“The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed” “ Carl Jung
It was not the screams that woke Ron next morning. It was the shrill ring of the telephone.
“Ron Weasley, you get yourself to Pine View Studios within 10 minutes or you get yourself another agent!” Estelle shrieked at him by way of greeting. He winced “ he had not yet taken his Happy Hangover Cure.
“Whoa, ‘stelle. Too. Loud. Bad. Head. Gonna. Puke.”
“I’m not surprised, the amount you drank last night, but at least you got more publicity, you made the front page again. Anyway, you get to the studios now. Your partner’s already waiting and you can’t back out now. I’ve signed the contract for you.”
“Whoa, whoa “ partner?!”
“Yes, I forgot to mention “ it’s ballroom dancing.”
Pause.
“My partner is a girl, isn’t she?”
“Yes, of course she is, just get your butt over here now and meet her.”
Wahey, Ron thought gleefully as he put the phone down and scrambled for a bottle of Hangover Cure. A girl. A dancer girl. In pretty dresses. You, Ronald Weasley, have hit the jackpot. Note to self: dump Heavenly-Paige.
~~*~~
So what’s the show about?” Ron asked Estelle when he met her in the reception of Pine View Studios.
“Your partner teaches you how to ballroom dance, you perform live on a Saturday night and the worst couples get voted off each week,” Estelle explained in a bored voice, as she led him into a large dance studio.
“Wait here, I’ll go and get her,” she instructed him before departing. Ron looked around the huge white room and noticed one wall was panelled with mirrors. Ron immediately hurried over to fix his hair.
He was interrupted from his preening by a slight, very deliberate, cough from the near the door. Hurriedly he jumped round to meet his partner for the first time.
Or not, as it turned out to be.
The girl standing in front of him was quite tall and slim, with bright brown eyes and lots of frizzy brown hair. It was Hermione.
It was at this moment that Ron’s jaw became acquainted with the floor.
“Ron!” she shrieked joyfully, running to him and hugging him. “It’s you! It is you, isn’t it?” she asked, suspicious at his lack of greeting.
“Yeah, it’s me,” Ron managed to say. He was dumbstruck. The first thought that ran through his head was, ‘I’m gonna need a stiff drink tonight.’
“It’s good to see you,” Hermione said, breathlessly. “I’ve, er, seen a lot of you in the papers,” she added cautiously.
“You seen this morning’s?”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Oh, it’s a classic “ spectacular vomit all over the World Cup winning Quidditch coach. Fantastic.”
“Oh. This is a pretty regular thing?”
“What, me getting wasted? Oh, every night.”
“Why?”
“What?”
“I asked you why you do it,” Hermione said, in a hard voice. “What happened to the fun-loving Ron who never went too far?”
“He’s probably gone with the happy Hermione who never deserted her friends.”
“I never deserted you,” Hermione said, shocked.
“Er, correction, I think you did. You left the wizard world for seven years before finally deigning to return and not meet up with us for years. No desertion there, clearly.”
“Oh shut up, Ron, and let’s get on with this,” Hermione spat, acidly.
“Fine. What dance are we doing?” Ron asked bitterly, folding his arms.
“The waltz. Now, the waltz has its history rooted in a peasant dance from the Provence area of France in 1559, from a piece of folk music called The Volta. Partners had to hold each other in such a close embrace that many declared it immoral, and Louis XIII even banned it from his court for a while.”
“A close embrace?”
“Yes, like this.” Hermione proceeded to move Ron’s arms into the correct position. Ron attempted to shift himself: this embrace was definitely rather too close for comfort, especially when it was with a girl he’d spent over half his life dreaming about yet hadn’t seen for 10 years.
“Why the hell did I agree to do this?” Ron muttered under his breath.
“I’d blame the beer,” Hermione replied smoothly.
~~*~~
By the time Ron reached home at half past six that evening, he was absolutely shattered. His feet were aching from having leapt around the floor, his legs were aching from standing up all day and his head was aching from Hermione shouting at him all day. Not to mention that time she’d hit him round the head for not co-operating. He didn’t understand how she could enjoy this sort of painful torture.
Normally Ron would have headed directly for one of his crates of beer, but something stopped him. Perhaps it was seeing Hermione again, but something in his head was telling him to stop. Instead, he decided, he would call for a Chinese and get an early night. As he thought this, Ron shook his head slightly, wondering if this dancing business was affecting his brain. The earliest night he’d gotten recently was about two in the morning, and that was only because he’d been thrown out of the club he’d been at and had nowhere else to go.
