22
"Dancing lessons?" Alice stared at Narcissa in horror. "Surely I can just... stand there and look decorative?"
"As the co-host, you'll open the celebrations with the first dance," Narcissa reminded her firmly, a touch of surprise in her voice. "With him. I assumed such things were taught even in the Muggle world. And while our Lord is known for many things, patience with social incompetence is not one of them."
"Oh, well, it used to be a thing, back when there were still enough Muggle women around that these sorts of dances made sense…” Alice mused, slightly embarrassed. “But I guess… things changed. Dancing lessons sort of went the way of the dodo, along with, well, a lot of other things."
Narcissa blinked, a strange look crossing her face. "Dodo?" she repeated, a touch of bewilderment in her voice. She seemed about to say something more, but then gave a small shake of her head, as if dismissing the thought. "Well, regardless, you'll need to learn. Now, where were we?"
And so began what Alice quickly discovered was her first true challenge in the magical world. While her mind could grasp complex magical theory and her social skills had improved dramatically, her feet seemed determined to remain stubbornly uncoordinated.
"One-two-three, one-two-three," Narcissa counted, guiding Alice through yet another failed attempt at a basic waltz. "No, dear, your left foot— mind the hem— oh!"
Alice stumbled, catching herself on a nearby chair. "This is hopeless," she groaned. "I was terrible at dancing even before I had to worry about magical formal wear and pure-blood etiquette."
"Nonsense," Narcissa replied, though Alice noticed she had to take a deep breath before continuing. "You simply need more practice. Perhaps..." A thoughtful look crossed her face. "Draco!"
To Alice's mortification, the young Malfoy heir was recruited as her practice partner. If she'd thought dancing with Narcissa was embarrassing, it was nothing compared to repeatedly stepping on Draco's expensive dragon-hide boots.
"Sorry!" she winced as she missed another step. "I swear I'm usually more coordinated than this."
Draco, to his credit, maintained his composure, though his lips twitched suspiciously. "At least you're consistent in your mistakes. That makes them easier to predict and avoid."
"How comforting," Alice muttered, then stumbled again as the enchanted music picked up tempo.
After what felt like hours, Narcissa finally called an end to the torture. "Well," she said diplomatically, "we've made a start."
"A start?" Draco raised an eyebrow, rubbing his abused toes. "Mother, she's going to be dancing with the Dark Lord, not Rubeus Hagrid. Perhaps we should consider a different approach?"
“Don't!" Alice threw up her hands in frustration. "I'm hopeless. I'll embarrass everyone, and then I'll have to flee the palace, and live underground as a hermit in some muggle village where no one knows I once stepped on the Dark Lord's feet during a waltz."
To her surprise, both Malfoys burst out laughing. "Oh, my dear," Narcissa wiped her eyes, "you sound just like I did before my first society ball. Would you believe I actually fainted during my first dance lesson?"
"You did not," Alice said, momentarily forgetting her own misery.
"She did," Draco confirmed, grinning. "Father loves telling that story. Apparently, she was so nervous she forgot to breathe."
"And now look at me," Narcissa spread her arms gracefully. "We'll get you there, Alice. Even if we have to practice every day until the equinox."
That night, after another frustrating dance lesson, Alice found herself wandering the moonlit courtyard, her mind racing with visions of public humiliation in front of the court. In desperation, she deliberately crossed the ward line she knew would summon Antonin – a boundary she'd discovered weeks ago but had never dared trigger.
Until now.
Within moments, Antonin appeared, wand drawn and alert. His eyes scanned the courtyard before settling on her with a mix of concern and confusion. "Lady Waters? What are you doing out here at this hour?"
"I need your help," she said directly, lifting her chin. "…with dancing."
He stared at her for a long moment, clearly trying to process this unexpected turn of events. "You... deliberately triggered my ward... to ask for dancing lessons?"
"Yes." She met his gaze pleadingly. "I'm terrible at it, Narcissa is at her wit's end - she won’t say it, but I can tell, and I refuse to step on the Dark Lord's feet at the equinox celebration."
A strange mix of emotions crossed Antonin's face – exasperation, amusement, and something that might have been fondness. “That… isn’t what the wards are for.”
