Pas De Deux (A Drarry FanFiction)

Chapter One

It sounded like Malfoy was back to arguing about arm motions with the choreographer, so Harry slunk back down in his chair and flipped through his notes once again.

Malfoy was right about one thing. They were opening in a week and there was still an incredible amount to do for this one-off performance. Lockhart was showcasing a new ballet he had been developing (or stealing, as Harry suspected) for a year or so. Apparently, the lead role had been crafted just for Draco Malfoy. Whether that was true or not, Harry really couldn't say.

He still wasn't entirely sure why the guy irked him so much. Obviously, he was stunningly beautiful and insanely talented. But Harry had been working in the theatre circuit for a decade now. He had been around countless men like that. However, none of them had shaken him quite so much as Malfoy.

Harry was fine talking to anybody else in the star's vicinity. But now Malfoy kept shooting Harry glances, forcing him to more-or-less cower behind his notes folder. For fuck's sake, why did Harry have to feel so spineless around him?

Normally, Harry didn't care who he shouted at. As the stage manager, it was his responsibility to make sure the show got off the ground. He called the shots and ensured production ran smoothly. But one snooty blond had him acting like a newbie fresh out of uni all over again.

Damn him.

The other dancers loitered around the stage and wings while Malfoy insisted on several more things being just so. They had a beautiful setting here at Sadler's Wells, one of London's most prestigious ballet theatres. But every day this production was renting the space was a day the Sadler's Wells company itself was not operating. Harry dreaded to think what that was costing.

Lockhart had the money to throw down the drain, though, or so it went on the grapevine. Harry had to say he'd never been paid so well for a production that would only go on for one night. With only two week's rehearsal, he was earning enough to cover him for the next two months. He wondered what the dancers were making.

Malfoy looked like he came from money. He was effortlessly stylish, his clothes dripping with labels, and was always talking about eating in restaurants where Harry couldn't even pronounce half the food on offer. He moved like a wild panther, always poised ready to pounce and could silence a room with a look.

It pissed Harry off that a guy like that made him feel tongue tied and inadequate. They were obviously nothing alike, so why the hell should Harry care?

Why did that tiny voice in the back of his head keep wondering what Malfoy thought of him?

Because Harry was good at his job. Because he knew how to coax the best out of performers and bring the greatest show he could to life. Because for over a decade, Harry had been working as part of more teams than he could count, ensuring they ran like well oiled machines.

He was not about to let some prima donna derail an entire production just because he made Harry's heart skip a beat.

Or so he thought.

The music swelled once again from the sound system, filling the auditorium with inspirational notes, strung together with the specific intention of pulling at the audience's hearts. Malfoy moved perfectly in time with every beat, plucking at the air with his body like a harpist might their instrument. He moved with grace and beauty and a kind of savage power Harry had never witnessed in another human being.

He knew the cues well enough by now. Malfoy weaved his way through several of the other cast members as they pulled and tugged as his clothes, trying to hold him back. Of course, neither Malfoy nor his character were destined to be restrained in any shape or form.