Pas De Deux (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter Two

The next morning found Harry up bright and early, walking from Angel tube station down the high street with a hot coffee in his hand. His breath was cloudy in the cold wintery air and his glasses weren't coping well with the transitions between the humid underground and London's chilly, windy streets. Spring would be on its way soon, or so he told himself.

Although this version of the Sadler's Wells theatre had been refurbished and reopened in the late nineties, some incarnation of it had stood on these grounds since the late sixteen-hundreds. Harry always felt a sense of awe as he stepped through the doors of a place like this each morning. He really did love his job and felt very lucky to be doing it when the arts gave no employment guarantees. But having a gig like this on his CV was going to help him line up the next few jobs, he was certain.

He forcefully reminded himself of that as he stepped into the auditorium and found somebody already sitting in one of the seats he had occupied to watch the rehearsals. Harry paused in his stride, taking in the shock of blond hair shining under the house lights.

Malfoy.

Even from behind there could be no doubt who it was. Harry gritted his teeth. What the hell was Malfoy playing at? If he was injured, he should rest. If he felt the absolute need to watch rehearsals, there were about fifteen hundred other seats he could choose from.

Why was he bothering Harry?

Harry squashed down the little thrill of hope that bubbled up inside him. There was no way Malfoy wanted to hang out and be friends or anything else so ridiculous. He probably just wanted to have a go at Harry for whatever part he played in injuring Malfoy yesterday – as Malfoy no doubt saw it – then he would be on his way, chilling with the likes of Blaise Zabini or Theodore Nott backstage.

Harry took a deep breath and another sip of coffee. Then he strode down the aisle, refusing to be intimidated as he walked sideways along the row. If Malfoy wanted to invade his space, then Harry would accept that challenge.

"Morning, Malfoy," he said as he took the seat two away from the injured dancer. He placed his large binder folder on the chair between them with a loud thwack.

"What time do you call this, Potter?" Malfoy drawled, apparently unaffected by Harry's noise making. Malfoy thumbed through his Facebook on his phone and took a sip from a thermos. No doubt some super healthy green tea or the like. Draco Malfoy wouldn't deign to drink a common Starbucks latte, Harry was quite sure.

Harry refused to take the bait from Malfoy's comment. "I'm early, actually," he said.

Malfoy looked up from his phone screen, rolled his eyes, then shot a piercing glare at Harry. However, the lazy, cat-like smile took any of the sting out of it. "Yes, but I'm bored, actually," he said.

Harry held his gaze for only a moment. Then he picked out the latest version of the call sheet from his binder and began going over it, making hand-written notes in pencil where necessary. He was not here to be Malfoy's entertainment. Harry was also not going to ask what he wanted. That would be playing into his hands. No, Harry would sit there and do his bloody job and if Malfoy felt like talking, he could.

Of course Malfoy felt like talking. It ensured the attention stayed turned in his direction.

"So, my ankle is feeling much better, thanks for asking," he said devilishly. He gestured to the foot he had in a compression bandage, perching between the two seats in front of him on the arm rest. "You get used to treating your own injuries in this line of work. Plus, I always get the really good painkillers when I visit the States. The kind they won't sell here. I should be back in rehearsals in a couple of days, no worries."