Two Left Feet

Two Left Feet

A/N: Thank you for the reviews. To clear some things, Harry returned to Hogwarts to complete education after his adventures in the seventh book. So technically, that would put him in the same grade as Ginny since there is no eight year.

Chapter 2:

“La Salsa”

Posted January 1 2010

Before long, Harry came to the most discouraging conclusion that his skills in dance class were almost nonexistence. Compared to how well he excelled at most of his other classes, he thought he should at the very least be able to become proficient at the simplest of steps. To add to his distress, he lacked the creativity and the confidence to attempt the more advanced steps. When he looked at his classmates, they were doing very well. Hermione was nearly flawless. She had grace, rhythm, and style; everything that Harry lacked, especially today. The girls seemed too reliant on the blokes and instead of caressing the floor with light feet and grace, they dragged themselves heavily, stomped and tripped. Come on, Harry. Basics, basics! Forwards, return. Backwards. Double… or was it single? Fuuuuck.

“Remember, forward, backwards. Try to keep a steady rhythm Weasley. You too, Potter. Feel the music! Let it channel through you! Alright, class, change partners.”

Harry was glad to be rid of the Hufflepuff girl he was dancing with. She seemed all the more weak kneed like the previous girl. “Hi, Harry,” greeted Luna. “How was your day?”

After quickly glancing around the room, Harry took Luna into his arms, “Brilliant. Yup. Up until this class.”

“Why is that, Harry? Oh! You’re moving the wrong way. Try to keep up with the rhythm.” Luna then attempted to lead Harry. “You there’s a double on this beat. Not a blank.”

“Wait, what?”

“Come on, Harry. This is basic.”

“Yeah, but what did you say?”

“You’re such an awkward dancer, Harry. I’m more afraid of getting my feet stepped on,” Luna giggled. “It’s alright. I’ve got Gwengil lotion. That’ll heal any wound on my feet.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, look, it’s Professor Slughorn! I think you should take me across the room so I won’t have to dance with him. I feel very silly when dancing with a teacher.”

“Really?”

“I don’t think most girls mind him. But I do,” Luna tried guiding Harry a ways away from Slughorn. “Oh, and Ginny is definitely improving. Hermione, however, is by far the best dancer here. Is there any girl you don’t like dancing with, Harry?”

With his head trying to process so much, Harry felt much like stopping and taking a ten minute break. “Um, I don’t know.”

“It’s ok. I hope you don’t mind dancing with me. Before long, we’ll all just have to accept that you can’t escape every- Ow! Oh Harry! That was my foot!”

“I’m so sorry!”

“Well, it’s alright. I have that lotion on me.” Luna slipped from Harry’s hands and moved towards her bag. Harry stopped dancing then turned to look at the girls around him. Alright, so maybe not everyone was dancing as incredibly as before.

However, before the night was over, Harry had stepped on the feet of at least four different girls. That, and he couldn’t seem to keep a steady rhythm. “Potter! What did I tell you about blanks?!”

What? Someone is shooting blanks? He stared at his dance partner.

“There are no blanks in salsa,” she explained. “Some times you don’t move.”

“Well, it’s harder to lead than you think.”

This night wasn’t going well. Not at all, and Harry dreaded to think that it was just the second week of school. And he had to do this for the next two terms. Bloody hell. He wanted to stomp on his partner’s foot.

Nothing could make this night worse. Nothing…. And then… “Evening, Professor. How are you feeling?”

Harry turned around to see that Snape had entered the room and was being greeted by McGonagall. He was leaning against the threshold of the hall, with his cane relaxed against him and that neck brace… It just looked bloody uncomfortable and it flawed the imposing character Snape had always held together.

Then, just as Harry was doing his best to lead, he heard a raspy, almost inaudible chuckle from the entrance. Harry released his dance partner and proceeded to switch. If Snape was chuckling, it couldn’t be at him. But by his sixth dance partner, Harry was finally facing the doorway and saw that Snape was watching him with a very amused smirk on his face. What’s that bastard smirking at? “What are you laughing at?” demanded Harry as he spun a girl a third of a beat after everyone else.

