Lead and Follow

The past two days had been a living hell for Harry. Ever since the Slytherin had suggested the dance lessons, Harry had been on edge. Whenever he saw Malfoy in the halls, at meals, or in class, he was reminded of the night the Slytherin had caught him--dancing, by himself, like a bloody fool. He felt exposed and humiliated: he tried hard to keep his personal life essentially that - personal, concealed and as hidden as possible from the rest of the world. In some situations, like this, he even kept secrets from his best friends, namely Ron and Hermione. But now the worst person in the world had found out that he danced. But not only did he dance--he ballroom danced. Was there nothing private, least of all in his world? It made him feel vulnerable that Malfoy knew his secret; the Slytherin could use it against him as blackmail, at the very least. The level of his annoyance, hatred, and slight fear was on par with that towards Umbridge the year before.

But he didn't like to think of that great pig, whenever possible. Those detentions had still left slight scars, which one day; he would have to get removed. Maybe next time he was in London.

Dinner in the Great Hall the night of his supposed "first lesson" with Malfoy was the worst. The Slytherin table seemed especially rowdy and Malfoy was laughing loudly. Harry hated it when Malfoy laughed, especially when he didn't know about what. It certainly seemed that the prat was chuckling, smirking, and grinning a lot more than he ever had in the past. Was Malfoy talking about him? Was he telling his fellow Slytherins about what an idiot that Potter was? Or was Malfoy just feasting in the mockery of knowing that Harry wanted to learn how to dance better?

The Slytherin table suddenly erupted in a burst of laughter, all the students caught up in some private joke they were unwilling to share with everyone else. Harry, sinking his head down and glaring stoically at his lumpy pudding, tried not to blush. Still, he had to look, to see if he could understand what the hell those damnable Slytherin's were guffawing about. He glanced up then quickly turned his eyes back to the steaming bowl.

Malfoy had been looking at him.

"Are you all right, mate?" Ron chuckled, poking his friend in the shoulder and giving him a confused look. "Is something swimming in there?"

Biting his tongue, Harry just adjusted his shoulders and straightened his posture, decidedly not looking at Malfoy who was still watching him. "Oh, er, nothing; I thought I saw a hair in it."

Ron grimaced, "Eugh! Blasted house-elves!"

"Ron!" Hermione reprimanded absently, glancing up from her book.

Harry just ignored the two of them, both dreading and anticipating the night's lesson with Malfoy. He wondered if it was all a perverse joke - if Malfoy planned to humiliate him later that night when Harry was waiting for him in the Room of Requirement ....

***

Why did Potter always have to bloody well stare at him? Well, besides the obvious reason, of course. He was, after all, the most good-looking man in the entire school, although The-Boy-Who-Lived was a close second to him--not like he was noticing or anything.

But still, the boy kept staring at him! And it wasn't a simple "how-are-you-today-I'm-fine" look - Potter was probably the last person from whom he could expect one, besides Granger. It was a "what-are-you-plotting-you-fiend" expression, the kind he expected from the Weasel, and presently Draco was completely innocent. Presently, that was.

The only reason that he could conceive of why the prat was staring at him so much (and very indiscreetly at that) was that Potter must have been in awe of his new dance instructor. After all, who wouldn't be? He was probably the best dancer in a 100 kilometer radius. If Draco so desired, he could be professional and compete; he just wasn't that dedicated, especially when it came to ballroom dancing. Especially.

Those green eyes were trained on him again.

Potter was bloody annoying.

The boy couldn't dance, get spells right, or even make potions correctly for that matter--and now he had a staring problem.

Catching his eye, Draco smirked and was amused to see the boy redden and turn to chat with his friends, Weasel and the Mudblood.

It was all very tiresome.

Heaving a silent sigh, Draco turned to Crabbe and Goyle and began to account to them the story about one of the stupid house-elves and its mishap with a frying pan over summer holiday. A few seconds later the entire Slytherin table erupted into laughter and Draco was amused once more as he felt those green eyes staring at him from across the room.

