Chapter Text
chapter one
there is magic in the ballet
O Keats, thy Grecian urn has been upturned
And from its ashes is a woman made,
To dance them back again as when they burned
In young antiquity and pipes were played !
- Bynner
Daphne Greengrass was fully convinced that there is magic in the ballet.
Even the muggles could feel it. Art holds magic, and good music is how you hear it, and the dance is how you express it. There was something about it that drew the muggles in in droves.
When Daphne was still in Hogwarts – before she left to join the ballet – she had searched for ballet in the library. All the really good, actually useful books on dancing had been in the restricted section. She used to sneak in after hours, bribing Madam Pince with gingerbread cookies in the holidays, left with a note of cheer on the librarian’s desk.
The books were in the restricted section because they were dangerous, of course. Dancing was something that expressed your vulnerability in front of other people. Ballet allowed you to do it in a refined, ordered way that was intense and true.
Daphne, who had grown up going to the muggle’s nutcracker every year with her aunt, had always been fascinated by it. When she left Hogwarts after her OWLs, due to her family’s preparation for the Dark Lord’s soon return, starting ballet at the muggle studio down the road in her spare time was the only thing to keep her mind off the darkness in the future.
(Her parents didn’t know, of course. They would have a fit. But they were far too busy with practicing their unforgiveable spells on flies to miss her at dinner.)
But soon Daphne grew to understand the deepness of it; the magic in it.
The precision of barre work and the freedom of allegro.
The expression in adagio.
The way she could hold her breath in a certain way and let it out at just the right time to make the viewer catch their breaths with her.
From the old library books, she whispered spells to make her leap and soar higher than possible; to make her turns perfect. Her teachers were astounded at her progress and Daphne surprised herself with the way the magic soared through her skin during jumps.
But it wasn’t just her whispered spells.
It wasn’t just her naturally long limbs and arched feet.
Her body had been born for it; she had been waiting for this her whole life.
But that wasn’t all.
No.
Daphne Greengrass was convinced that there is magic in the ballet.
Harry Potter was becoming increasingly convinced that there is magic in the ballet.
The first time he went to the ballet, it was seven months after the Battle of Hogwarts.
He had been living with one foot in the muggle world for a few months now; his heart and mind were falling apart a little.
(although he would never admit that, of course. It was simply the way he didn’t get out of bed some days; the way cooking for himself felt strange and wrong.)
Harry had been going on a walk – he wasn’t quite sure where exactly he was going, and he wasn’t sure that it mattered anyway. The slush from the day’s rain sloshed over his wellies, and his hands were deep in his pockets.
Harry glanced around him. The muggles were rushing past like they always did; never observing a thing. But there was a crowd of them up ahead.
They were waiting in front of the theatre. Big flashing signs above them read: THE NUTCRACKER – THE ROYAL BALLET.
Harry had never seen the ballet. Vernon and Petunia had never cared for it; his primary school had not schooled children of the demographic that would go to the ballet. He was pretty sure Dudley would have bashed his head in if he had even mentioned the idea of going to see a show.
Harry grinned to himself. Why not? He had nothing better to do anyway.
It took a good hour, but eventually Harry found himself sitting in the back of the theatre.
He supposed magic must have been involved, as the theatre looked so much larger on the inside than it was on the outside. Or maybe it was just clever architecture.
Regardless, Harry was impressed.
But he was even more impressed when the show began.
Ballet dancers leaping across the stage – how could anyone leap that high without magic?
Ballerinas turning in unison with each other – how could they do it without some sort of magical connection?
The elegance of the sugar plum fairy.
The precision of the soldiers’ footwork.
The naivety and strength in Clara’s dancing.
It had to be magic.
But his curiosity was soon numbed by the beauty of the ballet; the strength of the music.
Harry did not know the story of the Nutcracker. So his heart ached at the ending, and to his surprise he found there were tears in his eyes.
When people around him rose to clap, he quickly wiped his eyes with his scarf and clapped and whooped more enthusiastically than anyone around him. Arguably more enthusiastic than he had been at the Quidditch Cup.
Harry left the theatre in a daze, fully convinced that the Royal Ballet was made up of wizards and witches who had previously gone under his radar.
He wasn’t quite sure what it was but something in him ached desperately.
The next day, Harry made a stop at the Ministry’s library.
(He had special access, of course. Not that he had a card or a pass or anything; it was more the whole ‘I defeated Voldemort and came back to life and oh yes you can call me Harry it’s okay Mr Potter is only for special occasions’ thing.)
There was nothing about Ballet that he could find.
Only a few entries about it in muggle encyclopedias; and a couple of witches who had left the wizarding world to become ballerinas.
He asked the librarian about it. She just shook her head. “There’s not much on it,” she said, pushing her thinly framed glasses up her nose. “there's probably some information on it in the law section. It’s just one of those unspoken things.”
“What do you mean?” Harry’s interest piqued.
“Oh, you know.”
“No, sorry.”
The librarian gave a little glance around her, then leaned forward. “It’s really taboo for magical folk to do ballet or see ballet or anything like that. Wizards and witches who do ballet can be charged. You probably shouldn’t talk about it too openly.”
“Sorry,” said Harry. He faked a nonchalant grin. “The whole growing up in the muggle world thing means I missed a bit of these taboos growing up.”
“It’s okay,” said the librarian. “They say it makes you mad.”
“What does?”
“The ballet.”
“Oh. Probably shouldn’t tell people I went to see one last night then.”
The librarian was not amused. “I would not let the Prophet hear about that one, Mr Potter,” she said rather sternly.
“Please, it’s just Harry.”
“Harry, then. It makes people lose their minds, the ballet does. In the past it used to be a banned activity for magical folk, you know.”
“I did not.”
“Well, now you do, Mr Potter.” The librarian pushed her glasses up her nose again and sniffed. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“That’s all, I reckon.”
Harry left the Ministry with hands shoved deep in his pockets and with his mind deep in thought.
If the Ballet had been made up of witches and wizards, there would have been a record of it somewhere.
So the only conclusion was that it was made up of muggles.
But surely no muggle could leap that high; surely no group of muggles could turn in such a way as to do it in sync with each other?
Surely no muggle could build a building that was surely bigger on the inside than it was on the outside.
Yes, thought Harry Potter. He was fully convinced.
Harry Potter was fully convinced that there is magic in the ballet.