She added quickly, taking in their overwhelmed looks.

They smiled. Both liked this energetic, vibrant young woman with a personality to match her appearance. Ginny smiled. "Ginevra Weasley, but mostly everyone calls me Ginny."

Heather smiled too, a soft and satisfied smile. "Heather Rambinski, and I go by Heather." She confirmed silkily.

Skye nodded. "Well, if we're on a first name basis, you may call me Skye. Yeah, my parents named me Skye Skyellamorendolus. Still haven't forgiven them. But if I get to call you by your given name, you should be able to do the same. None of this teacher-student superiority nonsense. Fair is fair; equal is equal, and this…is dance class. Dancing Life." She spread her arms around her, looking thoroughly delighted.

Ginny and Heather grabbed seats closest to the teacher as more people started entering. This professor couldn't be more than a few years older than they were; and she was, there was no other descriptive word: cool!

Ten minutes later the room was nearing full, and the flow of people entering had ceased. There was a total of around twenty-five, thirty students, mostly sixth and seventh years, from all four of the houses.

Ginny's large amber-brown eyes opened wide when she saw Draco Malfoy and Blaise Zabini walk into the classroom. They were easily the two best-looking boys in the class, and Ginny knew her eyes weren't the only ones following the Slytherins to their seats in the back of the class.

As the door remained firmly shut, Professor Skye stepped up and clapped her hands once. One sharp, firm clap and the class was silent, waiting with eager anticipation. Ginny was amazed to find that so many people were interested.

Skye smiled at them. Smoothing her blue robes she introduced herself, insisting they call her by her first name.

"But, Professor," Lavendar Brown, a seventh year Gryffindor had questioned, raising her hand "All our other teachers have them call them by their surnames. It shows respect." She said softly.

Skye smiled kindly. "I appreciate that you want to show respect in my class. To do that, though, you don't need to call me by my last name. If you really want to denote respect, simply do as I ask you the best you can. And be yourself. I show you respect by treating you as an equal, using your first name, as you are all individuals and not merely students." She smiled again, and Lavendar smiled with her.

"Now, this class will meet every Saturday morning at eleven and every other Sunday morning at the same time. I expect you to come to class and give your best effort, and in return, I hope to show you all the wonderfully animated side of life that is dance."

She flipped open a text book and began to read from it. But, it certainly wasn't what was written directly in the book. Skye elaborated on points, and skipped over others. She used her own words to make the text easier to follow and more interesting.

It wasn't until class was over two hours later that Ginny realized just how powerful a speaker Skye was. She straightened and grabbed her bag from the floor. She turned to Heather, who was looking, for once, stunned. "That was amazing." She said, her voice low and breathy.

"The way she talked about the movements in traditional Spanish dances and what they meant made me want to get up and dance the salsa!" Ginny gasped, laughing at the thought of her dancing in front of class.

Heather grinned. "C'mon, I want to go talk to her." She said, pulling Ginny forward. Ginny began moving with Heather, but stopped abruptly, her hand sliding from Heather's. Someone had trod on the end of her skirt.

Ginny looked up. Damn. She thought, staring up into the cool, aggressive eyes of Draco Malfoy. Like as not, he'd take her skirt getting under his shoe as a personal insult.

She tugged gently on the end of her long skirt, but it was wedged firmly under Malfoy's well-polished shoe. She sighed regretfully.

"'Scuse me, Malfoy. I'm afraid you're standing on my skirt." She said smoothly, not allowing any disgust to tinge her voice.

Draco Malfoy was still staring at her, as if he hadn't heard her. He suddenly seemed to snap back to reality. He hopped off her skirt most comically. Or, at least tried to; he simply got his foot tangled in the skirt. Ginny stared and stifled a giggle. He looked quite funny.

He opened his mouth, almost as if to apologize, then stopped, shutting it rather quickly and glared at her. "Try and watch where you're going next time, Weasley." He snarled, getting back some of his real Malfoy enmity.

Ginny rolled her eyes, still tugging at her skirt. "Yeah, sorry your foot made its way onto my skirt. Absolutely my fault. Oh, I'm so ashamed and disgraced." She said theatrically, throwing a hand up to her forehead.

She pulled her hand down, sneering at him. "Just move your damned foot, Malfoy."

He scowled and stepped even harder on her skirt, rubbing it against the dirty floor.

Ginny fumed. "Get-off-my-bloody-skirt-you-prat!" She shrieked, pulling at her skirt so forcefully that Malfoy nearly lost his balance as she snatched it from under his foot.

Fuming at the annoying blonde, Ginny stormed off, giving him a very rude gesture behind her back. Heather stood close, her face expressionless, but her eyes dancing.

"That was certainly interesting." She said flatly, moving back to where Skye was surrounded by several Ravenclaw sixth years. Ginny growled and turned back to Malfoy.

He was standing by the door, talking to Blaise Zabini. What was unnerving was that they were both staring at her and Heather. Not meanly, not sneeringly, not with that I'm-better-than-you-Gryffindors contemptuous look. Merely looking. Ginny shuddered and scowled at the Slytherins. Malfoy took Zabini's arm and tugged him insistently out of the classroom.

