Dance with the One that Brought You

Chapter 1: Bourgeoisie Boogie

She didn't like waiting. She was never patient when it came to certain things. Actually she couldn't think of anything she was patient with, she had to admit. There were so many things that needed her attention. "What a waste of time," she mumbled to herself as she rummaged through her messenger's bag for the trusty to-do list that she religiously abided by daily. She skimmed over her list, greedily looking for something that could be checked off, to make her feel like she was accomplishing something. Her eyes devoured the list: essay for Ancient Runes, Arithmancy homework, research for the Defense Against the Dark Arts paper that would be due next week, and Potions lab work that would take at least a week of recording the results of her attempt at creating a new potion -- where would she start with that one? Feeling frustrated that she didn't have anything to tick just yet, she quickly got out her quill and ink, and added, "Meeting with Professor McGonagall," and promptly placed a neat tick next to it.

"Gods, you have a boring life, Granger," he stated matter-of-factly while leaning over her shoulder and reading her list. "Might want to add: Get a miracle makeover this year, since it will take all year for that miracle to occur!"

She let out a yelp and jumped at least a foot high. In the process, she banged her knees up on the desk, and knocked over the ink bottle, causing it to pour down the desk, onto her list and into her lap.

"Malfoy!" she yelled. "What the hell are you doing here, you skulking lowlife!" She was clearly upset at the damage done to her list and her robe. She quickly raised the ink-blotted list from the desk top.

"Look what you've done, you buffoon!"

Draco smirked as he walked around the desk to view the black river of ink that spilled down the desk onto the precious Gryffindor Princess and shrugged. "Well, Granger, what's the difference? If anything, it's an improvement. Maybe the ink can help to cover up the filth that just oozes off of your robes. Oh wait, no, that's just you, isn't it?"

She shook as she reached down into her pocket and withdrew her wand from her robe. She slowly raised it, with her hand trembling, her eyes following the wand. "You have no reason to be here, Malfoy," she seethed. "As a matter of fact, you have no real reason to exist at all, do you?"

He raised an eyebrow at her and slowly reached into his own pocket, fingering his wand, ready to withdraw it on a moment's notice.

"Want to give it a go, Granger?" he challenged. He withdrew the his wand, but he held it down at his side. "Just you and me, a little one on one?" He tapped it slowly against his leg, in anticipation. "It's finally your chance for a little tête - à - tête with me -- wand to wand, no bloody bodyguards to save your day. What do you say?"

Hermione's veins pounded with adrenaline pumping through them, and she let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding in. "Any day, Malfoy," she seethed through clinched teeth. "And I don't need anybody to back me up, unlike you and your goon squad! That must be why I didn't hear you come in the room. You usually sludge around together with your Slytherin slime balls." She emphasized each 's' with a snakelike hiss.

"Lower your wand, Miss Granger," a calm voice of reason came from across the room. Professor McGonagall advanced slowly as she eyed the extended wand pointed directly at Draco Malfoy. "And Mr. Malfoy, please take a seat."

Hermione's hand was still trembling with frustration mounted on her anger, but she slowly she exhaled and lowered her head along with her wand. She muttered, "Scourgify," and the ink rose up into the air from her robe and desk and slowly broke up into tiny particles before completely evaporating altogether.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and waited for Draco to be seated, as he reluctantly walked across the room and sat several desks away from Hermione.

"I have Quidditch practice in thirty minutes," he stated, as if to inform them that he would only grace them with his presence until then.

"And Professor, he needs all the practice he can get. They are playing against Gryffindors this Saturday, and we know how that always turns out -- even if they aren't playing for the Quidditch Cup this year." She shrugged and added, "He must be a masochist." She felt smug being able to rub it in Malfoy's face that Slytherin had never yet won a Quidditch game against the mighty Gryffindors.

"Yes, well this won't take long, Mr. Malfoy. And do try and pay attention, Miss Granger. The more time you spend exchanging barbs, the longer this is going to take."

It was Malfoy's turn to feel smug. However he couldn't quite keep the smirk on his face because he couldn't help wonder why he and Granger had been asked to see McGonagall in the first place.

"The reason I've asked you both here is because as you know, it's a very special year for us, with the students from Durmstrang and Beauxbatons attending Hogwarts as we host the Triwizard Tournament."

Draco rolled his eyes; he hated the way the year had started. It was just one more chance for Potthead to show off to the world, trying to get as much spotlight in the media as possible -- always a glory hog, that one.

Professor McGonagall continued, "Along with many other activities and events occurring, we will be hosting a Yule Ball this year. It's a time when all three schools come together to celebrate. Each of the champions and his or her partners will be expected to open the ball with a traditional waltz."

Hermione looked puzzled and without realizing she had done so, she raised her hand to ask a question. "Excuse me, Professor?"

Draco scoffed at her, "Granger, you're not in class. Do you also raise your hand at home to use the loo?"

Hermione was immediately embarrassed, not to mention perturbed. She lowered her hand, not turning to look and pointedly ignoring Malfoy asked, "Professor, what does this have to do with us? We aren't in the tournament."

"Miss Granger, I know you've studied music, and I believe you've taken many years of ballet lessons at home." It wasn't a question; it was a statement. "And Mr. Malfoy, your father has seen to it that you've received the highest degree of ballroom dancing instruction available, being that your family attends so many formal wizarding balls during the season."

He nodded, but he still wasn't sure where this was going.

