Author's Note: This chapter is on the lighter and shorter side, tapping back into what this collection was supposed to be about 1000 years ago. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: The following characters belong to J.K. Rowling, and this story derives from her original works, storylines, and world. You can tell I am not she because #transrights

Warnings: NA

This week's AU: Dancer!AU

Pink Swan

One of Remus' many good reasons to be friendly with the custodial staff at the Beauxbatons Dance Academy was that they usually didn't mind slipping him an extra key so that he could get into the rehearsal rooms early. It wasn't strictly necessary for Remus to get to the studios before the dancers did, but it soothed his anxiety about being on time and also meant he could settle in quietly and familiarize himself with the instrument and the acoustics he'd stumbled into. Remus liked things quiet, after all.

Today he was taking over from Sirius, who had called in sick, and was playing for one of the senior cohort's rehearsals. As he understood it, their end of year show was coming along. He had music sheets upon music sheets for Swan Lake tucked in his bag and though he'd played most of them before, it had been for some time now so he was quite anxious to finish his coffee and run through some of the more challenging pieces a few times.

When he reached studio 3, there was already someone sitting at the door; a young woman in a Beauxbatons sweats with the hood pulled up and earbuds in her ear, a gym bag at her feet. She looked up when she saw him coming and jumped up to her feet, nearly tripping over herself. She tore her headphones out and threw her hood back, revealing a shock of magenta hair already tied back in a strict bun.

"Wotcher, are you the piano player for today?" she asked. The voice that spilled out of her mouth, direct and casual and heavily accented, was about as unexpected for this place as her pink hair.

"Yes," Remus said, somewhat stunned.

"Amazing," she said, relieved. "I'm one of the seniors; I wanted to get some practise in before rehearsals started but the receptionist said you already got the spare key…"

"Oh," Remus said. He felt himself blushing. "I… I need to practise too."

"Oh," she said. "Do you… do you mind if I follow you in? I'll put my earbuds in, I promise I won't be trouble."

"I… I suppose that's fine," Remus said. Who was he to say no? He wasn't supposed to be there either.

"Brilliant, thank you," she said. She bent down to pick up her bag but banged her head against the wall, swearing to herself. Remus winced in sympathy.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," she said. "Just bloody clumsy."

Remus kept his thoughts about how clumsiness probably wasn't a valued trait in the academy's senior dancers to himself as he unlocked the door and switched on the rehearsal room lights. Artificial light bounced against the wall of mirrors and the worn wooden floor.

He made a beeline for the piano as the dancer crossed the room and dumped her bag in a corner. She peeled off her hoodie and sweatpants, tossing them on top of her bag, leaving her in booty shorts and a black leotard with sleeves that went down to her elbows and intricate lacing on the back. No matter how clumsy she'd been outside and how flamboyant her hair was, she was definitely built like a ballerina, with arms and legs that were nothing but muscle. He tried to ignore her as she sat on the floor and stretched extensively, humming along to some rock song blaring in her ears. He tried focusing instead on stretching his fingers, finishing his coffee, and flipping through his music. At least he was playing on one of the better tuned pianos, today.

He had gone through a few scales and a few pieces when the dancer had finished her warm-up; jogging and then sprinting in place facing the mirror, doing floor exercises to stretch her back and calves, standing at the bar and stretching out her legs with an elastic band, practising her splits, stretching her feet…

Finally, she laced up her pointe shoes and rose when Remus was about halfway through the first piece he'd decided he needed to go through an extra time. Something stopped her though and she froze, frowned, and looked over to him. She plucked her earbuds out when he was done.

"Are you playing the Black Swan solo?" she asked.

"I—I'm working on it," Remus said.

"Oh," she said. "That's my solo."

"You're the Black Swan?" Remus asked, somewhat incredulously.

"Odile, yeah," the dancer said. She grinned. "Funny, is it?"

"I'm sorry," Remus said, blushing.

"No, it is," she said with a grin. "It's rather hysterical. Pisses off some of the other girls to no end, but yeah. That's me; the ugly duckling and the Black Swan."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply anything," Remus said. "I'm sure you're incredibly talented."

"It's fine," she said. "I was just wondering if I could dance along with you. It's so much nicer to dance without headphones."

What was Remus going to do now, after all of that? Say no?

"Of course," Remus said. "I'll start from the top."

The dancer nodded and hurried across the room to take her opening position—feet in fourth position croisée, one arm gently curved in front of her, the other raised over her head. Head up, back straight, eyes focused.

"Five, six, seven, eight," Remus counted for her before he started playing.

The Black Swan solo opened with a number of pirouettes and Remus immediately felt as if he was watching a different person move before him, when the dancer launched into them easily. She had gone from slouchy and casual to regal and poised, every pointed toe and bent limb and curved hand intentional and natural all at once. He had to force himself to pay attention to the music sheets before him instead of watching her move from one pirouette to another, from one jump to the tip of her pointe shoes to the next, from hyperfocusing on the every change in posture she eased into so effortlessly… she was absolutely beautiful and absolutely enchanting—and he thought that before even noticing the smile on her face as she embodied this dance and the music he was playing. She kept grabbing his attention, begging for him to look up, and he couldn't help but feel that she knew…

Fuck. Remus hadn't needed that kind of additional pressure today.

WC: 1055