Archive of Our Own

He knows his talent with potion making comes from that part of him. There is an ultimately objective, logical drive that courses through his veins, and it is his number one guide in life. As long as he follows this path, he's going to be just fine. It's straightforward. Easy. 

That's the plan, Daniel tells himself. He watches the Charmed Galleon in his knuckles go up and down, hears it clink with every movement of his fingers.

"Hi," a breathless voice says, accompanied by a sheepish smile hovering by the edge of his booth. It's a girl. A first year bound for Hogwarts, judging by the brand-spanking-new wand in her hand. 

"Hi," Daniel says stiffly.

"D'you mind if I sit here?" she asks. "I mean—is this seat free?"

"Sorry, but, um—" Daniel shuffles awkwardly in his seat. He gestures to the cauldron and other things he's piled not-so-on-purpose on the free seat. "It's a little full."

The girl clears her throat. "Right," she says. "Well, thank you, anyway."

"Hey!" A voice calls, ringing out from the other side of the train. "Over here!"

Daniel blows his hair out of his eyes and turns to look. It's another girl, one with silver hair and bright indigo eyes, beaming brightly and waving at the girl who'd asked him for a seat. 

She gives Daniel a final smile, and is gone in a flash of skirts and long hair. 

School is going to be straightforward and easy. Daniel has a plan: keep his head down, get his O in Potions (and everything else), and keep on going with that iron-straight path. No straying.

Merlin knows his family has enough of a reputation for straying.

Daniel marches obediently into the Great Hall with the rest of the first-years, many of which he remembers seeing on the train. He allows himself to smile when he is Sorted, watching his robes turn into a beautiful shade of scarlet. 

Before he knows it, Daniel is surrounded by a small crowd of people. A girl with sleek, short raven hair joins him. She is followed by a yellow-haired boy who pushes up his glasses as he sits, and suddenly he is squished against the Seat-Girl from the train.

She sticks her hand out as the feast commences, offering him a grin.

"I'm Aria," she says, half-shouting over the din. "I guess we'll be seeing more of each other."

Daniel takes her hand and shakes it, giving Aria the tiniest of smiles.

"Daniel. And I suppose we will."

Friends were not part of Daniel's plan, no matter how much his sister Esme insisted on their importance. He figured the various forms of social interaction were unavoidable, yes, but he never expected to be constantly surrounded by Friends, by Peers, by Companions.

But he likes it.

It's nice.

And if his friends drag him through all sorts of adventures, get him into trouble, and stoke that little fire of mischief and determination in him...well. 

Daniel finds that he doesn't really mind that, either.

It's November when McGonagall introduces them to her Dance Club. 

A flock of wide-eyed first years follow their Headmistress through the halls of Hogwarts, coming to stop at a repurposed classroom somewhere in the lower sections of the castle. Dressed in their casual clothes, they gape in awe at the room's expansive dance floor and its arched floor-to-ceiling windows. Headmaster McGonagall urges them onto the checkered dance floor. She speaks excitedly of how she established the Dance Club to keep spirits high in Hogwarts, how she took inspiration from the joy the Yule Ball brought the school.

When their first practice class begins, Daniel suddenly finds himself partner-less. Kevin is swept up by Robyn. Ivy loops her arm through Lottie's. He shuffles awkwardly to the side, wondering if he can somehow avoid this entire debacle altogether, before he sees Aria bound up to him, making a dramatic bow.

"Mr. Page," she says in a sing-song tone, "Might I have this dance?"

And Daniel finds himself fondly rolling his eyes, taking her hand as they prepare to learn the waltz.

Like he's always told himself before, Daniel Page knows exactly what he is and what he is not. It's a matter of fact and fiction, of objectivity.

Fact: He's excellent at Potions, and nothing makes him happier than standing over a cauldron all day.

Fact: He's excellent at Potions because, at its very core, it's a matter of steps, of recipes, and procedures, and he is capable of following them to the core.

Fact: Despite its logical nature, Potions allows for incredible creativity, and he enjoys nothing more than putting his own twist into his brews.

Fact: Dancing, in its own way, is a lot like Potions.

It's a manner of steps, of patterns, of one-two-three, one-two-three. By the time their first dance practice ends, Daniel finds that dancing isn't half bad.

He adds another fact to his list.

Fact: Daniel is good at dancing.

And lately, he's begun to hate it.

Dance Practice has become A Thing for Hogwarts' first years. After McGonagall tells them that there are little Balls held every weekend, Daniel's schoolmates have taken to practicing nearly every damned day, somehow finding the time to sneak in a spin or two on the floor in the middle of their piles and piles of homework. 

Daniel's friends drag him to the dance floor whenever they can. He practices with Ivy, who is surprisingly graceful. He practices with Lottie and her paint-stained hands, who mostly spends her time in Dance Club sketching poses for reference on the sidelines.