“Language, Mr. Potter.” McGonagall looked incredulously at Harry.

“Well, do you know how to dance, professor? Why don’t you give it a shot?”

Snape pushed himself off the threshold and left without another word said or glance made.

“Mr. Potter,” said McGonagall, “Detention tomorrow night.”

Harry Potter Harry Potter Harry Potter

Straight after breakfast the following day, Harry hurried to DADA. He suspected that they should be close to learning new techniques and spells that he hadn’t heard of before. He felt very anxious at the possibility of showing his own achievements and even helping out others since he very much doubted Snape would be able to. However, today the students were out of their seats, wondering around the classroom and busy chatting. “Where’s Snape?” asked Harry as he took his assumed seat next Hermione.

“I… I don’t know. Actually, I think he might not be in today. I didn’t see him at breakfast.”

“Hmm. It’s not like the poor bugger to sleep in. I wonder what’s got his snake.”

“Maybe he had to go to the Healer’s today. I can only imagine that with his wounds he’d need constant care. Which reminds me, what did you say to him last night? He seemed to be enjoying himself watching us dance and then you said something and made him leave.”

“He was laughing at me. I asked if he could do better and if so, why not try.”

“Oh, Harry. You can’t expect him to be physically active at the moment. His neck is in a brace!” Hermione’s forehead smacked onto her open palm. She sighed and shook her head. “Some days, Harry, you really are thick.”

Harry rolled his eyes then looked over at his girlfriend, who was watching but not smiling. She seemed very displeased with Harry as well. Girls. They were so difficult to please some days.

Moments later, and the headmistress entered. She moved through the aisles and towards the front where she bewitched the chalk to scribble that most horrible word.

Paper.

What had they done to deserve one? “Since Professor Snape is unable to teach at the present time, he has passed onto me your next essay prompt. It will be due a month from today, so use this time to get a head start.” Parchment flew from her hands towards every student. Harry snatched one out of the air and looked at it. Five feet?! How could Snape do this to them?!

“Take out your textbooks. Not dilly-dallying. And save you questions for Professor Snape. He should be available later this week.”

“I told you,” Hermione whispered to Harry. “Poor bloke’s trying to make a recovery and you’re here badmouthing him.”

Harry started at his parchment. He would get to this later. He had something he’d rather accomplish sooner.

So as the students began pairing off in the attempt to ease their assignment, Harry moved towards the front of the classroom. McGonagall raised her head. “Yes, Mr. Potter?”

“Professor, I was wondering, if you had the time, do you think I could receive some extra help in dance?”

“No, Mr. Potter, that is not possible. My duties as a headmistress occupies most of my time and I cannot solely grant you attention while in class. I have so many other students too, but I will do my best to ensure you excel.” She nodded then waved him off.

Harry returned to his seat, wondering who, if any, could help him improve.

That one goal sent Harry bouncing from teacher to teacher through the remainder of the week. In between classes and after each class, Harry would drop in on the teacher and ask if they had any experience in dance and if so, could they dedicate a bit of their time to teaching him. Professor Sprout, Professor Hooch, Hagrid, and Pomfrey admitted to having close to nil experience in dance. Professor Slughorn, Professor Flitwick, and Pince told Harry that while they may have some, they do not have the time to help him advance. Harry would have to seek help from elsewhere. At the end of the list was wacky Professor Trelawney. He sighed and reminded himself that she may be weird, but if she had the experience… And she didn’t seem to be too awkward while assisting McGonagall, so maybe… just maybe she knew a thing or two.

When he walked into her classroom after Divinations one fine afternoon, she looked up at him through her thick, round glasses and said, “I thought you might be dropping by. And I know why you are here, and the answer is no. Absolutely no. I will have nothing more to do with dance as I am made not for the art of rhythm and activity. I am better suited here, so if you would so kindly as look elsewhere.” She then shooed Harry out of her classroom and closed the door on him. Harry raised his brow then coughed as dust flew into his face.

