Two days had passed. Two hellish days. Harry hadn't been able to bring himself to actually ask any of the girls for dancing lessons. The few he had approached at all had either lit up at his appearance and (as McGonagall had warned) begun flirting at once, or, in the case of the older girls, stared at him with such disdain that he withered beneath the attention and, mumbling an excuse beneath his breath, skulked away at once.
"What are you going to do?"
Harry didn't look up at Hermione's voice, simply sat there at the table with his face buried in his hands, and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. After a moment, he mumbled something into his hands.
Hermione leaned in closer. "What was that?"
Harry looked up, peering at her between his fingers. "Ask Malfoy, I suppose."
Ron looked shocked, which was ridiculous, since Harry had brought up this suggestion before, and opened his mouth to object, but at a glare from Hermione, he shut his mouth with a snap. "I think that's a very sensible solution," she said.
"Sensible," Harry sighed, "but not a very fun one."
"Fun?" Ron echoed with disbelief. "It's going to be humiliating!"
"Yes, thank you, Ron!" Harry glared. "You do realize you're not being helpful at all?"
"Just saying." Ron poked at his breakfast. "He's going to mock you as much as he 'helps' you, if not more."
"Probably," Harry agreed morosely. "But he does have to help me. If he agrees to give me lessons and doesn't follow through, McGonagall is sure to punish him somehow. Some horrible form of detention."
Even Ron was forced to concede the point with a tiny nod of his head.
"So you'll tell McGonagall today?"
Harry nodded his head in agreement to Hermione's query. "After class."
It was only one o'clock when Harry went to find Draco. McGonagall had been extremely pleased with Harry's decision, so pleased that he hadn't the heart to tell her that it really had been his last resort.
"Go to the Potions classroom," she had told him. "Mr. Malfoy will be there, if I'm not mistaken."
Harry had been completely taken aback. "What's he doing there?"
"Reading."
Harry couldn't have been more surprised if Snape had popped out of thin air wearing a grass skirt and begun to hula dance. "….reading? Draco reads?"
"Of course he reads. How do you think he completes his schoolwork?"
He began to shake his head. "No, I mean….for fun."
McGonagall was looking at Harry in extreme disapproval. "Quite often." He withered beneath that look. "I must say, I'm very disappointed in the amount of prejudice you've shown these past few days."
Harry felt anger stirring in him. How could she label him prejudiced, after the way Draco had behaved towards him these few years? But he dared not say a thing, and she was clearly done discussing the matter, for she had turned back to the scrolls on her desk.
"The Potions room, Mr. Potter."
It was a clear dismissal if ever there was one. Harry nodded, swallowing down his anger, and left the room.
Prejudiced? Him?
It was certainly something to think about.
The door to the Potions room was shut. As soon as Harry knocked, he regretted his decision to do so. His heart was pounding away in his chest with a sick dizzying thud. The air around him seemed hazy and he couldn't catch a decent breath. Calm down, he told himself. You can do this. Honestly, Potter...what're you so afraid of? It's ONLY Draco!
He immediately realized two things: first of all, there was no such thing as 'only Draco,' and secondly, the fact that it was Draco who was really the source of the problem. Feeling the panic taking over again, Harry made up his mind to turn tail and run...too late. The door before him opened, revealing none other than the infamous Slytherin himself.
Draco Malfoy stood framed in the doorway, staring straight-facedly at Harry, who felt himself flushing. Finally, after several moments of silence, Draco spoke up. "Well..." and now Harry was almost certain he could see the tiniest hint of amusement in those icy gray eyes, "...I'm sure there must be an absolutely spectacular explanation for this."
Harry stared, unable to come up with a thing to say. Part of him was still in shock at the fact that he had come to this room at all, but another part of him was too surprised at Draco's appearance. The blonde looked nothing like he normally did.
Draco Malfoy stood there in the doorway, frozen like some very beautiful painting. He was dressed as Harry had never seen him before...not nearly as uptight as usual. The impeccably ironed white shirt was barely visible, covered as it was by a soft and slightly faded green sweater that Harry had never seen the Slytherin wear. The sleeves of the sweater were pushed up as though to keep the loose fabric out of the wearer's way, but they had been rolled unevenly, as if Draco had pushed them up absentmindedly, impatiently. Protruding from underneath the rolled sleeves was the usual white dress shirt, only it too was different. It wasn't its customary pressed self, but slightly loose and wrinkled, more careworn and natural than those shirts Draco usually wore. Instead of carefully polished black shoes, Draco's feet were ensconced in a pair of soft and comfy looking slip-on sneakers, the toes battered and nearly worn through. The usually immaculate blond hair was a mess, as though Draco had been repetitively struggling to keep it pushed out of his eyes, and there was a thick and battered book in his right hand.