He tried dancing with Kevin, once, but his yellow-haired friend trod on his feet so many times that Daniel vowed never to do it again.

Unbeknownst to him, Daniel's practices have started to get a little attention. His schoolmates watch him dancing with his friends—out of the corner of their eye, at first, and then with increasing attention. Daniel admits that he enjoys it. He admits that it's nice to move, to spin, to practice footwork and dance with eager partners.

He just never expected it would become this...bad.

On a Friday afternoon, just a day before their first Weekend Ball, Daniel finds himself practicing the graceful, intelligent, and refined art of Running Away.

He walks speedily through the crowd of Dance Club members, watching the girl who'd been hounding him for dances all day out of the corner of his eye. Daniel is getting desperate. He doesn't want to be rude. He doesn't want to tell her that, although he isn't exactly tired, he no longer wants to spend his time dodging her pointy shoes and holding her clammy hand.

And behold: salvation.

Aria is hopping off the dance floor after dancing with a Ravenclaw—Theodore, Daniel recalls. She dusts off her skirts and gives Theodore a smile, making her way toward the drinks table for a cup of pumpkin juice.

A bell rings out. It's the two-minute call before the next practice round, before the lilting music of their Waltz is played again.

Daniel's hunter is swift on his tail.

"Daniel!" she calls. "Wait up!"

Daniel does not wait.

Just as Clammy, Pointy-Shoed girl closes in on him, he darts out and grabs Aria's arm, making his housemate jump in surprise.

"Aria," he blurts breathlessly, "I have a favor to ask of you."

Aria blinks. "A favor? Sure, anything."

"Dance with me," Daniel says, watching Pointy-Shoed girl out of the corner of his eye. Aria leans over his shoulder to look. "In return, I'll—"

Aria meets his eye and shrugs. "Okay."

"You haven't heard what I'll do for you in return."

"Don't be silly. I don't need a reward for dancing with you," Aria says, pouring herself a fresh cup of pumpkin juice. She downs it in a few gulps, then gestures to the dance floor with a flick of her head. "Shall we?"

They step onto the floor, side by side with arms outstretched. A few other students join them. Daniel watches Pointy-Shoed girl huff and trot off to find somebody else to harass for a dance. Relieved, he sweeps Aria into his arms, resting a hand on her back and taking her free hand in his.

"Was it a successful escape, then?" Aria whispers, grinning at him as they begin the easy box-step pattern. "Your attacker was a little relentless."

Daniel groans. "You've got no idea. She's been hounding me for dances all afternoon."

He gives Aria a spin, and they dance front-to-back, grinning at each other while they perform a synchronized, swaying side-step. With another spin, Aria is back in his arms, moving to his lead.

"Happy to be of service, then," Aria says with a laugh. 

Without the threat of foot-stabbing looming over his head, Daniel finally finds himself enjoying Dance Club for the first time all afternoon. Aria moves with confidence. Her trust in his lead allows Daniel to turn off his (overactive) brain and simply move to the swaying song. 

"I can see why she wanted so badly to dance with you," Aria says. "You're rather good at this, Daniel."

"You're not so bad yourself," he admits. The song nears its crescendo, and Daniel gives her a grin. "Follow my lead."

As the music swells, he braces his arm against her waist and lifts. Aria lets herself be spun. She laughs, looks down to smile at him, and suddenly the memory of pointy shoes and clammy hands is swept from Daniel's mind.

The song ends. They exchange grins as Daniel dips her low, breathless and exhilarated.

"Thank you," he says. "I owe you for that."

They step down from the dance floor. Daniel pours her and himself tall glasses of pumpkin juice, sinking into a seat on one of the free sofas. 

"How about you just be my partner for the Weekend Ball?" Aria asks. "We'll call it even then."

"Alright." Daniel doesn't think too much of the question. "We'll go together."

He doesn't think too much of the question because, despite all of his intelligence and prowess in potions, Daniel Page is still an eleven year old boy. 

He is eleven, and the thought of asking a friend to a dance carries little to no other connotations with it. How could it? For Aria, there is a Forbidden Forest to explore, duels to win, and friends to help. For Daniel, there are potions to perfect, recipes to memorize, and ingredients to test out. The Weekend Ball is just A Thing.

It is, granted, A Thing that has Daniel dressing in his best clothes, wondering if these old blue robes will be good enough as formal wear. He waits with Kevin in the common room while the girls get dressed. When Robyn, Ivy, and Aria come down in their puffy skirts and strappy shoes, Daniel just finds himself looking forward to enjoying a night out with friends.