Ginny turned to Heather, who was staring broodingly at the doorway. "That was odd." She said nonchalantly, and turned back to Skye, who was beaming at them.

Ginny forgot all about Draco Malfoy as she listened to her dance professor talk.

Draco Malfoy walked down the corridor to the Slytherin common room, deep in thought. It wasn't until someone flicked him on the arm that he remembered he wasn't walking alone. He looked up into steely black eyes.

"What?" He asked Blaise impatiently.

Blaise cocked his head. "What was that all about?" He asked, nodding back to the dance class. Draco scowled. "Stupid Weasley brat got in my way." He snarled.

Blaise raised an eyebrow. "Really? Well, if you say so…Personally, I think Gryffindors are far too lucky. Those two are stunning."

"What are you talking about?" Draco snapped.

Blaise stopped. "Weasley and her friend. They've certainly grown up, 'specially the Weasley girl." He whistled appreciatively.

Draco scowled. "Zabini, are you insane? They're Gryffindors for Christ's sake. A Weasley and a half-blood!" He fumed, wishing he hadn't been thinking the same thing.

Draco Malfoy was by no means handsome in the rugged, good-looking way that Harry, Ron, and Seamus were. He wasn't even like Blaise. Where the others were broad and burly, Draco was slender and lean, his muscles well-toned, but not bulging.

He was tall and strong, a formidable Quidditch player and devastating heart-breaker. He was sleek and quiet; except for the few quips he sent Potter's way. That never got old.

He was rather good-looking, but his features were marred by the scowl or sneer he usually wore. His pale, silvery-blonde hair was no longer plastered to his head, but allowed to break free and hang about in his face. It had grown longer, now coming down just below his ears.

His stormy eyes, though, were intense. They were an ethereal silvery color, with specks of an icy blue that chilled to the bone.

Blaise Zabini however was very good-looking, with his dark, mysterious looks. He had long, dark hair that was always pulled back, hanging untidily in his face. His piercing black eyes stared out from under strands of hair, and when he wanted to, he was capable of looking very menacing indeed.

He was about Draco's height, just a little shorter than his six feet, but bulkier, more muscled.

Blaise shook his head. "I don't care what house they're in, they're incredible. C'mon, Malfoy, mate. You've got to be tired of all the Pansy-look-alikes." He said, referring to the air headed blonde chatter box that'd been clinging onto Draco and Blaise in the most maddening fashion.

Draco shrugged. "That's certainly undeniable. But that doesn't make Weasleys any better." He missed the look the other boy gave him.

"Well, I'm sick of Pansy crooning over me all the time. That girl with Weasley, Rambinski, I think she's something." He grinned, a look of awe on his face. "Did you hear about her standing up to Snape last week? She scolded him for saying something about Muggles. Actually scolded him! He was so surprised he didn't even give her detention! She's amazing. Got a real backbone in her."

Draco stuck his tongue out in disgust. "She's a bloody Gryffindor!" He hissed.

Blaise shrugged. "She a damned good-looking one, too. I don't care what house she's in. And that Weasley girl…not quite as good-looking in my opinion, but damned well hilarious. You'd like her humor; I heard her talking with Hea-Rambinski in the library. She and Weasley are rather interesting, and at least it would be a break from the monotony. I think I might ask her to go with me to Hogsmeade." He said, biting his lip.

Draco whirled around on Blaise, feeling for some unexplainable reason, upset. "What, Weasley?" He asked, trying to sound disgusted.

Blaise shook his head. "She's neat and all, but that Rambinski girl is irresistible. D'you think she'll go with me?" He asked, hopefully.

Draco fumed, even more so for the relief that washed over him. "Why would you want to? God damn it, Zabini, you could get any girl in Slytherin. Even half the girls from Ravenclaw would go with you. What's the attraction to that little dark witch?" He stared unbelievingly at his friend.

Blaise shrugged. "Not only is she extremely pretty, but she's smart. Not book-smart like that bossy Granger girl. She's…well, sharp. Talking to her would be much more preferable to talking with someone like Pansy."

Draco shook his head. "Do what you like, Zabini, I won't stop you."

Blaise grinned and turned around. Draco stopped and ran back to grab his friend. "What're you doing?"

"I'm going to go ask her." Blaise said simply.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Now? Christ Zabini, you've never even spoken more than two sentences to the girl."

Blaise shrugged again, still moving ahead. "The trip to Hogsmeade is today. I want to see if she wants to go. If not, oh well, I tried."

Draco sighed and followed his friend back to the dance class.

What he didn't tell his love-struck friend was that he had initially thought the same thing. Being in a different year and different house, Draco barely ever saw the Weasley girl and her friend.

But seeing them in dance class was a new experience, one he was shocked to find, wasn't half-bad. The Rambinski girl was sharp. She had a smooth, melodious voice and looked like she was walking around in a dream half the time.

On the other hand, Weasley was violently vibrant with life. He'd never really noticed before, but she was alarmingly attractive. It wasn't that she was pretty, or cuddle-cute, as Pansy had dubbed herself. She was sharp and slender, very Elvin-like in looks.

And her sense of style was rather interesting too.