"...you looking for something in particular, Potter, or are you just looking?" The amusement in Draco's voice snapped Harry immediately back to life, and a flush spread up into his cheeks.
"Um...neither, really," he managed. Draco arched one slim, skeptical eyebrow, small smile still gracing his lips.
"...really," he said. There were worlds of doubt in that one word. Harry struggled to speak, but his mind still rebelled fiercely at the idea of asking Draco Malfoy for dancing lessons.
"I..." he began, but then made it no further. "...I..." Draco waited patiently, amused smile on his face as he watched. Harry stood frozen in panic. His brain, deciding dancing with Draco was too big a sacrifice to make, had shut down completely. "...I...was wondering..."
"...yes?" Draco responded. His tone was not what Harry would ever under any circumstances have called encouraging, but it was the closest thing to it that he had ever heard coming from Draco. Desperate to finish this encounter and leave, his eyes roamed wildly about for something, someone, some kind of help...and settled on Draco's sleeves.
"...how did you get your sleeves to stay up like that?"
This time, Draco's face registered surprise, though just barely, just in those icy eyes, and he stared at Harry for a moment as though trying to determine if Harry was for real or not. The Boy Who Lived was currently kicking himself inwardly for asking such a stupid question.
"Just a little something I made up," Draco responded at last, watching Harry with a curiously wary eye. He slipped a finger beneath a sort of band on his arm that Harry had previously been unable to see and tugged at it, revealing its stretch. "I made them out of something I got Pansy to give me...headbands, I think. Did a bit of work on them, got them to fit."
"Really?" Harry couldn't believe Draco was buying that stupid question, which in reality, Draco was not.
"Yeah...wasn't difficult, really, they were elastic already, so it was easy to adjust them to fit."
"Oh."
"...keeps my sleeves out of my way when I'm reading, though," Draco said after a moment's pause; this was all far too weird.
"That must be useful."
"It is."
There were a long few moments of utter silence as Draco stared at Harry, who kept his gaze firmly locked on those sleeves. Finally, Draco spoke up. "...I hope you didn't honestly come here to discuss my fashion sense," he said at last. "Because if so, that makes you a really sad person."
Harry blushed yet again. "No," he said at last. "No, I didn't come here for that."
"Then what did you come here for?"
There was a long, seemingly interminable moment of complete silence. Harry knew that he had to ask, had to ask or get the hell out and spend the rest of his time at Hogwarts thinking about his decision (though whether or not he would regret not asking he still couldn't quite figure out). He took a deep breath. "Um...well, you see, it goes something like this...Professor McGonagall told me three days ago that I'm supposed to open the ball again this year..."
"What a surprise," Draco said dryly. Harry scowled; maybe this wasn't such a good idea after all.
"However," he continued as though he hadn't heard a word Draco had said, "she seems to think that my dancing needs some improvement."
Draco stared for a moment, eyes widening in a look of amused surprise. "You actually feel the need to tell me how terrible your dancing is? Apparently you're deluding yourself a bit, Potter...everyone in that room could tell that your dancing leaves a lot to be desired."
Harry glared. "Can't just make this easy for me, can you?" he asked, frustration in his voice. "Have to make things difficult, as always."
Draco coughed, clearing his throat. "Not at all...beg your pardon." Harry eyed Draco suspiciously, not believing that the Slytherin was actually sorry.
"...you're...apologizing?"
"...maybe."
Harry eyed Draco for a moment longer, then scowled. "I don't believe you. There's no way you're sorry for saying that."
"Okay, fine, Potter, I'm not sorry for saying it."
"Then what are you sorry for?"
"...let's just say I'm sorry and leave it at that." Harry opened his mouth as though to say something else, but Draco didn't let him. "By all means, Potter, tell your story." When Harry didn't say anything but simply stared, Draco gave a little half shrug as though to ask what the Gryffindor was waiting for. "...continue."
Harry sighed as though Draco was simply too much to deal with, but he did as he was told and Draco made a little note on his mental checklist. Obeys orders fairly promptly...check. The thought caused the tiniest of wicked grins, and he suppressed it immediately, telling himself to listen to whatever proposition Harry was about to make. Oooh...proposition. He winced. Bad choice of words. At that thought, he nearly began giggling aloud, and would have, too, except for one simple fact: Draco Malfoy never giggled.
"...Draco, are you listening at all?"
