A/N: I'm dedicating this chapter to @innaturalnirvana for her encouraging comments, especially during the rougher chapters in this fic. Thank you!

LAST PAST CHAPTER! This also marks the end of Harry's POV. The rest of the fic will be in Louis' POV.

HARRY / PAST

Dear Harry,

It's been weeks since I've seen or heard from you. You haven't responded to any of my emails or letters. I'm worried about you. Why won't you talk to me? Didn't you enjoy our trip? I wanted to thank you again for accompanying me to Kiev. I've told all of your instructors what a good boy you were and how much you impressed me.

You have so much potential, Harry, but you and I both know that potential isn't enough. You're talent is raw and unrefined. You are far from where you need to be when it comes to technique. I don't normally do this, but I would like to invite you to come live with me in Paris over the summer so I can mentor you personally. It's unorthodox but I think you would benefit from the individualized attention and my connections here in Paris. I don't think a big noisy classroom is the right learning environment for a sensitive boy like you. I know what you need, Harry. I understand you.

If you're obedient and you work hard under my tutelage, I can give you the career of your dreams. I can get you a spot in any company in the world.

I do hope you'll consider my offer. I would hate to see all that wonderful potential go to waste!

Eagerly awaiting your reply.

Yours,

Alex

P.S. Forgive me, my pet. I never meant to hurt you. Things will be different this time. I promise x

The card had a waxwing with a red berry in its mouth on the front.

Madame Lesauvage crossed the studio and swept a strand of grey hair into her bun. "Well?"

We were alone in the studio. Beauchamp had asked her to hand-deliver the card to make sure I read it. I had deleted all his other emails and thrown out his previous letters unopened.

"He wants to mentor me in Paris this summer."

"Oh Harry, that's wonderful!" She clapped a hand over her mouth and placed an arm proudly around my shoulder. "Are you going to call him or write him back?"

"Madame, can I ask you a question?"

She nodded.

"What's the best dance company in the world?"

"Well, the Paris Opera Ballet is the oldest, but the Bolshoi is by far the biggest—the word 'Bolshoi' is Russian for 'grand'—and it has the most decorated history. It's where Tchaikovsky premiered Swan Lake."

I considered this for a moment.

She crossed her long thin arms, her sharp elbows protruding from her bodysuit like two arrows.

"You should take this offer very seriously, Harry. You've improved a lot these last few months, but training with someone like Alex could be the difference between dancing for a company like the Bolshoi and dancing for some tiny regional company in Leeds."

"He wants me for the whole summer."

She brushed the curls out of my eyes and lifted my chin. "I know, dear. You want to go home and see your family and friends, don't you? But these are the sacrifices we must make for this profession. I was taken from my parents when I was just seven to train at the École de Danse de l'Opéra in Paris."

Madame had been a prima ballerina and danced for companies all across Europe, including the Bolshoi.

"I'll think about it."

She shook her head in disbelief. "This is the opportunity of a lifetime, Harry. Every boy in school would kill to take your place."

"That's what they said about my trip to Paris and Kiev..."

"And they were right. Look at you now! You have the chance to be privately mentored by Alexander Beauchamp for an entire summer. I can't think of a greater honor."

"I'll answer him," I said, trying my best to smile.

Instead of throwing out the letter like I did with all the others, I stuck it in my back pocket.

***

I dragged my feet to the cafeteria. I wasn't hungry but I'd skipped breakfast, and dinner the night before. I needed to put something in my stomach to get through the day.

I ambled through a sea of students in the corridor. Crowds seemed bigger and busier since I got back from Kiev. I no longer had the luxury of ignoring other people and their bodies in relation to my own. Their voices were amplified in my head. I dipped into their conversations and their petty relationship dramas. That used to be my voice. Those used to be my dramas. Now it was like they were all living in color and I was in black and white. I was a ghost on another plane of existence. Tuned into a different frequency.

In the cafeteria lineup I got my tray and picked up a premade plate with steamed chicken and vegetables from beneath the warming lamps.

As I wandered around in search of a seat, Louis' face immediately jumped out at me. He must have just come from the showers. His cheeks were rosy and his hair soft and fluffy. He was in the middle of telling a story, eyes alight with mischief, his mouth in a lopsided grin. He was surrounded by friends—Zayn, Liam, Gigi and Eleanor—and he was happy. I did that, I thought. He gets to be happy and have a normal life because I protected him. It was the only thing I liked about myself.