He leads Aria on his arm to the dance floor. They waltz in an easy one-two-three, one-two-three. Maybe it's the magic of the hazy golden lights around them or the sway of the live orchestra, but Daniel suddenly starts noticing.

He notices her hair and how she's styled her long locks back with a scarlet ribbon. He notices her strappy (and blessedly un-pointy) shoes. He notices the way she keeps her focus on him as they dance, how they move with an easy synchronization that turns the gazes of the Ball goers to their direction.

The music hits its crescendo again. Daniel squeezes her hand. Aria beams. He lifts her by the waist, spins, and shares her victorious smile when they end their Waltz with a flawless dip.

And with all of the things he's noticed, Daniel makes a simple conclusion.

She looks nice tonight.

That is the extent of emotion he lets himself feel. For the rest of the evening, both he and Aria share dances with their friends and a few strangers. They drink pumpkin juice, laugh, gossip, and generally allow themselves a little bit of first-year revelry. 

It was an excellent night. They walk back to their common room, still relishing in a comfortable, magical haze.

On the way there, Daniel notices the way Aria shivers. She runs a hand over her shoulders. Daniel wordlessly gives her his jacket, and when she slings it over her shoulder, he finds that its blue shade makes an excellent contrast with her scarlet dress. 

Ivy is using her wand to haul back a mountain of stolen treats from the ball. Robyn is in quiet conversation with Kevin, giving him strange sidelong glances as they walk along the darkened corridors. Aria and Daniel hang back. His coat is over his arm. Her strappy shoes, which she'd deemed uncomfortable, are dangling from her hand while they walk.

"You were excellent tonight," Aria tells him, flashing him a smile from behind her curtain of hair. "I had a lot of fun."

"So did I," Daniel mumbles. 

Their eyes meet. They exchange shy smiles.

And because they are eleven and clueless, they think nothing of this—this Thing. 

For now, anyway. 

Daniel and Kevin walk them all the way to the girls' dormitory stairs. As he bids Aria goodnight, she gives his shoulder a friendly pat.

"If you ever need another rescue at Dance Club," she tells him, "You know where to find me."

And he does.

From then on, Aria and Daniel meet each other on the dance floor more and more often. They find companionship in classes, in shared textbooks and exchanged notes, poring over bubbling cauldrons and bickering over homework. She drags him and Ivy out to the Forbidden Forest to explore. He watches their duels, standing at the front of the crowd to watch (and admire) Aria as she does an entirely different sort of dance altogether.

And although Daniel knows he has a good set of friends, he dares to put Aria in a separate category of her own. She's a good friend. A best friend, even.

When the year ends and they are hovering around each other at Platform 9 and 3/4, Daniel believes he might even miss his friends—and his best friend.

"Promise you'll owl," Ivy says, hands wrapped tight around Aria's. "We should really keep in touch."

Daniel shakes his head. "No promises, Ivy. Owl post is spotty at best in Muggle London."

"I'll write you both as often as I can," Aria says. "See you next term." 

Ivy's grandmother picks her up. As they leave, she gives Daniel and Aria happy waves, beaming at them from behind a curtain of silvery hair.

"I'll see you around, then," Daniel says, hefting his trunk. 

"Bye, Daniel."

He gives Aria a small smile. She waves, and Daniel turns to make his way to the Muggle side of the train station.

He is barely five minutes gone when he hears a pounding of footsteps coming from behind him.

"Wait up!" he hears Aria call.

Daniel waits.

Aria, backpack and trunk balanced in one hand, sticks out her arm. There is a folded-up piece of parchment there. As Daniel raises his gaze to hers, she gives him a cheeky grin. 

"Magic is amazing and all," Aria says breathlessly, "But I've got to say: the Muggles have far better methods of communication."

Daniel blinks. "Alright," he mumbles, feeling a little lost. "Fair enough."

"Right, then," Aria says. She clears her throat, gesturing to the other side of the station. "I've got to catch my train. See you."

"See you."

She is gone a moment later. Daniel pockets the note. He squeezes into the crowded Muggle train, full of students coming home from their non-magical places of education, and curls up in a solitary seat. 

It isn't until he gets home that he remembers the parchment in his pocket. Daniel leaves his trunk by his bedroom door, sighs, and unfolds the note from his pocket while he dives face-first into bed.

It's a number.

Aria's number.

Keep in touch, Aria has scribbled in the corner. She signs it with a smiley face.

Daniel fondly shakes his head. That night, after he and Esme relish in a dinner of Muggle fast food, he dusts off his desk and fishes inside one of the drawers for his long-dormant Blackberry. Daniel blows the dust off. He powers on his phone, sends a text for the first time in ten months, and finds himself strangely eager for the reply.

He will never quite realize it, but dance practice—and all the strange little feelings it brings—is going to turn out to be very dangerous indeed.