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Tango	By : Alcoholic_Rootbeer Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 18416 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I will not make a profit from this story.

Chapter List
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Oh my goodness gracious! The turnout for this fic from the preface is simply stunning. I can't tell you how warm all of the support makes me, and I hope all of you stick around for the fun!
Much love to waymay for the editing. She's feeling better, so yay! (hearts)
Onwards!
Dance is the only art in which we ourselves are the stuff in which it is made.
-Ted Shawn.
Stage Right: Hermione and Ginny
Setting: Hermione's flat, downtown London
Hermione stood in her bathroom, staring at herself in the mirror. It wasn't the type of vanity looking over most women were known for; she simply wondered if her skirt was the correct length for dancing. She paid no attention to her frizzy hair or lack of makeup. Those type of things never did her much good academically, and she doubted they would prepare her to be a talented dancer now. She picked a speck of lint off of her white ruffled button up and smoothed down her pleated pencil skirt. Her shoes, a pair of flats, were quite in order. She'd read it would be best to take it easy on one's feet until growing used to the incline of heels.
As if to back her findings, piles upon piles of books greeted her as she stepped out of the hallway bathroom and into the den. They all held similar subjects, and could be guessed upon the titles: Dancing and YOU!, Learn to Dance!, Dance it, Do it!, So you want to learn to dance? Each book held an array of proper information on formation, body posture, and technique. Hermione spent most of the evening last night pouring over each one in gruesome detail, attempting to soak up every bit of knowledge she could.
The floo lit to life beside her on schedule, and Ginny Weasley stepped through, eyes widened in surprise at the hoards of tomes around the vicinity. She gave a loud whistle and said, "Hermione, don't you think this is going a bit overboard?"
"Overboard?" Hermione flashed her friend a bemused look."You're the one who wanted me to learn how to dance. I'm simply doing what research I can."
"Research? Hermione, you can't learn to dance from reading a book. Dance comes… from your soul." Ginny proceeded to wiggle her shoulders and attempt a pirouette, stumbling into the recliner.
Hermione laughed. "Ginerva, I'm quite sure that you could use these books a bit more than myself with that example."
Her friend stuck out her tongue, straightened the strap of her purse, which dangled from her shoulder, and wrapped an arm through Hermione's arm. "This will be fun for us. And who knows? Perhaps you can find yourself a handsome wizard to rub against in the process?"
"Don't make me laugh."
"Seriously, when was the last time you allowed yourself to go on a date with someone?"
"I've dated. I've dated plenty."
Ginny made a disapproving noise. "Ron doesn't count."
Hermione sighed. "Well, then I suppose I don't have a great track record, do I?"
The redhead smiled encouragingly, tugging her friend closer. "It was your idea to give you two a break to -how did you word it? Make sure that you two weren't jumping into a situation without," she did her best impression of the straight-laced-Granger, "exploring all of the variables and options the world had to offer?"
"Yes, well, getting married straight out of Hogwarts wasn't something I was interested in."
"And no one blames you for that, Hermione. But it's been three years, give or take, since Hogwarts. Maybe you could actually try living a little? Testing out some of those variables? You can't stay a cat lady forever."
"Ha!" Hermione exclaimed. "Shows what you know. I would make the perfect elderly cat lady. I just need a few more cats."
"And no sense of smell."
The witches laughed together, stepping through the floo.
Stage Left: Draco Malfoy (and friend...?)
Setting: The Malfoy Manor, Draco's bedroom.
Draco gave a thick yawn, rolling over in his comfortable, king-sized bed. The sheets were still heavy with the scent of Astoria's perfume from the night before, and he peered through the slits of his eyes, expecting to find her next to him. What he found instead was a dark skinned, cunning man dressed in a pressed suit with his hands folded neatly behind his head, smirking inches from his face.
"Morning, sleepy head. Miss me?"
Draco groaned, yanking his pillow out from under him only to pull it over his head. Muffled, he replied, "What the Hell are you doing in my bed, Zabini?"
"Ah, come on! Is that any way to treat your best mate? I've only just arrived back from Italy -early, I might add, on your fiancee's orders."
"And you listened to her?"
"No," said Blaise Zabini with a chuckle, "I listened to her sister's orders. You think Astoria's frightening? Try spending two weeks in Venice with Daphne. I guarantee you, you'd want to return home early as well."
"So the honeymoon was that bad, hmm?" Draco peered from under his pillow.
"I didn't say that," Blaise smirked. "The sex? Fan-fucking-tastic. The shopping? Ehh… not so much."
