This is inspired by tmriddles' tumblr post about Draco having the ability to strangle Harry because of physical skills that he learned through ballet. I found the concept absolutely hilarious and I just had to write it. This is dedicated to you, tmriddles! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Party City.
.......
"'Don't let Malfoy fool you, he's not that scary,'" Harry mimicked in falsetto, as best he could with his scratchy voice. "'He used to do ballet.'"
"I said that I'm sorry!" Hermione moaned. "But just because I said 'don't let him fool you' doesn't mean that you should have underestimated him..."
"I wouldn't have underestimated him if I had known that telling me he used to do ballet was a bloody warning!"
He had found out that Draco was not-so-secretly dating Hermione today. In fact, he was the only one in the entire school who hadn't realized. Even Ron had known! Apparently, everyone was being 'very supportive' except for him. He also discovered why she had given him such advice. Harry grimaced, rubbing his purple-and-green throat.
"You said that he wrapped them around your neck like a pair of hands would?" Madam Pomfrey checked, bustling toward him with a large ceramic tub of Bander's Blue Bruise Balm.
"Yeah. His feet were flexible, like an ape," Harry said flatly. "A great, blond ape."
"That's not very nice," Hermione chided.
"It's true," Harry retorted. "I'm still mad at you, you know."
"For what?" Hermione cried. "Not telling you about us, so you wouldn't react exactly how we thought you would?"
"Excuse me, 'we?'" Harry sputtered, leaning slightly away from Madam Pomfrey's slimy, electric blue hands.
"Yes, 'we,' Potter," a voice, by the double-doors, confirmed. It was Draco—tall, stern, and clearly still very angry with Harry.
Harry gulped with difficulty.
Hermione, however, smiled. "How is your lip?"
Draco's aforementioned feature curled. It had split when Harry punched him in the mouth.
"I'm fine," he dismissed shortly. "Were you checked over?"
"Yes, Draco." Hermione rolled her eyes, now. She had—rather foolishly—jumped in between them to try and stop the fighting, and Harry had clipped her. That was when Draco had abandoned his wand and begun to strangle him, using the skills acquired from his very expensive Pureblood dance lessons. "It's just a pinkie sprain. Here, see?"
Hermione held up her hand for Draco to examine. He accepted it and regarded it critically, turning it this way and that way before extracting his wand—Harry twitched—and performing several cursory examination spells himself.
Madam Pomfrey tutted from Harry's bedside. "Oh, honestly, Mister Malfoy! You would think I haven't been at this job for three decades already!"
Draco ignored her, his entire attention on Hermione's smallest finger for several more moments before looking even the littlest bit satisfied with the veteran medi-witch's work.
"Very well," he frowned. "And I see that look, Hermione. My lip is fine—it won't scar."
Hermione scoffed, but pinkened.
Shame that it won't, Harry thought darkly, as he watched them move to leave the Hospital Wing.
He seemed to hear Harry, somehow, though—they stopped at the doors.
Draco turned slowly, his long arm wrapped protectively around Hermione's waist, and tossed a scathing look over his shoulder at Harry.
He sneered.
"You've got something on your neck."
Harry was positive that just before the doors slammed shut that he saw Draco's toes flex anticipatorily underneath his black Dragonhide boots—no doubt eager for the next chance to strangle him again...
And succeed.
