Tango * dramione

Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Four Left Feet

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"Dance is the hidden language of the soul" – Martha Graham

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Stage Right: Hermione, Ginny, Greg DiggleStage Left: Draco and Astoria, Daphne and BlaiseCenter Stage: Señor Douglas Bastian DiggleSetting: Diggle's private dance studio, (location: still secret)

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Hermione had to place her book over her face to stifle the ridiculous amount of giggles that threatened to erupt from her throat at the sight of 'Señor Diggle' and his absurd cape. Next to her, she noticed Greg Diggle turning the color of a springtime strawberry, dragging one hand down his face comically in embarrassment. She nearly took pity on the man, but she wasn't given the opportunity, because Diggle senior glided into the center of the room and tapped his foot on the floor twice, calling for everyone's attention.

"It feels so good to see such fresh faces! Come, now. We haven't any time to waste. Introductions are in order!"

"Introductions?" muttered an auburn-haired gentleman in the corner of the room, clinging to the exercise rail.

"Yes! I find it is best to get to know each one of my protégés before we get down to official business. Who would like to begin first?"

The room full of hopeful dancers all began to look anywhere but at Diggle. Even Hermione felt her once eagerness to show her knowledge off wane in the presence of such a gaudy professor. However, when she realized no one else would make a move, she mustered her Gryffindor courage from within and raised a hand into the air.

Of course, it would be bloody Granger to raise her hand. Always the eager sprout, wasn't she? Draco fought the urge to roll his eyes as the brunette was called upon and ushered to the center of the room to stand next to Señor-fancy-pants.

"Hello," said Diggle in a cheerful tone. "And who are you?"

"Well," she began, "My name is Hermione Granger, and my parents and I lived in London for most of my life..."

"No. No, no, no. I don't care about any of that."

"You don't?" Granger looked utterly perplexed, paling on the spot.

"No, mi niña. I wish for you to express to us who you are."

"I do believe I was trying-"

Diggle gave an impish laugh, waving his arm dramatically around the room, causing his cape to flow behind him like an opera singer. "Do or do not. There is no try."

"Father, that's from Star Wars..." a chiseled wizard, dressed all in black, said from the back corner.

Wait. "Father?" Draco interjected, raising a curious eyebrow and, regretfully, drawing unwanted attention to himself. Still, if the spotlight was going to be on him, he'd handle the role with poise. "You're his son, are you?"

"So they tell me," muttered the man, crossing his arms.

"Our hats off to you, mate," Blaise chimed in, bowing in sarcastic formality.

Douglas Diggle's mustache waved dangerously on his upper lip, narrowing his eyes at his son. "If you are quite done, I'd like to return back to Miss-?" he looked expectantly toward Granger.

"Hermione Granger, Sir."

"Señor," Diggle corrected. "So, Miss Granger. Tell us who you are."

"I thought I was, before you so rudely interrupted me."