"Shopping?"
"Loads of it. Greengrass girls, apparently, have a sensational appetite for couture."
"I've noticed," Draco grumbled, sitting upright in his bed as she struggled to rub the sleep from his tired eyes. He'd already spent a fair share of his inheritance on this wedding, even though it was traditional for the bride's father to shovel out galleons for the event. "Why, pray tell, would Astoria ask you two back so early?"
"Something about dance lessons…?"
"Fuck, are those happening already?"
"Since we're your best man and matron of honor, I've come to learn we, as men, have no say in the matter. You know -like it was at my wedding."
"Couldn't even throw you a decent stag party with Daphne peering over my shoulder," stated Draco; his vision, finally, focused. "You just had to marry someone who knows all of our tricks, didn't you?"
"Let's name the ways in which it works: she's familiar. We grew up with her, so her knowing all of our tells isn't necessarily a bad thing. She's rich. Her family has status, and together we'll be able to produce 'highly potent magical children' for future generations."
"Sounds rehearsed."
"That's because it was. Straight quote courtesy of Mister Greengrass."
The men grinned at each other, and Draco rolled over, forgetting where he was in position to the edge of the bed. He fell off, landing with a smack to the floor. His perfect face thudded with pain. "Oww…"
"How is it you manage to feign such poise in front of a crowd? You're useless behind closed doors."
"Years of practice," he replied, peeling himself up off the floor to stumble his way to his armoire. "Now get out of here. I need to change."
"Into your dancing shoes, yes?"
"Wait. It's today?" His eyes went wide.
Blaise gave a blasé sigh. "Thus why I'm back."
"Fuck it all… do me a favor. Go to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, grab up every box of puking pastilles, and then force feed them to me until it induces a coma."
"Would love to, mate, but then who would I have to make fun of during rehearsals?"
"Typical Zabini."
"Typical Malfoy, choosing one of the most elaborate dances for a fucking reception. The
Tango? How pretentious could you get?"
"Astoria's idea."
"Ridiculous."
"Tell me about it."
"You must really love her."
Love. Yes, Draco supposed love was the reason he was subjecting himself to this kind of torture. He'd grown up with Astoria for most of his life; the Greengrasses came for summer visits, and he shared playdates with the Greengrass girls until Hogwarts. After the War, Astoria had been there to help Draco lick his wounds and hold it together during his family's trials. She was the beacon of light in his ever dimming world, and he never took it for granted. After all, it wasn't as if women were throwing themselves at his door to engage with a former Death Eater acquitted for being spineless. He appreciated the familiarity of Astoria much the way Blaise did Daphne. What other woman would be able to put up with his Slytherin guiles and still smile at the end of the day? Still, all of the frills and pureblood elitist traditions dimmed his mood like a cloud over an already fading sun. Happiness wasn't in his vocabulary on most days. Even with Astoria's cheerful disposition and sensational backside to keep him preoccupied.
"Any idea what we're supposed to wear?" he asked, fishing through his various robes.
"Haven't the foggiest. Something you could move in around in, I imagine."
Draco sighed. He wasn't sure he had anything that fit that criteria and that Madame Mystique would let him out of the house wearing.
There was a knock at the door.
"Are you boys decent?"
Blaise gave a sinful grin, calling out, "Draco, cut it out! I'm not in the mood for spooning!"
The door popped open, and in walked Daphne Greengrass with her hands on her hips. She wore a simple, flowing dress, accentuating her large breasts. Draco tried, with difficulty, not to stare as she said, "Oh, pooh. And here I was hoping it wasn't a bluff."
"Hey, love." Blaise stretched himself out on the bed, resembling a cat, before sauntering off of it and kissing his wife on the lips. "Ten galleons Malfoy falls flat on his face the first lesson."
Daphne trailed her eyes over to the blond in question, tsk'd, and said, "Twenty galleons he drops Astoria."
"You're on."
"Incorrigible, the both of you." Draco rolled his eyes. "Hello, Daphne," he drawled with oozing sarcasm, "So pleasant to see you. You're not looking puffy at all."
A silence split the room into two different categories: Draco, and then his two friends.
"What? Why are you two giving me those looks?"
"You noticed I looked puffy?" Daphne asked carefully.
Draco raised an eyebrow. "It's called an insult." He noticed her hand absentmindedly touching her stomach, and the way Blaise's eyes traveled down to said hand. Then, it dawned on him. "You're pregnant?"
"I-I... " Daphne's mouth fell open, then snapped shut, then fell open again. She looked over to her husband, who rubbed the back of his head and shrugged.