This plan was getting him nowhere.

And by the next dance class, Harry was so sure that he was doomed to be known forever as the boy who couldn’t dance.

McGonagall began the music and by this time, Harry would feel his stomach churn and drop. This was hopeless. He would never be a great dance. Not even mediocre. He wanted to sit this one out. So he walked over to the chairs and joined the pile of bags and purses in solitude. McGonagall, who was at the time trying to help another couple, saw Harry in all his misery in the corner of the room. “I’ll be right back. Do the best you can.”

She hurried over towards Harry, who only stared at the ground. “Potter, really. If you want to improve your technique, the best way is to get out there and practise. You know that better than anyone else here.”

“But these are not spells or transfigurations. This is something I’ve never been familiar with. Except for the Yule ball. And that was a bloody disaster! No one is as terrible at dance as me should ever be allowed near a dance floor.”

“Potter, Harry, we all had to start somewhere. Would you believe that I was as terrible and ungraceful as you once, some many, many years ago?”

“That’s impossible, Professor.”

McGonagall smiled then looked up and away from Harry. “Ah, Severus. How are you?”

“Splendid,” his voice was soaked with sarcasm. “I actually wish to talk with you about a certain student.”

“Oh really? I’ll be in my office after class, Severus. We may talk then.”

Snape nodded then turned his eyes on Harry. “Evening, Potter.”

“Professor,” Harry reluctantly inclined his head towards his professor.

“Potter here is looking for someone who’ll help him master the art of dance.”

Great. Thought Harry. Like Snape needed to know more about his troubles so he could further ridicule him.

“However, I cannot set aside time for him.” McGonagall then left to help the couple she was tending to before. “Try to be civil, you two.”

Harry ran his hand through his hair then dared to look up at Snape who was still looking down at him. “Once my injuries have properly healed and if you are still interested, I would not mind training you.”

Harry suppressed his urge to laugh and instead stood up then walked away to join his classmates.

Severus Snape Severus Snape Severus Snape

“What is the difference between the Rumba and the salsa? The techniques can be similar, and involve hip-sway over the standing leg. However, salsa is typically done as a quick-quick slow rhythm in a eight count meter. Rumba is generally much slower and sensual,” McGonagall smiled, “This is because there is only a transfer of weight from one foot to the other on beat one of each bar. All the moves of the beat are the hips, so the music emphasizes the dancing of the hips. Combine this with the slow tempo of the music, and you have a very romantic dance. I need a volunteer.”

A young Slytherin girl stepped forwards and McGonagall took her into her arms. “Watch carefully, as steps are taken on beats two, three, and four. Watch as my weight transfer and turns are performed on the intervening half beats. Keep your weight on your forward foot and restrain from moving your upper torso throughout the dance.”

The music was slightly slower, but Harry did not think this would help him. He was just catching onto salsa too. “I don’t think I’m going to like this very much.”

“You might actually have an easier time with this, Harry,” Hermione commented.

“No, really. I think not. I am so fucked.”

“Harry, don’t say that. We’ll help you out.”

“We can only dance like once. And that’s it, we have to switch partners and there are too many girls in this class for us to dance again.”

“I could try to give you some outside time help, Harry. It isn’t a problem.”

“How can you? You have like ten classes this term! You are always studying and Ron can barely dance himself.”

“Hey, I dance better than you most days.”

“I know, that’s why I need to find someone to help me,” Harry was frustrated.

“Maybe you can ask someone in this class? I’m sure there’s someone here that would want to help you.”

Harry stared at some of the girls and imagined them getting carried away and thinking that he secretly wanted to date them or snog them or something. “I can’t do that. Ginny would be suspicious. I would too if she was taking personal lessons from some bloke.”

“Well, then I guess we can’t help you, Harry.” Hermione squeezed his shoulder. “But we’ll try if we can.”

