They stood in position, not moving, just staring at one another. She could see the tension in his jaw and the hard line of his mouth as he almost, but not quite, sneered down at her. She could also see his eyes and, as she met them with her own, she could see his irises bloom until he abruptly jerked his chin up and stared across the room.
She felt his fingers flinch against her back before he stilled them.
“So.” His voice was hard as he stared away. “The dance that best represents the speed and fluidity that I want you to develop is the Viennese Waltz. It's an extremely easy step to learn, if the female is responsive and capable of following another person's lead. Given that neither of those things are qualities anyone would apply to you, I've resigned myself that it's going to take a considerable amount of time before you manage it with so much as a semblance of grace.”
He gave her a condescending smile.
Hermione felt her indignation and determination begin rising in her chest and she stiffened slightly before it occurred to her: Draco clearly did not want to be 'holding' her in his arms; he was trying to provoke her into striving hard and ending their “dance lessons” as soon as possible.
She gave him a thin smile of her own.
“I'll do my best,” she said and shuffled slightly and “nearly” stepped on his toes.
“Then please don't tread on me.” He sneered down at her. “I would prefer not to go to a healer because your clumsiness ends up fracturing a bone.”
“I'll heal it for you,” she said with mock sweetness.
He sneered at her again and abruptly started to move. Hermione tried to follow but their knees collided. She yelped and he swore.
“Some warning before you start moving,” she said in a tight voice as her right knee throbbed.
“Try following my lead,” he snapped. “This is for dueling. No one is going to give you 'some warning' before they curse you. You need to have the instinct to just move.”
Hermione's jaw tightened and she huffed.
“Fine.”
“We'll start again.”
Hermione didn't need to pretend to be clumsy when dancing with Draco. The speed at which he expected her to waltz at was nearly breakneck. He was not patient. In fact, he seemed determined to make it as unpleasant as he possibly could; probably to motivate her.
Her toes were throbbing, and she was fairly certain his dragonhide boots were steel reinforced in the toes because he accidentally kicked her in the shin, and she thought he might have fractured something.
She dropped to the ground with a howl and hugged her leg.
“You are the worst dance instructor on the planet,” she snarled and jerked her trousers up to find a purple bruise already blooming across her shin.
“However shall I live?” he said dryly, without even looking down at her. “My secret ambition is crushed.”
“Are you trying to break my leg? Why are you wearing combat boots?” she said in a furious voice.
Malfoy glanced over sharply and caught sight of her leg. His expression wavered for a split second before he regained his mask of indifference. “I didn't expect you to be this clumsy,” he said.
“You are a complete bastard,” Hermione said as she summoned her satchel and rummaged for her healing kit.
“Yet most of your precious Order would be dead by now if it weren't for me.” Draco sneered viciously at her. “By now I'm as much their savior as Saint Potter will ever be, and I own you, so you really have very little room to complain.”
Hermione felt herself pale as she felt fury ripple through her chest. She hated him. She hated him. She hated him and she still wanted him, and that made her hate him even more.
But she possibly hated him most because he was right about the Order. The war in Britain was at a stalemate currently, after years of slow losses on their side. The Order was still, comparatively speaking, steeply disadvantaged, but Voldemort had had fewer and fewer victories since Malfoy had begun spying. Draco's aid had tipped the scales of the war into a balance, and he knew it.
He held the Order in the palm of his hand.
It was the most tenuous form of survival possible because they had no idea if he might someday just let go.
“I'm trying,” she said in a shaking voice as she spread bruise paste across her skin. “If you had given me some warning, I would have gotten a book and practiced the steps before I came. It's not like I'm intentionally not trying. I don't know them. You could try communicating a bit more.”
He glared at her for several moments before looking away. “Well, now you know. So practice.”
He vanished with an angry crack.
Hermione stayed behind. She pulled her shoes off in order to check her toes for fractures and mull over what an unbelievable arse Draco was. She sighed and buried her face in her hands.
The worst part was that she didn't really blame him. If someone were doing to Hermione what she currently was doing to Draco, and apparently succeeding, she would be hard pressed not to resent and want to hurt them too. It must be eating at him to know she was manipulating him emotionally and still feel drawn to her. It was a viciously cruel thing to do to someone.
Especially him.
Everything she learned about him made her feel more guilty about it.
She swallowed her guilt. Draco Malfoy was a double-edged weapon, just as poised to cut down the Order as to aid it. Unless she leashed him, he was a threat.
It wasn't as though she was enjoying it. Surely he must know that too.
She wasn't lying. She wasn't being insincere. That was why it was working. Having him know her motive didn't negate the genuine connection they'd somehow forged. That was why it was so awful. It was real, but she was weaponising it.
She left the shack and apparated to a bookstore to find a book that explained how to Viennese waltz.
The next week Draco was equally surly, but he had the courtesy to wear different shoes. When Hermione arrived, she sat down in front of him and proceeded to transfigure her foraging trainers into a pair of low heels.
“Planning on wearing heels when dueling too?” he asked, raising an eyebrow as he stared down at her. His lip curled condescendingly.
“The book I read said I'm supposed to be on my toes. It's easier to get used to the step and fluidity if my feet are already in the right position. I'll switch back to trainers again once you think I have a semblance of grace,” she said, lifting her chin.
“You need better shoes. Those Muggle things you wear are useless,” he said with a sneer.
Hermione flushed. Most of her clothing came from muggle donation bins. Good shoes in her size were difficult to find. She'd been maintaining her current pair with reparos.
Draco Rich Wanker Malfoy probably didn't even know how much a pair of dragonhide boots cost.
“They work,” she said in a tight voice. “That's all I care about.
She stood up.
“If you don't mind, if you start more slowly and then pick up speed, I think I'll be able to follow better,” she said.
Draco rolled his eyes. “Fine.”
He didn't even look down at her as he held out his hands and she stepped into them and into position. She was ready when he stepped forward without warning. She drew her right foot back and did a short, quick step as she allowed herself to be pivoted on one foot and he then took a long step back, and she followed him with her left foot.
It was, as he had said, an extremely easy step technically. The difficulty was the speed and trusting Draco's lead; forcing herself to relax enough to follow him instinctively rather than reactively.
Following him wasn't difficult in theory; he'd clearly been taught to dance. He had a excellent carriage and frame and moved with the fluidity of a cat. Unfortunately, he was also an arse who was intentionally trying to make dancing with him as unpleasant as possible, while she was trying to adapt to a new step that involved them rotating as a couple in clockwise circles and moving counterclockwise around the room.