"Looks like the kneazele's out of the bag, love."
"You can't tell a soul," she scolded at once, shaking a finger at Draco, who paled in confusion. "Do you hear me, Draco Malfoy?"
"What? Why not? Doesn't Astoria know?"
"No! And I plan on keeping it that way -for now."
Draco blinked. "Why?" he asked skeptically.
"I thought you were supposed to be an intelligent man. Do the math, Draco! Blaise and I have been gone less than a month! If my family puts two and two together, they'll find out the baby was conceived before the marriage!"
"So?"
"So," Blaise curled an arm around Daphne, "The Greengrasses are even more uptight than the Malfoys when it comes to traditions. Her father would hex my bits into oblivion."
"And Astoria can't help a juicy bit of gossip," Daphne added.
"Wouldn't your father just be pleased to know he has an heir?" asked Draco.
"But it's not a Greengrass heir, is it? He's already miffed at me for not marrying a member of the 'Sacred Twenty-Eight'. Could you imagine his uproar when he finds out I'm carrying Blaise's child before our honeymoon is even up? Word will get out, it will be all over the papers, and then I'll have 'shamed' my family."
"For having sex. With your husband." Draco gave them a 'really?' look and rolled his eyes. "So what do you plan to do? Hide the entire pregnancy?"
"No. Absolutely not."
"We just don't plan to announce it for a few more weeks is all. Give us time to 'conceive' and-"
"-In the meantime, you expect me to lie to Astoria. Perfect."
"Well, it isn't our fault you noticed my puffiness!" Daphne folded her arms.
"You could have lied and told me you were getting fat!"
"Greengrass woman do not get fat, Draco."
"So can you do it?" asked Blaise seriously. "Keep our secret? I'd hate to have to obliviate you."
"You wouldn't dare," Draco scoffed, staring at his two friends. He gave an irritated sigh and nodded. "Alright. You've got me under wraps. But you best pray Astoria doesn't come to me asking my opinion on the matter of your weight, Daphne."
"Hmph." Daphne stuck her nose up in the air. "Thank you, Draco."
"Sure, sure. Now tell me -what the Hell do I wear to dance lessons with this Señor fancy-pants?"
"You don't mean Señor Diggle, do you?"
"Dingle?" laughed Blaise.
"Diggle," Daphne corrected. "He's only the wizarding world's most sought after, premier dance coach! Oh, I'm so excited!" She clapped her hands together. "In that case, you'll need to dress your best. Do you have any formal robes or…?"
"Bloody Hell."
Center Stage: Ginny and Hermione
Setting: Señor Diggle's private dance studio, (location: secret)
Hermione and Ginny were the first to arrive inside the quiet dance studio, taking in the large marble flooring and candles floating every ten feet or so. Shaped like a square, the room held mirrors for each wall. Support beams lined the middle of the mirrors for stretching and practice. All in all, it looked rather cozy.
Hermione slipped her bag down off of her shoulder near the door, and Ginny did the same with her purse.
"This is beautiful," said the redhead in wonder, dashing to the middle of the floor and striking, what Hermione could only assume, was a dancing pose. "What do you think?"
"You look as if you're about to Samba, not Tango."
"Oh, give it a rest, Hermione. So you did some research. That doesn't make you Queen of the Tango."
Hermione smiled softly, tucking her hands behind her back. "I've decided to approach the situation with a scholar's view. If I master the steps in my head, executing them should be a walk in the park."
"Dance doesn't work that way, sweetie," Ginny chided. "It's about speaking from your soul."
"You don't think I'm capable?"
"I think your soul is about as stiff as the books you hide in. That's why I think this will be good for you -you'll learn to loosen up a bit!"
"I'm plenty loose!"
Ginny raised an eyebrow, and Hermione muttered,
"Oh, not that way, Gin! Get your mind out of the gutter."
"Loose women? Pinch me, I must be in heaven."
The women whipped their heads around at the sound of a third voice, finding the doorway occupied with a tall, handsome man with strong features. He wore a mop of wavy brown hair, cut short on the sides, and he possessed emerald colored eyes much like Harry. On his person he wore muggle slacks, a nice simple black shirt, and dress shoes. He carried a duffle bag over his shoulder and a look of inquiry on his face.
"So sorry to startle you ladies. By chance, are you two here to Tango with Señor Diggle?"
"We are." Ginny attempted a fancy curtsy. "And you are?"
The man bowed. "Gregory Diggle, at your service."