"Sorry," she apologized with a small smile. "But you're also the only person here who won't treat me like I'm made of glass. I need someone who will be honest when I mess up, and patient enough to help me fix it."
He was silent for so long she thought he might refuse. Then, with a put-upon sigh that didn't quite mask his amusement, he waved his wand. Soft music filled the night air. "Your audacity astounds me," he muttered, but held out his hand. "Very well. Let's see how bad it really is."
“Left foot, follow through. Put your weight into it, and catch yourself with the momentum." His tone, though laced with amusement, held the same crisp efficiency she'd heard him use when directing Death Eaters in strategy sessions. It was clear that even in this unexpected scenario, his commander's mind was at work, assessing and analyzing.
"I don't understand," she groaned, after a particularly frustrating attempt at a complicated turn. "I can memorize ancient runes, navigate pure-blood politics, even understand complex magical theory. But ask me to waltz and suddenly I have two left feet. Dancing is a muggle thing, too.”
Antonin's lips twitched with amusement. "Perhaps you're thinking too much. You move with natural grace when you're not trying to force it."
"That's what's so infuriating!" She threw up her hands. "Everyone says I move gracefully, but the moment music starts playing..."
"Some things can't be solved by logic alone," he offered, his eyes twinkling with rare mirth at her frustration. “… though, admittedly, of all the things you’ve been put through, I wouldn’t have guessed this to be your weakness.”
"I'm glad my incompetence amuses you," she muttered.
Two hours later, Alice had progressed from "complete disaster" to "very awkward." As they took a break, sitting on a stone bench, she gathered her courage to ask something that had been on her mind.
"Antonin?" she ventured carefully. "Is it true what I've heard... that there was once another Alice in your life?"
He stiffened slightly, but didn't immediately shut down the conversation. "Ah," he said softly, "so you've heard that old story."
"Only whispers," she admitted. "You don't have to tell me if you'd rather not."
He was quiet for a long moment, staring out into the darkness. "It was a long time ago," he finally said. "During the first war. She was... like you, in some ways. Not half as polished, despite…” he mused.
Alice waited, sensing there was more to the story.
"She was a pureblood witch," he continued, his voice rough. "I was young, I still had energy to do foolish things." He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "She hated the old ways, the traditions, everything that came with it. It ended as such things must."
"I'm sorry," Alice whispered.
"The truth is," he continued, his voice rougher now, "there are duties I've been avoiding. As head of House Dolohov, I have... obligations. Continuing the line, maintaining certain traditions." He sagged slightly, as if the weight of a century bore down on him. "But I find myself... hesitant. I’ve no taste for heading a house."
Alice studied him in the moonlight, seeing for the first time how young he looked for someone with such old stories. "Antonin," she asked softly, "how old are you, really?"
A wry smile touched his lips. "Older than I look, younger than I feel. Being in His service... changes things. The proximity to such power, such magic..." He gestured vaguely at himself. "Side effects, you might say. Time moves differently for those of us in his inner circle."
"Like him?" she asked softly.
"No one is quite like him," Antonin corrected. "But yes, in a much lesser way. The magic preserves us, to an extent. Slows the aging process." He looked down at his hands. "Sometimes I wonder if it's a blessing or a curse – to remain unchanged while the world moves on."
Alice absorbed this, thinking of all the implications. "And your... obligations?"
"Will still be there tomorrow," he said with a slight shrug. "And the day after. The old families are patient – they have to be. But eventually..." He trailed off, then straightened, his mask of composure sliding back into place. "Your waltz is improving, by the way. Though your left turn still needs work."
But Alice had seen something in that moment of vulnerability – a side of Antonin Dolohov that few ever witnessed. The feared Death Eater, the powerful wizard, was also just a man, carrying the weight of his past and the expectations of his future.
"Thank you," she said simply, understanding he needed the conversation to end. "For the lessons, and... for being a friend."
He nodded once, sharply, then held out his hand. "Again?" he asked, the music starting up once more. "This time, try to remember you're leading with your right foot, not your left."
As they resumed their practice, Alice couldn't help but feel that something had shifted between them – a deeper understanding, perhaps, or a shared recognition of the burdens they each carried in their own ways.