“O beware, my Lord, of jealousy! It is the green eyed monster which doth mock the meat it feeds on.” “ William Shakespeare, Othello
Ron felt almost as if all his dreams had come true during the remainder of the week. Every morning, Hermione would greet him with a kiss, sometimes just a short peck, sometimes a longer, more meaningful kiss.
Hermione had told Alex that she was calling it off on Monday evening, after Harry and Ginny’s party. That same evening she had turned up back at Harry and Ginny’s door with a large bag, asking meekly for a place to stay.
Ron had been outraged when he’d heard that Alex had thrown Hermione out, and had been all set to storm round to tell him what for. Hermione had only just managed to stop him; trying to persuade him that Alex really wasn’t worth the effort.
“I thought you said you loved him,” Ron had said, frowning. Hermione had merely shrugged, looking rather angry.
“Well, that was before he threw me out and refused to let me go back to get the rest of my stuff,” she said. “I know that it’s not his fault, and I really shouldn’t be angry with him. Anyway, we’ll concentrate on other things for the moment.”
They had a lot of fun learning the samba, an energetic dance which was rumoured to send people into a trance with its wild excitement. It was the annual dance of the Rio carnival and thus, Hermione had chosen a carnival-style Muggle song called ‘Copacabana’ for them to dance to. Now that things were so much less awkward between them, Ron found it much easier to pick up the routines, and Hermione would often comment on how much his dancing technique was improving. However, she was still inclined to giggle whenever he landed flat on his back after tripping over his own feet.
“Who invented stupid ballroom dancing anyway,” he muttered to himself as he got gingerly to his feet again, Hermione in peals of laughter.
“Well, it’s been a Muggle tradition for hundreds of years now, but it’s only recently caught on in the Wizarding World. Antonius Beeduk, a wizard, stumbled across a Muggle dancehall in the late Fifties, and decided to try and introduce it into our world. Of course, all the wizards thought he was crazy and he was taken to St Mungo’s for insanity. But he taught his granddaughter whenever she came to visit him, Erin Pollux, you know, she’s now the Head of the WDC. The Wizarding Dance Committee, Ron,” she sighed when she saw his confused expression. “It still hasn’t become too popular, mind you, but that’s one of the reasons for this show. They’re trying to get more wizards into ballroom dancing. I think they feel that the Wizarding world is too Quidditch orientated.”
“It is not!” Ron said indignantly, but Hermione merely laughed.
“That, my friend, is a matter of opinion. Now, come on, let’s try that turn again. I think you’re starting to get the hang of it.”
Despite Hermione’s encouragement, and her insistence that he would be fine, Ron couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed before going out to perform on Saturday night. The Samba might be a fun dance, but dancing with lots of wiggling, as well as outstretched arms and everything, in front of thousands of viewers and, in particular, in front of his brothers who had come to watch that evening, was not going to be fun. His palms were sweaty as he gripped Hermione’s hand backstage, grinning inanely at the cameras before he went on.
“I hate Antonius Beeduk,” Ron muttered mutinously. “And Erin whats-her-name too.”
“Nervous?” Hermione asked, grinning. Ron nodded and gulped. Hermione stood on tip toe and kissed him gently.
“Don’t be,” she told him, poking him playfully on the arm. “We’ve got chemistry now, Mr Weasley.”
The gesture was exactly what Ron needed to calm him down. His fingers wrapped around hers tighter, and, as their names were called, he felt her squeeze his hand gently, before leading them out to wild applause. After their stunning tango performance, they seemed to be a much more popular couple.
Ron was vaguely aware of some manic cackling coming from the direction of a lot of red-headed wizards, and tried to ignore it, horribly conscious that he was dressed in a lurid yellow Lycra suit. Hermione took both of his hands in hers as the music began to play. Her brown eyes stared into his, and he saw the passion and excitement within them. As he danced around the floor, never taking his eyes off Hermione’s short, bright yellow dress, decorated with red sequins in the shape of a lightning bolt, he felt as though his limbs were on fire, not to mention the hip wiggling action he had going on. Hermione’s feet moved as though they were on hot coals, and finally they came together at the end in a dramatic final pose, to rapturous applause and whistling from the appreciative crowd.
Beaming proudly, Hermione curtsied while Ron bowed, before making their way to the judges for their verdicts.
“Now,” said the presenter, winking at them, “we’ve got a few things to clear up with you two, so don’t go straight away after getting your results.” Ron felt his stomach drop several feet, and felt Hermione’s hand tense slightly in his.
“That was an incredible samba,” the first judge said, clearly shocked. “It seems you’ve finally become professional about the whole thing, and there was real drive and passion behind that routine. Well done.”
“There were definitely sparks flying,” the second judge agreed, nodding appreciatively. “Absolutely amazing.”
“Practically perfect in every way,” the next judge said, looking stunned. “Two weeks in a row, keep this up and you’ll win this competition, no worries.”
“I can only agree with what the others have said,” the final judge said, also nodding. “An incredible achievement.”