That night’s class was the longest by far. Moves that he had already learned and was just barely nailing were now at a slower tempo. Harry cursed and did his best, but the girls always seemed disappointed with him. Or maybe it was just him. He had a duty as a leader to guide his partners with grace and style. How as he supposed to get that at the rate he was going. When class finished, Ginny offered to walk back together. “No, I’m sorry, Gin, but I need some time alone.”

“Harry, you’re taking this class far too seriously. It’s meant to relieve stress.”

“And bring the Houses together, I know. Encourage friendship, yada yada, and all that crap. I really don’t care right now; I just want to learn how to be better at this sort of stuff.”

“Well, I’m here, if you ever want me to help you.”

Harry nodded then left the Hall with his mine working overtime to kill his negative thoughts. A dance class shouldn’t make one so angry so fast. But this one was, and as they progressed further into the term, his classes were getting more demanding and dance wasn’t helping his stress.

It was making everything worse!

It was terrible that he couldn’t master the most simple of steps.

And no one could help him!

And then Harry found himself at the door before the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. Snape’s classroom.

Then Harry remembered that he offered. So he knocked. A voice granted him entrance and then an older witch walked out of the room, wearing white and carrying an bulky supply box. It must’ve been his healer. “Mr. Potter. How can I help you this evening?”

The voice, which was just some days ago as raspy and hard to the ears as sandpaper against flesh, was deep, sensual, like velvet. And to Harry’s astonishment, the neck brace was gone, revealing snowy white flesh beneath an unbuttoned collar that was just barely covering two prominent puncture wounds. The swelling had gone down, but Nagini had forever branded Snape. Harry found his eyes riveted to the bit wound and Snape’s neck.

“It’s rude to stare, Potter.” A drawer was forced opened and Snape withdrew gauze, which he fastened to his neck. Harry’s eye then followed Snape’s other arm down, which in his hand was a bloodied wrapping. “It still bleeds, sir?”

Snape did not answer him.

“Can I see it?”

Snape stared at Harry. “Pardon?”

“I… I want to see what it looks like. I was there, remember? I saw how terrible the wound was and I just wanted to see how it healed.”

“What concern is it to you?”

“I’m curious!”

Snape plopped down onto his chair, then to Harry’s astonishment, removed the gauze and tilted his head. Harry rushed forwards to peer down at the puncture wound, careful not to get too close. He held onto the chair and leaned forwards, gazing at how the stitches so smoothly dipped into the skin and weaved through. How the old, maroon brown blood caked onto the surface and the dark stitches. How there were de-saturated blue, green, and purple bruises around his neck where all else was a tinted white. How Snape smelled of dirt and earth, and how despite his wounds, had a perfectly sculpted neck. Harry struggled to breath. He couldn’t get enough air, and when he did, he exhaled quickly, no doubt brushing Snape’s neck. And then, the man turned to look at him. Harry’s eyes locked with the professor’s and then jumped back as if stunned. “Those look nasty. Do they still hurt?”

Snape nodded, but made no further comment.

“I’m actually here because I wanted to take you up on your offer.”

“And after your earlier display, you expect me to oblige you?” Harry hadn’t expected Snape to move, so when the man suddenly rose, Harry jumped back a few more feet.

“It’s just that I really need help, and I was stupid to reject you like that! So, I’m really sorry, and I’m hoping that you’ll still help me out.”

“After everyone else turned you down? I heard rumours about your approaching Professor Trelawney.”

“Yeah, well I was desperate! And I still am. Please.”

Snape moved around the desk and was heading for the door. Harry panicked and chased after him. “Please, professor! I promise it won’t be a waste of your time!”

But as Harry turned the corner, there was no Snape. Harry crossed his arms in disappointment. If Snape thought that was the last he would see of Harry, then he was in for a nasty headache.

A/N: Thank you for reading. I’ll have the next chapter up shortly. Happy New Years!

Teasers:

“It’s weird and frankly, wrong.”

“You must’ve threatened him thoroughly.”

“Look at me.”