I looked around awkwardly for a place to sit. Every seat in the cafeteria was taken except for one.

They wouldn't have saved that seat for me, would they? None of them had spoken to me since I got back from Kiev. Lines had been drawn and they all chose to side with Louis. But the empty chair right next to Louis gave me pause. Maybe they had changed their minds about me. Maybe they were giving me a second chance.

I walked up to the table and their laughter turned to silence.

"Is it okay if I sit here? I won't bother you."

Louis faced Eleanor, "Did you hear something?"

Eleanor looked right through me like I was invisible. "No, I didn't hear a thing," she said, keen to play along with his cruel game. She and Louis bickered constantly, but she would get into a knife fight for him if he asked her to. Louis inspired that kind of loyalty in people.

"Zayn, did you hear something?"

Zayn put his feet up on the empty seat and said, "Nope."

Liam was uncomfortable but would never challenge Louis.

Gigi did acknowledge me but dutifully said nothing.

My cheeks burned as the whole cafeteria watched me walk away, rejected by my former friends.

I took my lunch to the courtyard. It was too cold to eat outside but it was either that or eat standing up with everyone staring. I sat under a tree, the wind nipping at my fingers. My hands got so cold I couldn't hold the fork to finish. I fed the vegetables to the winter birds that had crowded around me.

Then I took out Beauchamp's card. I re-read it a dozen times.

I know what you need, Harry.

I understand you.

Forgive me, my pet.

I never meant to hurt you.

Things will be different this time.

***

I went to the studio to practice for a while before class started. It was these private practice sessions that were the most useful to me. Now that I had been at RBS for almost a year I had a good sense of my strengths and weaknesses. I wanted to stamp out those weaknesses. The corrections from my instructors, which made me cry when I first came to RBS, had no impact on me now. I needed a much firmer hand. I fashioned myself into my best and worst teacher.

I stripped down to my tights and examined myself in the mirror.

"Ugly."

I practiced my turns, disrupting the momentum of my pirouette by spotting too slowly.

"Stupid."

I moved into an arabesque and lost my balance.

"Pathetic."

Next I tried to land a jump but my knee was shaky and I stumbled. I screamed at myself in the mirror and punched my thigh over and over until it left a throbbing welt.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!"

***

That afternoon I passed Zayn on campus. He was carrying a stack of books under his arm. He wore a crème cable knit sweater that made his glossy black hair and dark eyes stand out from across the courtyard. He was on his way to Jebsen and I was walking to Wolf House.

He jogged up to me and grabbed my wrist. "Harry, I'm sorry about lunch today."

I shrugged. "It's okay."

"No, it's not. Louis... He so hurt. He's so angry."

"I get it."

We stood there uncomfortably for a moment.

"We can hang out sometime if you want," he said.

"No, Louis wouldn't like that."

Zayn began to walk away when I stopped him. "Wait!"

He swiveled around.

"Can I borrow some of your books?"

***

My roommate at Wolf House moved out shortly after I moved back in. I had night terrors and he couldn't sleep through the sound of me screaming, so he moved in with a friend. Now I had the room to myself. It wasn't as nice as Louis' room. It was tiny and the window faced a brick wall. But like my room with Louis, the wall was dotted with mementos of Beauchamp. Next to my bed I had pinned up the programmes from Swan Lake and the contemporary ballet we saw together in Kiev. Next to that I pinned up the card he sent me with waxwing on the front devouring a red berry. I don't know why I liked looking at these things. Maybe it was because they hurt me, and like my knee in the studio, the pain kept me company.

Zayn knocked on my door a little past eight that night. I was surprised he actually showed. He brought the books I asked for. Anna Karenina, War and Peace, Crime and Punishment, Doctor Zhivago, The Brothers Karamazov, and a biography of Tchaikovsky.

"What's with your interest in Russia all of a sudden?"

"I'm going to Moscow to dance for the Bolshoi."

Zayn raised his heavy brow and ran a hand through his hair. "Harry, it's great that you're thinking big, but maybe you should start out with a more realistic goal, like a regional ballet company."

"No, the Bolshoi is the best. It has to be that company."

He continued to look at me like I was crazy.

"How is he?" I asked, plopping down on the bottom bunk.

"Sad mostly. He puts on a brave face when you're around but he's still not over what you did to him."

I fingered the dull edge of one of the novels. "He'll get over it. It was just a stupid trip."

Zayn sat next to me on the bed. "You think he cares about the trip? If anyone else had done this to him he'd have been over it by now. It's you he cares about. You were his best friend and you stabbed him in the back."