To round it all off, they gave Ron and Hermione their highest score yet, of 36, along with the first score of 10 out of 10 in the whole series. Ron glanced down at Hermione’s face and couldn’t help but grin at the wide smile on her face.
“So, we’ve noticed in these recent weeks that you two have become very, er, close,” the presenter was now saying. Ron gulped. His brothers were here, and this was a highly embarrassing conversation to be having in front of them.
“Well, er, yes,” Ron muttered, feeling that he ought to say something. He glanced at Hermione again, and saw her cheeks turning slowly pink.
“Is it true that you’re a couple now?” the presenter asked. Ron swallowed and opened his mouth. No words were coming out. He looked at Hermione, who also seemed to be struggling for a response. He heard a distinct cat call from a redheaded twin, but, thankfully, couldn’t make out what was said. The rest of the room was silent, waiting on tenterhooks for their answer.
“Erm, yes, it’s true,” Ron said finally, stuttering badly. He glanced back at Hermione, muttering, “We are, aren’t we?”
“Yes,” she said quietly, squeezing his hand. The audience, meanwhile, were applauding their delight, and there were definitely some wolf whistles coming from the direction of his family.
Ron’s Mental Note: murder Fred and George in most painful way possible.
Everyone was so delighted, that at first they didn’t notice the man storming onto the dance floor from behind Ron and Hermione. They heard footsteps, and turned round, but before they had registered recognition, Ron was flat on the floor, stars popping before his eyes, the right side of his jaw aching painfully from where the man had hit him.
Hermione screamed and dropped to her knees beside him, helping him to sit up as he gingerly touched his mouth where blood was now dripping down. Ron could hear more screams coming from the crowd, and lots of shouting. The presenter, highly flustered, was trying to keep a grip on things, while his co-presenter was shouting for security.
“He stole my fiancée!” the man was shouting, and Ron looked up to see the livid face of Alex glaring down at him. “He stole her from me!” Ron tried to get up, but Hermione got there first.
“He didn’t steal me from you!” she shrieked at Alex, equally angry. “I chose to leave, Alex, I am, and never was, your possession, and I am a human being capable of making my own choices! And I chose Ron, so you had better get used to that!”
The hall had suddenly become quiet again, as Alex’s furious blue eyes stared into Hermione’s enraged brown ones. He was about to reply, when two large SecuriWizards grabbed hold of him by the arms and hauled him off.
“You’ll pay for this, Weasley!” he yelled back as he was dragged out of the hall. “I’ll make you pay! Nobody makes me look like a fool!”
“You do that all by yourself!” Hermione shouted back, pink spots on her flushed cheeks. Then she turned her attention back to Ron, who was back on his feet now, a dark bruise beginning to form around his swollen lip.
“Are you ok?” she whispered gently, wiping away a trickle of blood.
“I’ve had worse,” Ron joked feebly. “I’ll survive.” They left the stage hurriedly, while the presenter desperately tried to get the show back on track.
“D’you think this will affect our chances of winning?” Ron asked Hermione several minutes later, an ice pack on his face until the MediWizard arrived. “I mean, do you think that viewers will think I really did steal you, and that I’m an evil, engagement-wrecker?”
“I don’t know,” Hermione said quietly, removing the ice pack to see how his swelled face was.
“This is all my fault,” Ron muttered grimly. “Your life was all neatly organised before I came and messed it up for you. And now you won’t even win the competition because of me.”
“Ron, I don’t care about the competition!” Hermione said, earnestly. “All I care about is you. And you’re not the one who showed himself up as violent and jealous. Anybody could see why I chose you, after Alex’s performance. And besides, who wants a neatly organised life? I’d choose a mad and hectic life with you over a dull and predictable life with Alex any day.”
“That’s good to know,” Ron replied, grinning, before stopping hurriedly because it hurt his mouth.
* * *
It turned out that Hermione was right; the incident didn’t damage their voting prospects after all. Nobody dared mention the incident when Ron and Hermione returned to the stage, Ron’s mouth returned to its normal shape and size thanks to the MediWizard. They made their way through to the next round easily and, as the show went off air, Ron turned to Hermione and said, “So, what about that meal I offered you several weeks ago?”
“Not tonight, Ron,” Hermione sighed. “I’m really tired, and I need to get my stuff sorted out at Harry’s.”
“You don’t have to stay there, you know,” Ron told her. “You can stay at my flat; I’ve got a spare room.”
“Thanks, but I don’t want to take this too fast,” Hermione replied. “I mean, it’s still kind of, early days, isn’t it? Let’s just take it slowly from now on.”
“If that’s what you want,” Ron said compliantly, throwing an arm round her shoulders. He suddenly spotted a redheaded clan bearing down on him, and hurriedly whisked Hermione away before he could face their jeers.
Outside, they said goodnight with a brief kiss, before they each Apparated quietly away to their respective abodes. Neither of them noticed the pair of bright blue eyes glaring at them through the darkness, and neither of them knew that the mind behind those eyes was plotting revenge at that very moment.