It was both off-putting and enjoyable at the same time. He was satisfied that he had Potter on his toes, both literally and figuratively - he could just imagine what was going on in his rival's head across the Great Hall.

Draco was unaware of a pleasant glow on his features--very rare for a Malfoy--that appeared on his cheeks for the remainder of the meal.

***

It was past midnight, and the damp and coldness of an October night permeated the castle grounds. Outside, the moon was innocently shining down upon the landscape and into a room where a solitary figure was staring up into the water-colored depths. Harry absently glanced over his shoulder, both nervous and apprehensive at the same time. Was Malfoy actually going to show? Harry tried to slough it off. Why did he care? He was a perfectly fine dancer in his own way and he certainly didn't want to be learning how to follow, especially from him.

In addition, Harry insisted, glaring down at his nails and the dirt that somehow always managed to get caught beneath them, if he really wanted to, he could just learn some more over the summer, or find someone else at school (who wasn't a total arse) to help him.

But Malfoy was late, and Harry felt even more foolish for believing the lying, cheating, conniving Slytherin at his word. It was like something out of first year, when he had gone for the midnight duel, only to be left in the cold, hiding and listening to Malfoy's mocking voice insisting that "Potter was somewhere around here."

Well, Harry supposed offhandedly, brushing off his trousers, he had gotten the upper hand with Malfoy in that one, now hadn't he?

There was no point waiting for the bloke. If Malfoy wasn't going to come he didn't give one knut over it and he certainly wasn't going to wait all night in hopes the bloke would show. So, rubbing his neck absently, Harry decided to start with the waltz for the night. He adjusted his position, made the proper frame, and took that first important step. The first step was always the most significant in any dance; it demonstrated the nature of the dance itself and the strength of the leader.

Eventually, he worked his way into a corkscrew and adapted his posture for the underhand turn for the woman--the woman he would have supposedly been had Malfoy had his way. Maybe it was a good thing that Malfoy still hadn't shown up--he didn't want to give up being the lead any time soon.

But it's not like I care, Harry kept on having to remind himself as he came out of a box turn, fumbling slightly on the move, tripping over his own feet. It was just Malfoy. He could handle him whether he showed or not. He had been handling Malfoy and his annoying ways for several years now, hadn't he? Didn't that count for anything?

Moving to practice the box turn again, he frowned.

Harry allowed himself to admit, very very quietly, he was rather disappointed that Malfoy hadn't shown. Even if Harry did have to dance the part of the girl, it would have been nice to have a dance instructor, and even a partner. It was rather foolish dancing about the room by oneself....

Harry slowed, stopped, and hung his head. He had believed Malfoy. What a fool he had been. After all the crap that Malfoy had pulled on him last year--what with Umbridge and the lot, he shouldn't have been so eager to put his faith in the student whose father was somewhere out on the loose with Voldemort. When had believing anyone ever worked out for him? Even Dumbledore, somewhere along the line, had let him down.

Outside an owl hooted in the night and Harry imagined the giant squid absently splashing around in the lake underneath the silvery moon. If it wasn't so damned cold, he would venture out, but as it was--

There was a flutter of fabric and the sound of movement. Harry, only slightly alarmed, absently glanced over his shoulder and tried to hide his surprise. It was Malfoy. He had actually come.

Harry didn't know whether to be annoyed or mildly happy.

"You're late," he greeted Malfoy with a frown, running his hand absently through his longish hair.

He didn't like this idea at all. Why had he actually been looking forward to this? Why had he even been disappointed when he had thought Malfoy wasn't going to show? Dinner and the suspicious laughter from Malfoy's side of the Slytherin table did not bode well. Harry was so nervous at the moment he didn't know how he was going to be able to handle talking coherently, let alone dancing on form.

"So?" was the only response the Gryffindor was granted from the blond figure that had abruptly appeared in the darkened room.

"So? You're late."

Draco sneered without much malice and suppressed a yawn as he rolled up the sleeves of his shirt to his elbows. "I wasn't aware there was a certain time I had to be here."

