Muggles ✧ Drarry

𝓲᥊

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 5ᴋ
ᴅᴀᴛᴇ ᴘᴜʙʟɪsʜᴇᴅ: ᴅᴇᴄᴇᴍʙᴇʀ 23rd, 2020
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Voluntarily being held close to Potter was the strangest feeling that Draco had ever felt. He had thought that hugging Voldemort was going to be the most awkward embrace of his life, but that was absolutely untrue. Potter was warm and relaxing, so it wasn't necessarily the embrace itself that made the situation uncomfortable, but more the fact that it was Harry Potter, Draco's sworn rival, who had his arms around the blond's waist as Draco barked out different directions.

Currently, they were in the peculiar little room in Draco's house that Pansy described as, "something that vaguely resembles a dance studio". Draco had never gone in there with the intent of actually using it as a dance studio, but he had also never intended to need a dance studio in the first place. Draco hated dancing, at least the way that his mother had insisted he learn. She had said that it would come in handy some day, to be able to dance in a formal setting, and Draco understood that this was probably the perfect time to dust off that skill, but he didn't want to admit that she had been right.

Potter was mediocre at dancing. He was alright at copying what Draco told him to do, and he only stumbled a few times, but he was distracted by something, and Draco couldn't help but think that it had to do with their proximity. That, or the fact that there wasn't any music playing.

Music seemed to be one of the biggest elements of dance, but Draco had refused to put any on. Don't get him wrong, he liked classical music, but he hated the specific pieces written for dancing. Dancing was the Devil's form of walking, he had decided as some point in his unfortunate childhood, and now that he was resuming his practice, Draco was certain that he hated it even more than he had as a child.

Potter's hands slid a bit lower on Draco's waist, and the Healer had to clear his throat for the twelfth time since they had started this. Potter immediately straightened his posture and moved his hands upwards, which provided the illusion—or possibly the truth—that Potter was simply becoming tired of dancing. Draco knew that he was tired of dancing as well, but...he didn't want to stop, for some reason.

Potter was warm, and he kept cracking small jokes every time Draco tried to genuinely teach him something, which made the situation a tad bit less uncomfortable and a tad bit less professional. That felt good, Draco realised. He liked being able to spend time with the Golden-Boy that didn't feel so stressful, or so stuck-up.

There was a moment of absolute silence as Potter slowed their movements. Draco had allowed him to take the lead for this last portion of their practice, because he was honestly becoming tired of instructing Potter to do things for him. Besides, the saviour seemed to have learned how to lead well, and after a long while of convincing Potter that he was going to lead Draco in the dance, Potter was finally able to do five or six steps without tripping catastrophically.

Eventually, they slowed to a stop, and Potter sighed. Now, their dancing positions had become quite literally...well...a hug. Draco pulled away, looking into Potter's bright eyes. The Golden-Boy smiled shyly before clearing his throat. He took an additional step back from Draco.

"How's that for today?" he asked the blond, his voice full with promise and hope. "Can we come back to it another time?"

Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak at all. He truly believed that they had made genuine progress, and if all continued at this quick pace, Potter would be able to dance civilly a whole week before the ball was scheduled. It was, of course, a stretch. There was no guarantee that Potter would even continue working at half of half of this pace, but Draco wished that they would. He wanted this fucking ball thing to be over with.