Disclaimer: J.K. made Harry dance. I didn't. Much. Now- I also don't own a Rolls Royce, a private jet, or a cat. Gimme a break- you think I can afford to claim that I own the greatest series ever written? Yeah, right.


Dedications: MissingEden, AnimeMandie22, and Flanclanman
Because all of you are so awesome, and I will miss all of you guys so much when I go to Boot Camp.
And don't think this is the last of the Dedications... I've got a lot of other things planned to decdicate before I leave... XD -evil grin-

Beta: …nope…

Title: He Doesn't Dance.

Harry Potter didn't dance.

Now, this may not seem to be a cause for concern, but it was. The Hero of the Wizarding World never danced- not for the Minister, not for his friends, no. Not for anyone.

It was disconcerting, to say the least, when at a party or a Ministry function you saw the Hero of the Wizarding World making small talk with the wallflowers, but not dancing. He would smile and laugh and chat with anyone you wanted him to, but dance? Nope. Not even Dumbledore could cajole, threaten, or bribe him into the act.

For most, it was a cause of dismay and concern. For others- it was priceless. It was a guaranteed-chuckle-inducing topic that they never grew weary of. Some, like Snape and Lucius, watched the Hero at parties and balls with humorous glints in their eyes, waiting for the moment that- inevitably- always came.

The moment when Potter would have his fill of the annoying, pestering, insipid fools who lived for his attention. At that moment they always stopped in whatever they were doing, and paid the strictest attention to what was said.

Usually Potter would be smiling slightly, attentively listening to whatever drivel was currently being spouted in the effort to impress him. This would go on for hours, the mindless attention and false smiles and limp handshakes, yet he always managed to convince the speaker that they were the center of his attention- the only one who mattered to him in that moment.

Until the dreaded question. The question that- invariably- everyone asked.

"You want to dance?"

And at this point Lucius and Severus would prick their ears, turn their heads, and watch with small, smug smiles as the put down began. Potter's face would shutter, his eyes would dim, and any appearance of attentive politeness would dissolve like the morning mists.

The question might change form, be more polite or less, formal or informal, but the result was the same. Potter would shake his head once, lips pressed into a thin, tight line, and walk away, back ramrod straight and stiff. The reactions were priceless- Severus and Lucius drank down the sights of disbelief and shock and impotent anger like they were a vintage wine. They never grew tired of the reactions, and always- always- they turned away, smiling smugly as they glanced at each other in satisfaction.

Potter would thaw, eventually, as he always did, but afterwards was always different. It was as if he came to each party expecting to have a good, non-dancing time, but as soon as he was asked that question he changed. He was wary, suspicious of anyone who came up to him, and he never focused exclusively on anyone for the rest of the night.

And the part that never ceased to amaze our two watchers was the reaction of Potter's friends. They were the only ones allowed to speak of dancing to him, though he always refused. They pestered and prodded and begged and pleaded with him at every ball and gala, yet he always smiled and shook his head.

But as soon as the outsider asked the question, his friends turned on the offender. They were almost vicious in their attacks on the questioner- as though that person and that person only was responsible for Potter's hatred of dancing.

Severus and Lucius would smile into their drinks, and move closer, and listen in on the verbal attacks. This was, after all, the only reason they came to such a mundane and boring event as a Ministry function.

But, eventually, the ball, gala, or party would end, and the two friends would sigh, and finish their drinks, and leave. Severus inevitably traveled back to the Manor with Lucius, ostensibly to pay his respects to Narcissa and have a nightcap with Lucius. They would sit in the same parlor at the end of the night, and talk about what happened, and who been snubbed, and who had risen in the Ministry's favour.

And about an hour after the function had ended, and they were pleasantly drunk and feeling quite at peace with the world and themselves, they would notice the strains of music playing through the Manor, softly lulling them to sleep.

And fall asleep they would, smiles on their faces as the House Elves quietly cleaned up around them, their dreams calm and relaxing after their long day. Narcissa would wander in to check on them, and smile at the sight of her two favorite men taking the time to relax as they normally never would. Quietly she would order the Elves to take them to their respective rooms, and then she would go through the Manor, checking each room before she retired for the night.

Everyone ignored- or, rather, accepted and did not question- the music that came from the East Wing. No one commented on the barely noticeable yet rhythmic thud of steps coming from the same direction as the music, and certainly no one would comment on the sight they might see if they happened to pass a door that had not been properly shut.

Neither Severus, nor Lucius, nor Narcissa wanted to scare away their skittish guest, and no one wanted to disappoint the Malfoy Heir. So in the mornings the only thing they said to Potter was 'good morning', and at breakfast he was treated as a member of the Family.

And Draco would look on with a smirk as Harry smiled and relaxed as Narcissa mothered him, and his Father and Godfather discussed the latest political scandal.

And no one would mention the ball, or the music, or their not-unwanted guest.

I wil be posting everything before I leave, I've decided, and leaving all of the chapterlength things for my sister to post. I figured that I'd probably want to see your reactions-- to have them tide me over for the four months I'll be wthout internet.