"Well, there is." Harry scowled, crossing his arms and wondering how Malfoy always managed to act the pompous arse perfectly....

Draco, on the other hand, only responded by tossing a bag down onto the ground and taking off his grey vest. He placed it onto the old desk where the dancing books had been previously. Striding across the room and flexing his shoulders to loosen his muscles, he absently gave Potter a once-over in mild appreciation, though Harry didn't seem to notice much.

Harry motioned to the bag and demanded, "What's that?"

"Go over there and see for yourself, Potter," Draco replied, smirking absently and scratching the back of his neck, not really giving much mind to his fuming rival who was standing in the shadows.

The green-eyed man just wished the bastard would tell him what the hell was in the bag, but he could tell Malfoy was enjoying himself immensely at his expense--like he always did.

"I got you shoes. Better than those...whatever they're called--Muggle monstrosities." Draco's back was to him now as he leaned against the same window-pane that Harry had been standing by previously. He, too, looked out onto the great lake under the moonlight.

Harry was somewhat surprised, although nevertheless, untrusting. His eyes narrowed," You got me shoes? How did you know my size?"

"You really are an idiot. You can get one size-fits-most when it comes to shoes, except I don't think they would fit your ogre friend Hagrid."

Harry didn't bother to argue. He was too tired and too nervous now to bother with Malfoy. They hadn't even started dancing yet--Harry had to learn how to choose his battles from now on. Of course, this was presuming they managed to survive the first lesson together--something that seemed highly unlikely at this moment in time.

"They don't have any tread so you can spin easily." Draco continued blandly as he stated the fact, turning from the window as he watched Harry take off his shoes and hunch over to put his new ones on. Draco's eyes narrowed appreciatively, but said nothing.

"Am I going to be doing a lot of spinning?"

"Well, you are the girl."

Now finished with the laces, Harry stood up and brushed off his pants as he glared at his rival from across the room, neither appreciative of the shoes nor the last comment.

"Shut up, Malfoy."

Draco knew very well that he shouldn't bother to try anything with Potter at this moment in time. The two hadn't even started dancing yet--and as silly and utterly Hufflepuffian as it sounded, he had been looking forward to tonight. Not because he was dancing with Potter, although that would certainly prove interesting to say the least, but just being able to dance with someone--anyone, even a beginner, again. It wasn't until he had seen the prat practicing a few nights ago that Draco had realized how much he had enjoyed dancing in his past. But, Draco couldn't let the last comment slide. Potter just asked for the insult. When would the idiot ever learn?

"What's got your knickers in a twist then, eh Potter?"

"I don't want to be the girl. I'm supposed to learn how to lead," His rival answered, rather steamed.

"Says who? Your Muggle teachers who probably learned at some second rate school somewhere?" Draco walked forward as he uttered the last words, enjoying the angry flush as it appeared on his rival's cheeks. He watched in amusement as Potter crossed his arms in anger and frowned. Now that he thought about it, Potter did have the dancer's body. Long, lanky, broad shoulders, and coiled strength. Maybe Seeker and Dancer went hand and hand.

"It doesn't matter; I don't want to follow."

"Oh, how does that not surprise me? You always have to lead and be number one. But not this time, Potter. I'm the lead so just get used to it."

"Why should I? You don't have to be here."

"No, you're right, I don't. I have much better things I could be doing. Namely sleeping--,"

"Or practicing Dark Arts," Harry supplied mildly.

Sneering only half-sincerely, Draco replied coolly, "Careful Potter, those shoes might be hexed."

Harry snorted and didn't say anything else, but only glared at Draco with such an intensity that he was somewhat caught off guard. It certainly must be exhausting glaring--let alone hating a person so much. Still, there was no point in wondering about what rattled around in Mr. H.J. Potter's brain, now was there? They were here to dance and there was no point wasting the evening with mindless drabble. So, stepping out into the middle of the room, Draco presented his left hand and waited. When Potter didn't move from his spot, he sighed absently, and rolled his eyes. This was going to be a long evening indeed.

"Now, Potter, what have you learned for the waltz?"

