Pas De Deux (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter Four

The next few days became more and more intense around the production. Lockhart tried to bully Draco into coming back to rehearsals, but Draco insisted his ankle wasn't ready yet. However, he also stubbornly insisted he would be recovered in time for the performance, so long as he didn't push his injury too hard too soon.

Trelawny was clearly anxious about the whole thing and the rest of the performers were growing mutinous. But it was in Draco's contract that he couldn't be substituted unless he consented. Which he absolutely refused to even consider.

That meant a lot of the pressure fell on his understudy, Neville Longbottom.

He was an interesting character, Harry observed. He was strikingly good-looking with a chiselled jaw, ripped body, dark hair and piercing blue eyes. But Harry got the impression that hadn't always been the case. Neville was shy and underconfident, despite his clear talent for dance. If no one was watching, he was breath-taking in his execution of the choreography. But the second the rest of the company were around, he fell to pieces.

"Not to worry, not to worry," Trelawny uttered, positively in tears behind her milk-bottle-bottom glasses. She wrung her shaking hands and tugged at her multicoloured scarf as Neville gripped his hair. He'd just messed up the pas de deux section, again.

His partner, an ethereal and patient dancer called Luna, just smiled sweetly at him. "You're over-thinking it," she offered kindly and placed a hand over his heart. "It's all here. Forget the choreography."

"No, no," Trelawny said somewhat hysterically, then laughed. "Let's not forget the choreography. Let's take it from the top, perhaps, hmm? Neville, dear? Just remember the relèvé before the grand jete, hmm? And smile. You're in love with our darling Luna here, remember?"

"Yes, sorry," Neville stammered.

"Yeah, because relèvés are really hard to remember," Zabini drawled as the cast retook their positions.

Several of the other dancers laughed and Neville went beetroot, staring at the floor as the music was cued up.

Draco huffed from beside Harry. There was no chair between them today. "They either need to treat him like the lead or fucking cast someone else," he grumbled. "This – this is the kind of unprofessional shit that undoes a production."

Harry turned and arched an eyebrow at him, but Draco was staring intently at the stage. Harry could practically see the cogs turning in his mind as he assessed everything going on under the bright lights.

Harry licked his lips. "Is there something I can do to help?"

Draco gave him one of his wicked half-smiles. "If you felt like telling Gilderoy over there to calm the fuck down, that would be great," he said.

Harry looked over to the aisle in the auditorium where Lockhart was currently pacing and gnawing on his production notes like a mountain goat. "Again, Longbottom!" he screamed before poor Neville had even completed the section. "You have both a right and a left foot, not two left, I assure you!"

Draco curled his lip and shook his head. "The man is fine working with already well-moulded talent. He doesn't give a fuck about nurturing a performance. He really is such a fraud."

Harry considered Draco as he rubbed his chin and frowned at Neville, who took a deep breath, trying to centre himself before they began again.

Was this Draco trying to save his own ass again? Harry couldn't see it like that, though. Yes, he could well be trying to make sure the show didn't fail and tarnish his reputation. But surely, if that was Draco's only goal, he would want Neville to fail so he could easily step back into the role once his ankle was healed. To Harry, it seemed like he was genuinely concerned that Neville get the most out of this experience for Neville's own sake.