Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Love the reviews ya'll have left behind. Makes me giggle.
Thank you LightofEvolution for developing this chapter with me, and thank you to Sam Wallflower for perfecting my Spanish!
~A.
"You don't always need a plan. Sometimes you just need to breathe, trust, let go, and see what happens."
~Cristina Commisso
Stage Right: Hermione and Ginny
Setting: Hermione's kitchen.
"Private lessons?" began Ginny, pacing back and forth in front of Hermione's dining room table as her friend dove into a basket of scones. "You're receiving private lessons with Douglas Diggle, world-renowned dancing coach!?"
"Don't make it sound so impressive," Hermione scoffed, plucking a blueberry flavored pastry from the basket. "I'm only gaining these private lessons because I'm absolutely atrocious…" her voice trailed off as she bit into the scone, angry and contemplative.
"Maybe I should become absolutely atrocious in class," Ginny muttered, pulling out a chair and taking a seat across from Hermione." And Malfoy has to attend as well?"
"Mhmm." The brunette pointed accusingly at her friend. "This is all your fault, Gin. Why couldn't you have wanted to take up something simple like paragliding, or ice fishing, or-"
"Do you hear yourself right now?" Ginny gave a slight, unbelieving laugh. "Neither of those things are easy, Hermione."
"Yes, well, neither is the Tango."
"Don't become discouraged. Won't that Greg chap be attending some of these lessons as well?" asked Ginny.
"Gin, you're spoken for."
"Yes, but you aren't!"
Hermione had heard enough. She stood from the table, scone between her teeth, and, with a wave of her hand, levitated the basket of pastries to the top of the refrigerator just as Ginny reached for them. Defeated, Ginny crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.
"Just think of it as another way to show Malfoy up, yes?"
With a nod of her head, Hermione chewed the pastry thoughtfully, levitating a new book, plucked fresh from the bookstore this morning. 'Temptress of the Tango: Unleash Your Inner Goddess!'
Stage left: Draco and Blaise
Setting: Draco's study
"Do it."
"Mate, I'm not doing it."
"As my best man, I order you to do it."
"Yeah, I'm not Goyle. I'm not going to do something just because you tell me to." Blaise Zabini sat in one of the many armchairs inside Draco's study, a tumbler of brandy in one hand while his other rested comically against his cheek as he watched his friend pace the floor three more times before stopping in front of him.
"Come on. Just once."
"Draco, if I break your toes, Astoria would have my bits. -Besides, you know Skele-Gro is readily available at the nearest potion shop."
"Damn," Draco exclaimed, "hadn't thought of that."
"Draco Malfoy doesn't recall a common potion off the top of his head? Alert the press!" Blaise mocked, chuckling into his brandy. When he finished taking another pull, he leaned his head back and said, "You're just going to have to push through."
"Push through?" The blond looked as if he might hex his friend on the spot. "Easy for you to say. You're not being forced to spend three afternoons a week with a pompous, arrogant, smug-"
"-So far, you just sound as if you're describing yourself."
"Shut up. -It's Granger. Fucking goody-goody, not a button undone or a T uncrossed Granger. Well, she isn't bloody perfect, is she? Have you see that rat's nest she calls hair? One would think for someone so brilliant she might be able to learn how to tame those wild tresses…"
"Now we're talking about Granger's hair?" Blaise raised a cool eyebrow.
"Yes. No. I mean… argh! I just… I need a drink." Draco reached down and snatched the tumbler straight from his friend's hand, right as it was about to reach his lips again, and downed the rest in a flash.
Blaise scowled. "She really gets under that thin skin of yours, doesn't she?"
"I'm not thin-skinned," insisted Draco, even when his friend gave a mock laugh in return. "I'm not!"
"You're complaining about dancing. With Hermione Granger. While you might be off the market now, there are worse ways to spend your afternoons. Have you seen her-?" Blaise placed his hands to his chest and cupped them. "Grown up quite a bit, hasn't she?"
"I don't want to talk about Granger's breasts."
"I do," admitted Blaise. When his friend turned on him and gave him an incredulous glare, he added, "What? I can appreciate the female form. Daphne knows my heart-"
"-And your prick-"
"-Belong to her."
"Hmph." Draco handed back the empty glass, ignoring his friend's 'what am I supposed to do with this?' expression. "You're right on one thing, though. I'm letting her get the better of me."
"Too right you are," Blaise nodded happily, no doubt cheery his friend agreed with him (for once). "You're a Malfoy, mate. So what if you have to endure some extra quality time with someone… beneath your stature? You've endured worse."
"Have I?"
"...The War?"
"Oh. Right. That." Draco narrowed his eyes. "She was there then, too."