"Odd. He doesn't look like a 'Señor'," Hermione noted, ribbing Ginny.
"That's because the title belongs to my father, Douglas."
"And yet, I detect no Spanish accent."
"I assure you, it's a title, nothing more. Although my mother did hail from Spain before meeting my father. It's actually how they met -dancing, I mean."
"Fascinating," Hermione smirked. "Do you tell all of the 'loose women' your life story? And has it ever worked?"
"Hermione!"
Diggle smirked right back. "Only on the simple minded -of which you are not."
"Indeed."
"I'm actually here to assist my father."
"Ooh, so you'll be instructing us, too?" Ginny giggled. "Hermione's single, for the record."
"Gin!"
"She might seem abrasive, but it's only because she's wound up tighter than a rubber band."
"I'll take that into consideration," Diggle said, chuckling. "And you are?"
"Ginny-" Hermione interjected, "-And she's taken. By a famous wizard, I might add. Don't even think of trying anything." Her protective nature made Ginny scoff, roll her eyes, and extend out her hand.
"It's nice to meet you, Greg."
Likewise, Ginny. Hermione." Greg nodded once and shuffled past the women, setting his duffle bag on the far side of the room. "I look forward to seeing what you girls can accomplish!"
Hermione decided to pull out a book she'd brought (snuck) and read quietly in the corner, ignoring the handsome wizard further. Ginny, reluctantly, took a seat next to her, huffing every few minutes. Strangers filtered in, and it wasn't until Hermione heard Ginny give a sharp gasp that she looked up from her book again.
"What now, Ginny?"
"Look for yourself," Ginny whispered, nudging Hermione in the side. The brunette scanned her eyes over the front door and was shocked when she was met with four familiar faces; only one of them, however, made her insides flare with aggressive heat.
"Good gracious." Hermione felt her stomach tumble as her eyes met with Draco Malfoy, and she directed her gaze back to the book.
"What in the bloody Hell…" Draco muttered, leaning over to Blaise. "Zabini, do my eyes deceive me, or is that Hermione Granger and Weasley's sister across the room?"
His friend furrowed his brows and actually looked about the room. "Oh goody." Blaise stiffened his posture. "No, Draco. I daresay your eyesight is perfectly intact."
"Astoria, I thought you said these lessons were private…" Draco grumbled.
"They are," replied Astoria with a chirp.
"Then what are other people doing here?"
"Oh, come now, Draco. You didn't expect it to just be us four? These lessons are private. That's why there's only ten of us."
"I'm going to die." Draco froze in his spot, mortified. "Right here. Right now. Humiliation. I never thought I'd be taken out so easily…"
"And in the prime of your life!" Blaise patted his friend on the back. "Don't you think you're being a bit overdramatic?"
"All Malfoys are predispositioned to be that way," quipped Daphne. "It's in their DNA."
"Someone enjoyed her Muggle Studies back in school," sneered Draco right back. "I can't do this."
"Why not?" Astoria crossed her arms.
"Because I refuse to humiliate myself in front of one-third of the Golden Trio and her soulless best friend!"
"Isn't that Ginny Weasley? I hear she's been signed on to the Holyhead Harpies!" Astoria jumped in her spot. "Ooh, do you lot know her? Could we ask for an autograph?"
"Sometimes I forget she's younger than all of us," Blaise mused, setting an arm on Astoria's shoulder. "Tori, listen. Draco and those two don't get on very well. I think it's best if we all kept our distance, yes?"
"Spoil my fun," Astoria crossed her arms. "Fine, then. Brood all you like. You might try getting on with them, Draco."
"Psh." Draco snorted a laugh. "Fat chance. -Or should I say puffy?"
Daphne glared daggers before smacking Draco on the back of the head while Blaise shot him a cautious look. Just then, a tall gentleman with a slicked back hair, a thick handlebar mustache, and flowing robes entered the room, pushing past them with flare.
"Good evening! Good evening." He gave a dramatic bow.
"It's three in the afternoon," Draco muttered under his breath.
The man raised an eyebrow toward the blond and cast him a daunting glance before addressing the class. "As most of you might already know, I am the wizard who needs no introduction!" He snapped his fingers, and the room sprang to life in a quick tempo of music. "I am the one! The only! The infamous!"
"The long-winded," muttered Blaise.
"Douglas Bastian Diggle!" The man snapped his fingers again, and the music stopped. "Let's get started, shall we?"
Thank you for all of the support! Let the Dramione madness begin!
Please leave your thoughts?
~(Strikes a dramatic pose) A!
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Tango