"There won't be much time for the champions to learn, since they will need to focus on each of their tasks. Therefore, the headmaster has requested that I find two talented and capable students to assist me with the instruction and choreography of the waltz." She patted her hair self-consciously. "Although I do pride myself in being an adequate dancer, I am sure there are many new dance steps that your peers would rather learn from you than from me, although the basics are the same."

"You want me to teach them how to dance?" Draco said incredulously.

"No, Mr. Malfoy," she corrected. "I want you to choreograph the dance, and then teach them. The both of you have the training, skills, and talent that will make this dance an event to remember."

Hermione was floored, she was speechless. The only words she could manage to mumble were, "What? I mean... together? How?"

"I'm not dancing with Granger, Professor. There is no way you can make me do that. My father will be livid when he finds out what you're making me do."

"Mr. Malfoy, I'm not asking you to escort Miss Granger to the ball. Nor am I requesting that you dance with each other during the evening of the ball. I am simply requesting your assistance in the spirit of school unity and setting an example to the two schools we are hosting."

She noticed the way Draco had folded his arms over his chest, attempting to close himself off from the conversation, but she continued anyway. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Krum, and Mr. Diggory are all fine Quidditch players, but I don't think any of them would take offense to admitting that they have never waltzed before. Unfortunately, Quidditch skills don't transfer into dance skills. Miss Delacour on the other hand is an exquisite dancer. She will be able to assist you with the instruction, but she won't be able to spare much time for the choreography. She will be too busy working on her tasks as a champion."

Hermione thought she saw a way of escaping this uncomfortable task her professor had asked of her. "Since Fleur is such a fine dancer, I am sure there are many other girls from Beauxbatons that who can assist you, Professor. They are all part Veela; they seem to just float on air as it is. I really don't think my study of ballet will help in ballroom dancing."

"Not to mention that it's Muggle ballet. Who knows what passes for dancing with them!" Draco mumbled under his breath, but loudly enough for them to hear.

"Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger, while I can appreciate your reluctance to work together on this project, I would like to explain the benefits of my proposal. Since we are requesting you take time from your studies and leisure, we would reward each of your houses with 250 points, as well as grant access to the dining hall every other Friday evening after your dancing practices end, for late evening refreshments."

Draco mulled things over for a while, but he had to make sure this would not come back to bite him. "And I don't have to touch her? I don't have to dance with her?"

"I'm still in the room, Malfoy! You act as if I would want you near me. Don't flatter yourself." Hermione glared at Draco, wishing that Professor McGonagall wasn't around so she could let fly what she really thought of him.

Professor McGonagall sighed. "Although I was hoping we could put our differences aside, I suppose it might be too much to ask of you two to behave civilly. Mr. Malfoy, the waltz is done with a partner, as you well know; however if you would rather dance with Mr. Potter, Mr. Krum, or Mr. Diggory, then that would be just as acceptable. Although instructing them to take the lead and you following might be a bit difficult."

Hermione giggled at the thought of Malfoy trying to get Harry to hold him. When she tried to picture Viktor Krum and Malfoy waltzing, she nearly guffawed out loud.

"Yeah well I guess if Fleur is there, she can be my partner when I need to instruct how to lead," Draco acquiesced. He thought of the extra house points and the Friday night food fests his house would enjoy. He'd also have the opportunity to make a fool of Scarhead and his precious princess. He added, "Besides, if we leave it up to Granger, they'd all be on their toes spinning around in tutus." It was his turn to smirk as he imagined that blockhead Potter in a tutu!

Not to be outdone, Hermione added, "Professor, I am sure you want some dignity and not just snobbery represented in the dance, and that's where I can help. We don't want to put everyone to sleep with the bourgeoisie boogie."

"Eat a dictionary for lunch did we, Granger?" Draco rallied.

"Am I to take this as consent, Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger?"

Hermione smiled and nodded, thinking of how much fun she and Harry would have taking the mickey out of Malfoy! "Yes, Professor, I'll accept."

"Mr. Malfoy?"

"'Bout time Slytherin shows the rest of Hogwarts how the aristocrats live, Professor." He grinned with anticipation. "You bet I'll accept."

Somehow Professor McGonagall felt as if the two students were mentally rubbing their hands together, plotting plans of destruction and devastation in front of her. She raised her eyebrows at each one and said, "Be warned Miss Granger and Mr. Malfoy, this is an honored tradition, and we will not have you besmirch it with any pranks or antics."

"Yes, Professor," they both said in unison, surprising each other, but quickly recovering with a frown.

"Right then, we will start this Friday, after dinner, in the dining hall. The tables will be cleared. And since we have four champions, we will request that at least two attend each practice. We can rotate around their schedules. Any questions?"

Professor McGonagall excused them as she headed out the room.

Hermione was replacing her quill, ink bottle, and list in her messenger bag when Draco stretched his legs and arms in preparation to leave.

"Got your pointy ballet shoes, Granger?"

"Sorry, Malfoy, I left them at home. But I can send an owl order to Gladrags Wizardwear in time for Friday if you want. What size are you?"

He slowly crossed his legs, extending a rather large black Doc Marten shoe, rocking it back and forth to place emphasis on its size.

He waggled his eyebrows up and down. "You know what they say about big feet, Granger." He grinned, flashing his silvery grey eyes at her.

"Yeah," she replied, getting up from her seat and heading toward the door. "The bigger they are, the harder they are to extract from your mouth, Malfoy."