Blaise rolled his eyes. "I give up." He pushed himself up out of the chair and placed his hands on his friend's shoulders. "Listen, Draco. Just remember one thing: you're doing this for Astoria. Astoria's going to love you for it, and when you get back each day, you'll probably get a load of jealousy-induced sex from her. The Greengrasses are notorious for being jealous. You're bound to be sore in the morning from strenuous activities…"
Draco's mood picked up at the thought, and he gave a half-smirk. "Yeah, alright. It doesn't sound all that bad, now."
"See? That's why I'm the best man." Blaise patted Draco's shoulders in encouragement before strolling toward the floo.
"Where are you off to?"
"Strenuous activities," Blaise winked, picking up a handful of floo powder. "Do me a favor and let me know if Granger's breasts are really that mouthwatering, or if it's all some push-up spell."
"How the bloody Hell would I figure that out?"
"They'll jiggle."
Center Stage: Hermione, Señor Diggle, Greg Diggle
Setting: Diggle's dance studio
"¡Ah, querida mía! Are you dressed for a dance lesson or for sitting in a stuffy boardroom this afternoon?" Señor Diggle greeted Hermione as she stepped inside dance floor uno. The door to dance floor dos was mysteriously locked again.
She stifled the urge to quip something dreadful back to him about how it wasn't any of his business what she wore and instead settled on, "According to all texts I've read, this is proper attire for dancing."
From the back of the room, Greg Diggle, dressed much more casual, sniggered under his breath. At Hermione's withering expression, he shrugged to her from behind his father's back. You brought this on yourself, he mouthed.
"¿Que? You cannot learn dance from a book! Dance comes from-"
"-the soul, yes, I know." Hermione rolled her eyes just as a knock came from the door.
"I was going to say diligent practice," said Señor Diggle, "but that works just as well." He flicked his wand, and the door opened, revealing a towheaded man with sharp features and an equally sharp tongue. "Señor Malfoy, so wonderful you could join us. You're ten minutes late."
"I'm five minutes early."
"If you are not fifteen minutes ahead of schedule, you are late."
Malfoy rolled his eyes, stepping past the threshold. He wore a casual pair of slacks (or, what was casual for a pureblood heir) and a thin, emerald shirt.
"Aunque," Señor Diggle said, taking in Malfoy's appearance, "I will say, you dressed much more appropriately for the lesson."
Malfoy smirked in Hermione's direction, making her cheeks flush in anger and embarrassment.
"Well, no time like the present, ¿sí?" Señor Diggle snapped his fingers, and Greg approached the center of the dance floor with a single chair. Hermione moved out of the way, stepping toward Malfoy and taking a stance at his side.
"What do you think they're up to?" she asked, leaning closer and, incidentally, inhaling his cologne. He smelled different today, of rosewood and thyme. Honestly, how many different pairings of scents had he accumulated? She could imagine an entire shelf dedicated to expensive, lavish bottles. It was obnoxious enough to make her sick to stomach. Rich, arrogant, self-centered…
"Oh? Are we supposed to make small talk?" Malfoy drawled in a bored way, giving a thick yawn.
"Yes. I assume that's what normal people do in these situations."
"You've never been particularly normal, though, have you?" He quirked an eyebrow, and his smirk grew wider. "Look, as far as I'm concerned, you and I are like a warm front and a cold front. We do fine on our own, but together… well, we don't really get on, do we? So, I'll stick to my warm front, and you stick to your cold one."
"What makes you think you're the warm front? You're obviously icy and bitter enough to make your ancestors proud."
Malfoy opened his mouth to counter, but then the pair watched as Señor Diggle twirled his wand in an intricate pattern, transfiguring the chair to grow higher and higher as it shifted forms into a set of stairs, ten of them in all Hermione counted diligently. The top stair led to a direct drop off, which mirrored her stomach in the moment.
"What is that?" Malfoy asked, pointing to the monument.
"Trust exercises," said Greg, strolling up to meet the pair. With a smirk aimed at Malfoy, he walked to the bottom of the staircase (no railing, Hermione noted) and stepped up one, then another, until he reached the top.
"Congratulations, you're king of the mountain," Malfoy sneered sarcastically, clapping his hands in mock show.
"There's always more than meets the eye, Malfoy," Greg said chipperly just as the base of the stairs began to fold into one another, like seats in a bleacher. Soon, the last step was the only step, held up by a pedestal made of other stairs.
"This," said Señor Diggle, "is where you two will begin your lessons."
"On a precariously dangerous staircase?"
"Learning to trust one another. -Greg, if you will."
Greg Diggle's eyes met Hermione's, and his smirk softened into a flirtatious smile before he spread his arms wide and let himself fall backward off the stair.