Draco snapped out of his reverie. "...no," he answered truthfully. Harry scowled at him.
"Maybe you can get by in Potions without paying any attention, but it's not going to work here."
"God, you never stop bitching, do you, Potter?" Draco ran a hand through his hair, combing the pale blonde locks off his forehead. He did it as though he had done it a thousand times before, succeeding more in tangling his tresses than getting them out of his way and thus explaining just why his hair was so messy. "Just finish the story, will you?"
"It's not really a story."
"Then what is it?" Draco was getting equally exasperated.
"...it's more of a question, really." Harry was still stalling, and Draco could tell.
"Then just ask the bloody question, will you?"
"FINE! Will you give me dancing lessons!" The words burst out, sounding much more like an angry rant than a question, but it was question enough. Both boys froze immediately, Harry's hand flying to his mouth as though he could still stop the words from escaping, Draco staring in complete and utter shock. Neither moved, just stood there, staring. Harry was inwardly dying a thousand and one deaths, each one more painful than the last, dying as he waited for Draco to hex him into the next dimension. Then he noticed that the blond had a funny look on his face...a very funny look.
Harry opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, but before he could, he heard the slightest sound, as though the tiniest snicker had escaped Draco's lips. But that was impossible...Draco rarely laughed, almost never laughed. Yet...there it was again. Harry stared in astonishment as, after struggling for several more seconds to hold back his mirth, Draco gave in, laughter bursting forth. Harry's astonishment gave way to sheer annoyance. "Thanks for laughing," he said dryly. "That's a big help to my self-esteem."
"Oh come on, Potter," Draco managed to gasp out, "your head doesn't need to be any bigger than it is already."
"As a matter of fact, I suffer from severe self-esteem issues, Malfoy," Harry shot back sarcastically. "Thanks for helping me overcome them."
"Heh heh..." Draco was struggling with some difficulty to get control of himself. "Sorry."
Harry's ears perked up immediately. Was Draco actually apologizing twice within ten minutes? He watched the other boy, noting how Draco's normally alabaster pale skin was flushed pink, watched the way Draco wiped tears of mirth from his eyes. Well, what do you know...I actually made Draco Malfoy laugh so hard he cried. True, he thought wryly, it'd be better if that laughter wasn't at my expense...but I'll take what I can get.
"I don't know that I've ever seen you laugh like that," Harry said, somewhat cautiously.
"Well," Draco said, rather breathless from all the laughing, "maybe you just haven't looked closely enough before. Or maybe I've changed. Take your pick, I'm game for either."
Harry stared at Draco, scrutinizing. "I'm not sure I follow."
"I'm not certain you have to."
The Gryffindor let out an unintelligible sound which was half sigh, half exasperated growl. "See, that's more like you! You're so damn infuriating!"
Draco shrugged. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I am an evil prick. But apparently I'm your only hope of dancing salvation, and right now, you're the only thing that's standing in the way of that. I'm certainly not trying to pick any fights here. You're the one who's doing that."
Harry was silent for a long time, considering what Draco had said. It certainly seemed true enough. Draco was being perfectly genial, for reasons that Harry didn't understand. Maybe it was all an act. From his past encounters with the Slytherin, he was apt to believe this to be true. On the other hand, Hermione and Ron had always accused him of being a bit quick to blame Draco for everything that went wrong at Hogwarts. And Draco certainly did seem sincere. And, as the blond pointed out, Harry did need Draco's help. And really, it was just dancing. Just some simple little dancing.
"So," Harry asked at last. "Will you do it?"
"What, teach you to dance?" Draco waited for Harry's nod of agreement, then, head cocked to one side, he watched Harry, closely examining the Boy Who Lived, pondering the situation. "...yes," he said at last, very decisively, "I will. If only to save us all the trauma of watching you lollygag your knobby-kneed way around the dance floor again. I guess it's better for the world if only I suffer from watching your horrible dancing, instead of all Hogwarts."
"Thanks," Harry replied dryly.
"Don't mention it." Draco sighed, running his hand through his hair again and mussing it even more. Harry stared.
"...you really are making an appalling mess of your hair, do you know that?"
"What are you, my bleeding father?" Draco immediately snapped back sharply, his eyes hardening into that much more familiar look that Harry was accustomed to. In a way he was happy; it was something he was used to, as opposed to this calm, easygoing Draco, this Draco who laughed at things that weren't derogatory to Harry, who discussed matters in a friendly manner, who apologized. But on the other hand...
...on the other hand, Harry rather thought he liked that Draco better. If that Draco was real.
