Dancing With Draco

Chapter 2 - The Lift

On the third day, the tempo of the steps doubled, and between steps they had to switch their hold from one side to the other.

"Who decided this is at all elegant? This is awful," Hermione said, grappling with his hand just to let it go again.

"It's a traditional dance. No one decided. It just -- is what it is. Oh, and here's the spin." He pulled her slightly closer, turning her with him in a circle, the pleats of her school skirt fanning out behind her.

"A bit more warning would've been nice," she said as she caught her breath.

And he grinned and gave her no warning at all as he put both of his hands under her arms and lifted her straight up, taller than his head. She screeched and listed forward, scrabbling to brace her hands on his shoulders, knocking Draco down in the scuffle. He landed hard on his back beneath their combined weight, coughing and groaning, but also laughing.

"Serves you right!" she said, her face still against his neck as she disentangled their limbs, sitting up as fast as she could.

He rolled onto his side, rubbing one elbow, still laughing.

She batted his arm. "Honestly, Malfoy, what is the matter with you?"

He fought to speak through his laughter. "Granger, that scream. That was perfect. I've been trying to get you to wail like that since first year."

She hit him again. "Well, nicely done you -- you -- "

He stopped laughing, rising to sit, pointing a finger at her. "Now, no name-calling. Remember the terms of our agreement. And I'm sorry but the lift truly is part of the Epicruvean waltz. A brilliant part, I might add. Very informative. What do you weigh, Granger? About eight stone?"

She let out a strangled yell. "I am not doing that in front of everyone with a man I hardly know. It's ticklish and embarrassing all at the same time."

Draco leaned back on the palms of his hands. "Great. Call McGonagall and tell her we're done. Then go dump Krum and try to find yourself a new partner."

She sighed. "Fine, I'll give the lift another go. But count us in properly next time or, so help me Malfoy, I'll beat you on the goose-egg you must have on the back of your head by now."

At the mention of it he felt gingerly at the back of his skull, hissing and swearing as he found the lump. "Is it bleeding?" he asked, turning so she could check.

She couldn't find it without combing through his hair with her fingers, an awkward but not unpleasant task. "No, not bleeding, unfortunately," she reported, dismissing him with a touseling of the silky white hair on top of his head. "But I assume you'll want the hospital wing anyway. Always enjoyed a good injury drama, didn't you Malfoy?"

"Not when we're locked in here for the next hour," he said, trying to smooth his hair back into place.

She was marching toward the window. "McGonagall's a teacher, not a jailer. I'm sure she won't mind if we knock off early for a trumped-up medical emergency. There's her office window. If I signal from here -- "

"Don't bother," he said. "I don't want the hospital. Let's just finish up for today."

She sighed. "Well, if you're sure. But take a minute before we start again. And no more lifting today. We'll still have time to work on it tomorrow." She came back to sit where they'd fallen on the classroom floor.

"So what else don't you know about the Yule Ball?" he asked.

"How can I possibly answer that, Malfoy?"

"Well, do you have something formal to wear?" He eyed her clothing. "Something suitable?"

"Of course," she answered, leaning forward to flick one last stray lock of his hair back into place. "I mean, I assume so. I haven't seen it yet. But Mum's posted me something."