"Oh!" Hermione shouted, reaching for her wand, but Señor Diggle waved his hand as if he were shooing away a fly and caught Greg in the air with his magic. He wasn't even looking at his son; his eyes were busy trailing down his trouser leg as he wiped a speck of lint off of them.
"This is the trust fall. Muggles created it, I've perfected it." Señor Diggle levitated his son to the ground right side up, and Greg landed on his feet as if this were routine -it probably was. "Each day, a new stair will be added to the staircase. You need only step as high as you are willing to fall and trust your partner to catch you."
Malfoy paled as Hermione's heart elevated.
"You want us to catch each other?" she asked.
"I want you to trust each other," Diggle said flatly.
"Fat chance," muttered Malfoy, crossing his arms.
Hermione swung her head around to glare at him. "You really think I'd let you fall?"
He shrugged, mildly amused. "Relax, Granger. My lack of trust in you doesn't stem from your moral code. It comes from your lack of motor control."
"Why don't you just say what you really mean? Clumsy."
"That's the word."
"Are you two done?" asked Señor Diggle. "Mind you, the studio is getting paid either way."
"Do you know what this man will do to me if I walk up those stairs?" Hermione pointed an accusing thumb over to the tall blond, "This same man has hexed me,"
"I'd hardly call it hexing," Malfoy muttered.
"-Enlarged my teeth-"
"They were already quite big anyway, weren't they?" he smirked.
"-Caused one of my best friends to vomit up slugs for half an afternoon-!"
"-To be fair," Malfoy cut in, "That was on account of his wonky wand, not my doing at all."
"You called me a-" she caught herself, biting on her lower lip to keep from spitting out the word. "...a you-know-what." Fear of a name only increased the fear of the thing itself, but Hermione couldn't bring herself to say mudblood. "That's why he tried to hex you."
She watched a slow blush crawl up Malfoy's neck and filter in through his cheeks, but his face was stoic as he replied, "I was a child, Granger."
"Still, it's no excuse."
The pair stared at each other for a moment, soaking in the other's words. That was, until Señor Diggle stepped between them and asked, "Who goes first?"
"I will," Malfoy said with a haughty tone, "After all, someone has to show Granger how it's done."
At the snap of Diggle's fingers, the staircase unfolded. Malfoy approached them with prideful strides, although each step became less confident. When his foot hit the first step, he paused, his arms down at his sides and his fists balled.
"Something wrong, Malfoy?" Hermione teased, shooting him a smirk of her own. "Afraid all those taunts might make me a bit bitter and less apt to catch you?"
"Don't flatter yourself into thinking you're anything less than a goody-goody," he quipped back, straightening his posture to take the next step. "It just so happens I dislike heights."
"One and a half meters isn't all that high," said Greg from his leaned pose against the wall.
"How were you a Seeker in Quidditch back in school if you hated heights?" asked Hermione.
"I had a broom to catch my fall, not a pesky little witch," said Malfoy, clearing the rest of the stairs in quick succession. As his feet hit the top stair, the bottom ones began to fold into one another, drawing forward to create the pedestal. Malfoy gulped audibly, overdramatic as always. "If I die, tell Blaise to hide my collection of playwitch magazines from Astoria."
"Where are they hidden?" asked Hermione with mild interest.
"Like I'd tell you. You'd tell Astoria. No, he knows where. You just tell him."
"That confident you'll die on my watch?"
"More confident than you are that I'll catch you when it's your turn," he leered, turning his attentions to Señor Diggle. "So how does this work? I count backward, or…?"
"Well, that's between you and your compañera."
"My what?"
"He means companion," Hermione replied, and as all eyes turned on her, she smiled, excited to say, "I've also been brushing up on my Spanish."
"Bien hecho, joven padawan."
"¡Gracias, buen señor!"
"Are you done sucking up yet?" Malfoy hissed, holding his arms out for balance as the last step clicked into the pedestal and left him hanging in the air. "I'd like to get falling to my impending doom out of the way by dinner time, if you'd be so kind."
Hermione crossed her arms for half a moment, catching herself and realizing it wouldn't be in Malfoy's best interest if she wasn't prepared to snatch him in the air at any given time. "Whenever you're ready," she said.
Malfoy gave a hefty smirk. "You know, it might be better to flank me for this. You'll also find there's a sensational view of my posterior."
"It's not that impressive," called out Greg, who stood a ways behind the blond.
Hermione giggled into her hand. "I'm fine where I am, Malfoy." She untucked her wand from her holster. "Go on, then. Let's see."