Harry questioned off guard, blinking at the last comment, "What?"

"What steps have you learned?" Malfoy repeated rather tiredly, rubbing his eyes with a look of deep exhaustion as though he hadn't been sleeping well for the past few nights, or the last few months, for that matter.

"Oh, well..."

"You did learn the waltz, didn't you?"

"Of course I did!"

Harry's voice echoed through the room awkwardly, his cheeks flushed in what he presumed both embarrassment and anger--something that seemed to be happening around Malfoy a lot as of late. What he ought to do was just punch his lights out as revenge for last year; he never had gotten even for that. But that was for another time, another time when he wasn't wearing shoes that Malfoy bought.

Draco just sighed, extended his hand again, and in a more "gentle" voice, urged, "Never mind. Just get over here, and we'll see how you do dancing with me."

Harry blinked, and tried to convince Malfoy that he should play the part of the man--even if he doubted it was going to work. Still, he persisted. If that was one thing Malfoy had taught him throughout the years, it was 'be annoying until you get your way'. Merlin knew it had worked on Harry numerous times. "I didn't learn the part of the girl."

The last comment didn't seem to touch Malfoy and he replied just as coolly as before, "Well, you're about to. As a lead it's my job to make you look good, so we'll start off slow if dats-what-ickle-'arry wants."

"No, that's not want I want. I want to lead."

That's all he had ever wanted to do. Big surprise.

"It's a tough world, Potter; get used to it."

Malfoy's answer didn't shocker him one bit.

Harry regarded his rival's still-outstretched hand rather uneasily. Technically, Malfoy was adhering to the proper dance etiquette, but...somehow it didn't seem right. At all. Suddenly it seemed very flowery and feminine, and Harry had an urge to go watch wrestling or something, just to prove he wasn't a total pouf. But, shoving any such tempting thoughts firmly away in the back of his mind, he gulped and walked across the highlighted dance floor to where Draco stood waiting. Harry avoided Draco's eyes now. It was different under the circumstances--this wasn't Potions, The Great Hall, or Quidditch. It was the two of them in a dark, deserted classroom, dancing. They were dancing. This wasn't rivalry. This wasn't hatred. It was uncharted water and Harry could tell he was sinking already.

Oh, blast it all, he finally thought to himself, taking the last step, We're just dance partners. Nothing more, nothing less--except he is a royal arse, but that's it. That is it.

Harry straightened his posture, turned his head away from Draco, and placed his hand within his partner's and waited, nervous and cautious like a young panther in the jungle.

"Why are you so bloody nervous? We're just dancing, Potter." Draco mumbled to himself, quickly winding his own arm about the boy's waist and making slight adjustments to the way Harry was standing. As he bent his head back up, Draco's eyes casually slipped up the nape of Harry's neck as he noticed the fine jaw line and chin and then--

"I'm not nervous."

--Draco's eyes fell away and he applied a slight amount of resistance against their hands and began the initial step of waltz. The Slytherin knew that Potter would be able to keep up with him, even if he plunged into the steps without counting it out and explaining how it was done like a beginner. Most likely Potter would have taken it as a stab of his pride anyway. Surprisingly, over the years Draco had learned that the boy whom he was dancing with was equally, if not more than, as prideful as he. It was better to get the boy over his head than to humiliate him with the utter basics.

So, he started a turning box in time to silent music in his head, and their steps began to echo throughout the room. Still, it was too soon to be so quiet. Even Draco admitted it was weird. It was he and Potter, in a room, alone, dancing, and both of them obviously not as calm as they should have been about the whole affair: Besides the fact that they were both boys, nothing wrong was going on.

But Draco wasn't nervous, he told himself. Malfoys didn't get nervous, especially around Potters. At times like these, it was best to make conversation.

"What, do you think I'm going to spread this information around? That I meet you at odd hours of the night--to dance? No offense, Potter, but knowing the students at this school they would think we were doing another kind of dance."

Draco noticed absently that Harry grimaced at this comment, and it only caused a slight smirk to appear on Draco's features. This was going to be fun. If Potter didn't learn how to put up with him...oh, he was going to have so much fun torturing the bloke.