"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I didn't mean anything by it. I actually like it. It looks nice. Much more relaxed..." but before he could finish the sentence, Draco was laughing again, but it was more of a cynical chuckle.
"Are you complimenting me, Potter?" the blonde asked disbelievingly, one slim brow arched with skepticism. Harry flushed yet again.
"Well, no. I mean, well, I just thought I should-"
"I mean, I guess when one's hair looks like yours, anything looks good by comparison."
Harry could feel his face turning even redder and his mouth shut tightly to prevent whatever vile thing was going to come out. Draco smiled.
"Relax, Potter, I jest. Sort of. Surely even you know that your hair is utterly ridiculous. I'm just giving you a hard time."
"As usual," Harry muttered.
"Exaaaactly," Draco replied, drawing the word out until it was almost a purr. "You see, we all have our little roles to play. The world has already put you in the role of Noble Hero, so I unfortunately am let to pick up the sloppy seconds. I guess that makes me stuck with Obnoxious Bully. But I do it well, don't you think? And...if I do say so myself...quite charmingly." He tossed his hair at this, and Harry couldn't help but laugh. Draco smiled. "But enough about my fabulous good looks. When do you want to do this?"
The subject change came on so suddenly that Harry was momentarily lost. "When...wait...do what?"
Draco rolled his eyes and, stepping to the side, jumped lightly into the air and kicked his heels together in a little jig. "Dancing lessons, Potter?"
"Please tell me that's not what you're going to teach me."
"Duh, you said you wanted Leprechaun Square Dancing 101, didn't you?"
"I think I liked it better when you had no sense of humor."
"Come on, Potter, you know I'm totally charming." Draco ran a hand through his hair again and Harry couldn't help but smile, for by now Draco's hair was getting close to resembling Harry's own; it was that messy. "How about tonight?"
The smile faded around the edges; Harry swallowed nervously. "T...tonight?"
"Yes, tonight. What...you have a hot date? Who with...come on, you can tell me."
"There's no hot date," Harry insisted, feeling heat creeping up his collar, but Draco interrupted.
"Oh, come on, Harry, I'd tell you if it were me, you know that. I keep up to date on all the gossip, you know. Every week you're dating some new girl."
"I am not!"
"According the school gossip, you are."
"I don't care what they say-"
"Calm down, Harry, can't you take a joke?"
Harry was silent for a long moment. "...not from you," he said at last, very careful to keep his voice level.
Draco stared, but finally he nodded. "Understandable. Guess I'm giving you a hard time. If I were you, I probably would have punched me in the face by now."
Harry smiled slightly. "Does that mean I have your permission?"
Laughing, Draco shrugged. "Take a whack at it, if you like. Doesn't mean you'll get your dance lessons, though."
"Ah, scratch that, then. Damn stupid lessons." Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, and then froze as he realized that the motion mirrored that of Draco's. Quickly he shifted the tousling motion so that he was instead scratching his head and tried to act nonchalant. "So...you said tonight?"
"If it's good for you." Draco didn't sound as if he cared one way or another. Harry still couldn't get his mind around this new Draco. He was friendly, but not. Teasing, but not quite in the same way a friend would be. And he seemed so uncaring about some things and so very interested in others. It was altogether bizarre. "I know a place in downtown London where we could go. I can talk to McGonagall if you like, see if she approves."
"Yeah, sure. That sounds great." Harry now just wanted to get this whole affair over with. Strangely enough, he was starting to find himself liking this new Draco, and was now desperate to get out of there and away from the uncomfortable feeling. "What time?"
"Well, the place doesn't open till around nine, but I'm on good terms with the manager, so I bet I could get us in early...buy us some alone time so you don't humiliate yourself in front of everyone."
"Thanks a lot," Harry said dryly.
"Oh, don't mention it," Draco grinned. "So, let's say we meet in the Great Hall around...seven-thirty?"
"Fine by me."
"Fine." There was a long, awkward silence that neither of them seemed willing to break. Finally, Harry shuffled his feet awkwardly.
"Well...I guess I'll see you later, then." And turning on his heel, he began walking away as fast as he could. But then that silky voice called after him.
"Harry!" The Gryffindor screeched to a halt, not turning, just stopping and standing frozen in the middle of the hall.
"...yes?"
"It's a nice club, okay? So be sure you dress nice. Nothing too fancy, just...nice."
Harry stood in silence for a moment, unsure of what Draco could possibly mean, scared stiff at the prospect of what going to a club with Draco entailed, and totally confused by the whole encounter. Completely terrified, he hurried away without saying another word, leaving Draco smiling after him.
~tbc~