"Hmph." Malfoy stuck his pointed nose into the air and extended his arms out slowly. He looked much like a proud peacock in the moment, all show, until he closed his eyes. When he did, he became far less confident. "Backwards from three? Three… two…" and he stepped back too early. "Fuck!" he shouted, tumbling off the edge of the platform with his arms splaying every which way and his perfectly slicked back hair stuck up at odd angles from the force of him tumbling off the precipice.
A white flash of light burst from Hermione's wand, and the next moment, Malfoy was on his back, still three feet from the floor in midair. His breath came in short pants, and his eyes were as wide as saucers, but he was very much intact and alive.
"See?" she said, walking around the pedestal to grin confidently down at him. "You survived."
"Lucky me… you can set me down now, Granger- oof!" Malfoy was dropped the rest of the way without warning, and Hermione had to turn away to hide the grin on her face.
Fucking Hell, his arse hurt. Draco stared up at the ceiling, thinking of how even a house elf had more manners than the frizz-haired woman above him. Was she smiling at his sudden drop? That wench…
Draco sat up on the floor, rubbing his elbow where he landed a bit too rough for comfort. Quidditch left him with a bad joint, and landing on it only flared it with pain -not that Granger cared nor knew.
With a daunting smirk, he said, "Your turn."
Granger must have known she flubbed up, but she pursed her lips together, narrowed her eyes, and addressed Señor Diggle, "Is it possible to add one more step today, señor?"
"Si, if you feel you are ready."
The stairs had already begun to pull back apart, and Draco rolled to move out of their way. When he stood back up, he asked Granger, "Trust me that much, do you?"
"No," she replied, sticking her button-nose in the air, "I just enjoy one-upping you." She climbed the stairs, and, with a wave of his wand (and his mustache), Señor Diggle added one extra stair to the staircase. Granger trudged up that final stair, her arse swaying in the tight pencil skirt she wore. Draco couldn't help but think Blaise might be catcalling her if he were here. But Blaise was not here, Draco was, and no catcalling would be done on his watch. Even if the muggleborn arse in question forced him to think of blast ended skrewts to keep his head on straight.
"Ready?" she called back to him as the last stair tucked into place, forming the pedestal.
For half a moment, Draco thought about not catching her as she leaned back. He thought it might be a nice little early wedding present to him to hear the Gryffindor's head crack against the floor. Not to kill her. Just disorient her. Watch her perfect little arse fall heavy on the floor and realize she wasn't all that and a side of crisps.
"Three!" Granger called out, folding her arms to her chest. "Two! -One!"
Draco readied his wand, prepared to catch her, but, to his amazement, Granger faltered on the platform and swayed. She caught herself -a rare occasion for the clumsy display he was used to seeing - and she brought her hands back down to her sides.
"I'm sorry. Did something not tickle your fancy, princess?" he sneered.
"I…" she huffed, turning to look over her shoulder at him. "I'm trying, alright? I am, but… perhaps this was a mistake." She turned around, waiting for the stairs to reappear, but they did not.
"Ah, lo siento, querida mía. The stairs will not reproduce until you fall. That's part of the spell."
Draco felt the corners of his lips tug up. "Sounds like you'll have to learn to trust me, Granger."
"What was it you said a moment ago? Fat chance?" Granger huffed. "I… oh, get ahold of yourself, Hermione!" She patted her legs with her hands. "He won't drop you… he won't drop you…"
"But he will chastise you for talking to yourself!" Draco chimed in.
Granger sighed, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear before nodding and grumbling, "Let's get this over with. Three… two… one…"
And then she leaned back, arms still at her sides, and allowed herself to fall.
There was something so captivating in the moment, Draco thought, so confident in her grace. Her eyebrows were scrunched together, and her lips were pursed, but tumbling to meet her fate, she had never looked more ethereal, like an angel cast out of heaven (if Draco believed in that sort of thing). The white ruffles of her blouse were the wings, and her hair shimmered in the light like a halo, framing her face.
Draco caught himself and waved his wand quickly, saving her two feet before she hit the floor. She landed on a cushion of magic, her hair still splayed around like leaves on a pond's surface. Her eyes came open just as Draco approached, planting a smirk on his handsome face to hide the mixed bag of confusion coursing through his veins.
With a raspy, low voice he managed out, "See? Nothing to it."
Granger's face flushed as he offered out a hand for her to take; and take it she did, albeit with hesitation.
As Draco pulled her to her feet, his eyes drifted down to her cleavage, suddenly thinking of Blaise's comment earlier today. Though he wouldn't tell Blaise, he did find an answer to the question -they did, indeed, jiggle. They were as real as the sudden aridness of Draco's tongue as he released her hand and looked back to their dance coach.
"That wasn't so difficult. What's next?"
More comedy to come! Stay tuned!
~A.
- 4
- 5
- 6
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Tango