"I know."

"Why'd you take this from him?"

I thought back to all the disgusting things I let Beauchamp and his friends do to me. "I deserved it."

Zayn was chilled by my response.

"You can still fix this, Harry. He wants you to."

"Yeah, he was really reaching out at lunch today."

Zayn took the book from my hands. "He was being a brat because, well, he's a brat. But he wants you back he just doesn't know how to trust you again. Can't you apologize?"

I curled my hands into fists. No, I would not fucking apologize. I was not sorry. I did the right thing whether Louis knew it or not. I knew it. That was all that mattered. I wasn't about to give up my last shred of dignity. My sacrifice for Louis was all I had left of my old self.

"I think we both know he's better off without me."

Zayn didn't say anything because he knew it was true.

***

In class the next day, I noticed an empty space next to Louis at the barre. He placed a second water bottle on the ground next to his and carefully hung an extra towel on the barre above it.

Did he mean for me to take this spot? Had he saved it for me? It might have been a peace offering, a silent hint at forgiveness.

I approached him and he held his breath.

I wasn't going to fall for this twice. I kept walking and took a spot at the back.

Class was monotonous, crowded and distracting. It gave me a headache. The second the bell rang I rushed to the door. Beauchamp was right. I didn't belong in a busy classroom. I needed privacy if I was going to get any real work done.

Louis was in my way and instead of waiting for him to exit through the door, I knocked him over.

"Hey, watch where you're going!"

"Did you say something?" I sneered, stepping past him.

Before I got much further down the corridor, I felt sharp icy fingers dig into the back of my neck.

Madame.

"Have you written back to Alex yet?"

"Not yet."

She dragged me into her office, which had once been Beauchamp's office too. My stomach churned thinking about the things I did to him in this place.

Madame went over to her desk and pulled out a piece of crisp white stationary and a pen. She dragged a chair over and told me to sit.

"You are going to respond to Alexander's letter right now," she said in her severe French accent that became more pronounced the angrier she got. "You're being rude, Harry. He was very kind to take you on two trips last semester. You owe it to him to at least be polite." She leaned back in her chair. "You know, the last student he mentored for the summer, Hans Faust, never returned to RBS. He continued to train with Beauchamp and landed a spot with the Paris Opera Ballet before his classmates had even graduated."

I knew that Hans, like me, had been taken on one of Beauchamp's special trips, but I didn't know that he then chose to live with Beauchamp. If anyone knew what had happened to him, they might have judged him for that decision but I understood it. After what Beauchamp did to me I felt like I had been ripped from this world. I didn't belong anywhere. The only person who knew what I'd been through, who understood me, was Beauchamp himself.

He was the poison and the antidote.

I imagined Hans in Beauchamp's apartment in Paris for the first time, scared and alone, just as I had been. I'd never met Hans but I'd also never felt closer to anyone in my life. I wanted to reach back across space and time, hold his hand, and tell him, "I'm here too. I exist. I understand you. You're not alone."

I picked up Madame's gold-plated pen.

Dear Mr. Beauchamp,

Thank you for your letter and for taking me to Paris and Kiev last semester. It was terribly kind of you. I will never forget the experience.

However, I'm afraid I have to decline your invitation to Paris this summer.

You're right. I am talented. I do have potential.

I'm going to dance for the best ballet company in the world.

I'm going to be the best ballet dancer in the world.

I'm going to be a better dancer than you ever were and I'm going to do it without your help.

Sincerely,

Your Special Boy

I folded the piece of paper and stuck it in an envelope. I handed it to Madame. She smiled, waiting to hear what I had decided.

"Mail it. Burn it. I don't give a fuck."

I walked out of her office and back to the studio, alone.

A/N: I didn't include this chapter in my first draft of Act II but added it later because I wanted to show what Harry's experience was like after Kiev, and how he shifts from being Beauchamp's victim to his rival.

Also, most of the fics I've read that deal with abuse don't deal with victims who choose to go back to their abusers, which is common and I don't think gets discussed enough. Harry doesn't choose this path but Hans does and it was important to me that Harry understands Hans' choice and sympathizes.

Next week's chapter picks up with H&L waking up together in the studio, and deals with the intervention.

My favorite male dancer, Sergei Polunin, is coming out with a documentary about his life! I've based bits of Harry's character on him so I'm super excited. Here's the trailer.

https://youtu.be/u8ZNodT9kcM