"As disgusting as the idea may be for you, Potter, many people on these grounds would kill for an opportunity like this."

"I'm sure."

"You ought to be." Out of the turning box, and into the cork-screw.

"Why are you doing this?"

"That is none of your concern. Now, follow me, if you can." Draco chuckled as he lifted his arm signaling for an under-arm turn--or so Harry thought. He would teach the cocky Gryffindor a thing or two about dancing. He watched in amusement as Harry stepped forward and came to a halt suddenly, glaring daggers at him through his ridiculous bottle-glasses of his. Merlin, when was the boy going to buy himself some new glasses? A pair of nice small, stylish frames would be better--he looked like an utter idiot in those things. But then of course, the face went hand in hand with the truth.

"I can't follow you. I don't know what to do." The Gryffindor seethed.

"You never know what to do, Potter. But at least you admit it." Draco announced, dropping his hand, then stepping back and grasping both Harry's arms and holding them at the biceps. Sometimes starting out simpler was better.

Hm, Potter must work out...

"Now, idiot, on the third count you come forward and turn to your right and walk six paces in the count to the music--,"

"--There is no music, Malfoy."

"Then count it in your head. Even a four-year-old Muggle could do that, I'm sure."

Harry began to throw those visual daggers at Draco again, but he complied, obviously against his will.

Potter is getting better, Draco thought absently, lifting up his arm almost lazily and then continuing into a turning box where six paces later Harry appeared at his side and continued with the dance. Eventually, after a few moments practice like this, Draco slipped his arm back behind Harry's back and adjusted the posture so that the two were back in the formal position.

"I'm surprised and shocked you actually managed to do the steps."

Harry grumbled something along the lines of, "Sod off." although Draco pretended not to hear and led him into a corkscrew again which he managed to follow and pick up rather easily. It wasn't as though Potter didn't know the moves; he just knew them in the opposite manner from the follower. Even Draco admitted learning the opposite role was irksome and felt odd for quite a while before it came normal. Thankfully, having practiced it, Draco had the room to act the complete arse and have the ability to both lead and follow--although he preferred to follow. But then again, who didn't? Turns, swivels, and the lot were just more enjoyable moves and always beneficial to making dancing a pleasurable experience from his point of view. He would be the last one to tell Potter that.

"Ouch--," Draco hissed slightly.

"Sorry." Harry gulped, staring own at his feet. It was utterly terrible--he hadn't looked down at his feet in months. That was what beginners did! And now here he was--well, there was nothing he could do about it.

"Potter, what the bloody hell do you think you are doing?"

Harry looked up, a flush rising to his neck. "What do you mean?"

Draco stopped dancing and dropped his arms, his face cool, calm, and emotionless. "Are you seriously going to attempt to dance, or just fumble around the dance floor looking like someone with two left feet?"

"What are you talking about?" Harry rose to his defense, "I am trying! It's not my fault I was never taught how to follow!"

"Yes, but you were taught not to look at your feet and the correct posture, and you can't even do that right!"

Harry seethed, "Well, there isn't anything I can do about it."

"Maybe if you stopped complaining and making excuses you would be able to get it right."

"I'm not making excuses." He insisted bitterly, clenching his fists unconsciously.

Draco did not reply for a long moment, his eyes just slits of grey in the darkness of the room. Finally, and at his leisure, he finished, "Yes, you are Potter. You're so used to it by now you don't even know you're doing it."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"That means have all the steps we did tonight memorized by tomorrow. I'm tired of this, and you, and I'm going to bed."

Harry watched as Malfoy calmly walked out of the darkened room in the grace of a dancer that Harry had realized he possessed for all those years. Until now, that was. And so, turning on his heel, Harry continued to practice, cursing Malfoy with every step.

Needless to say, the next night, Harry had perfected the waltz and all the moves he had been taught. Draco was the last one to admit he was pleased when he found that the next lesson went by somewhat smoothly, seeing as how they hardly talked, but quite literally, danced the night away.