Kingsley was silent for a moment. “Well, he'll deserve it considerably more than you do.”
October 2002
The next time Hermione arrived at the shack, Draco appeared looking visibly annoyed and carrying a gramophone.
She eyed him carefully. “I think I'm missing something.”
“Rest assured, Granger, if I could devise a better solution I would have.” He conjured a table and put the gramophone on it. He flicked his wand, and the music began playing.
“Is this—,” Hermione choked faintly and stared at him incredulous. “Are you wanting us to dance?”
“Waltz.” He turned to stare at her. “You move like a penguin when you duel.”
Hermione felt her cheeks grow hot.
“I most certainly do not,” she snapped.
“I've spent considerably more time watching you duel than you have, and believe me, you do.” His lip curled derisively. “You're slow and awkward and the only reason I don't hit you more is because I'm intentionally not aiming.”
Hermione bit back a retort.
“So you think the solution is waltzing?” she said stiffly.
“I do. Aunt Bella was one of the most exceptional dancers I have ever had the misfortune of being partnered with. She dueled with equal fluidity. I know you can dance. We just need to transfer the movement to dueling.”
Hermione thought about it for a moment, and then nodded as she put her satchel aside. “Alright.”
Draco walked toward her with the expression of a someone who would rather be punched in the face than do what he was about to do.
He raised his left hand for her to take. Then he set his jaw rigidly and slid his right hand under her arm, placing it below her shoulder blade before pulling her closer until there were only a few inches between them. Hermione felt as though she were barely breathing.
She stared up at his face as she rested her left hand on the top of his arm near his shoulder.
They stood in position, not moving, just staring at one another. She could see the tension in his jaw and the hard line of his mouth as he almost, but not quite, sneered down at her. She could also see his eyes and, as she met them with her own, she could see his irises bloom until he abruptly jerked his chin up and stared across the room.
She felt his fingers flinch against her back before he stilled them.
“So.” His voice was hard as he stared away. “The dance that best represents the speed and fluidity that I want you to develop is the Viennese Waltz. It's an extremely easy step to learn, if the female is responsive and capable of following another person's lead. Given that neither of those things are qualities anyone would apply to you, I've resigned myself that it's going to take a considerable amount of time before you manage it with so much as a semblance of grace.”
He gave her a condescending smile.
Hermione felt her indignation and determination begin rising in her chest and she stiffened slightly before it occurred to her: Draco clearly did not want to be 'holding' her in his arms; he was trying to provoke her into striving hard and ending their “dance lessons” as soon as possible.
She gave him a thin smile of her own.
“I'll do my best,” she said and shuffled slightly and “nearly” stepped on his toes.
“Then please don't tread on me.” He sneered down at her. “I would prefer not to go to a healer because your clumsiness ends up fracturing a bone.”
“I'll heal it for you,” she said with mock sweetness.
He sneered at her again and abruptly started to move. Hermione tried to follow but their knees collided. She yelped and he swore.
“Some warning before you start moving,” she said in a tight voice as her right knee throbbed.
“Try following my lead,” he snapped. “This is for dueling. No one is going to give you 'some warning' before they curse you. You need to have the instinct to just move.”
Hermione's jaw tightened and she huffed.
“Fine.”
“We'll start again.”
Hermione didn't need to pretend to be clumsy when dancing with Draco. The speed at which he expected her to waltz at was nearly breakneck. He was not patient. In fact, he seemed determined to make it as unpleasant as he possibly could; probably to motivate her.
Her toes were throbbing, and she was fairly certain his dragonhide boots were steel reinforced in the toes because he accidentally kicked her in the shin, and she thought he might have fractured something.
She dropped to the ground with a howl and hugged her leg.
“You are the worst dance instructor on the planet,” she snarled and jerked her trousers up to find a purple bruise already blooming across her shin.
“However shall I live?” he said dryly, without even looking down at her. “My secret ambition is crushed.”
“Are you trying to break my leg? Why are you wearing combat boots?” she said in a furious voice.
Malfoy glanced over sharply and caught sight of her leg. His expression wavered for a split second before he regained his mask of indifference. “I didn't expect you to be this clumsy,” he said.