After placing his order with the Chinese takeaway round the corner, he decided he would follow Hermione’s advice to listen to some music. She had given him a CD which had three songs on it, and she wanted him to choose one for them to waltz to. After several minutes of trying to work his CD player, Ron finally managed to get it working. The first song that came out was sung by someone with a very powerful voice, but he did not know who it was, for it was a Muggle singer. He glanced at the piece of paper that Hermione had listed the tracks on and saw that it was called ‘I Have Nothing’ by some singer called Whitney Houston. It seemed to be ok, but a bit soppy for Ron’s taste. He flipped to the next track.
The next track was called ‘Moon River’. It was a very orchestral version that Hermione had chosen, and Ron didn’t find himself particularly enthralled by it. He sat through one minute of it before skipping to the final track, which was called ‘Love Don’t Live Here Anymore’. This was the only song Ron sat all the way through, listening to the words running through his head. It seemed so true to his life at that moment that he didn’t think there was any way he couldn’t pick it. This was the track.
~~*~~
That week Ron had to juggle training with his Quidditch team with dancing lessons with Hermione. The first day back at work he’d had a bit of stick for doing ballroom dancing, but when he reminded them that he was spending possibly the next ten weeks in close proximity with a dancer, they shut up. In fact, they seemed rather envious. Ron didn’t mention that his partner just happened to be his long lost love of his life. All too soon, however, the first live show came upon them, and Ron was facing the prospect of dancing live to millions of wizards up and down the country.
He spent every spare moment practising steps. He didn’t want to let Hermione down, and couldn’t face the thought of being voted out in the first week. She kept promising him that wouldn’t happen, but he wanted to make absolutely sure.
He arrived at the TeleWizion studios early, and was surprised to find Hermione there also. He found her in the ballroom studio where they would be dancing, as she looked around at the amount of space and the positions they would have. Ron gulped as he saw the rows and rows of gilt backed velvet cushioned chairs, the huge orchestra stand and enormous expanse that was the dance floor. To one side was a long gilt table with four seats behind it: this was where the judges would sit.
“Merry Merlin’s aunt,” he muttered softly. At the sound of his voice, Hermione turned round.
“Ron! Don’t creep up on me like that, you startled me!” she gasped.
“Good morning to you too,” he replied. She laughed.
“Hey, you want a quick practise now?” she asked, gesturing to the dance floor. He agreed gladly, and soon they were waltzing around the floor. Ron began to marvel at how quickly and easily he had become used to Hermione’s presence once more, and how the unnaturally close grip no longer felt uncomfortable. He smiled at the thought that he would be dancing that evening with the long lost love of his life.
“Knut for your thoughts?” Hermione asked, softly, as they twirled round and round.
“I was just thinking, er,” Ron cast around for something to say, “that, er, you’re going to look very pretty in your dress tonight.” Curse you Ron Weasley! You’re not supposed to say what you actually were thinking!
“Oh,” Hermione said, surprised, blushing slightly. “Erm, thank you. Have you seen what you’re wearing yet?”
“No,” Ron replied, startled. “Can’t I just wear a suit?” The music finished and Hermione collected her CD player, laughing.
“No, Ron, you’ve got to wear proper dancing gear. Come on, I’ll show you. I’ll show you my dress at the same time,” she added, glancing at him. Ron caught her glimpse, and the two of them hurriedly looked away again, not speaking until they reached the dressing rooms. Hermione went into hers and retrieved two large clothes bags, one of which she handed to Ron.
“Here’s my dress,” she said, lifting the bag and showing him. It was floor length pale blue material, with dark blue shimmering material veiled across it in several places.
“It’s er, very nice,” Ron said, lamely. Hermione grinned.
“Wait until you see yours,” she said slyly. Slowly, Ron took out his costume: and yelled in shock. The trousers were going to come up way too high, and even had stirrups on the bottom to keep them attached to his dancing shoes. On top of that he had a pale blue shirt with ruffles down the front, and a dark blue bow tie and waistcoat.
“I. Am not. Wearing. That.”
“Yes. You. Are. We have to go together, Ron, and the blue on your outfit matches my dress. Don’t complain.”
“Don’t complain?! You don’t have to wear this thing! I’ve never worn anything so hideous!”
“What about those dress robes in fourth year?” Hermione asked pointedly, a grin creeping up her face once more.
“I didn’t have to wear those on national TeleWizion!” Ron yelled.
“Complain all you like then, but it’s not changing. You are wearing those, and that is final.” Hermione stalked off into her dressing room, slamming the door behind her and leaving Ron standing with mouth wide open and hideous dance costume in his arms. This show was not going to go well. He could feel it.