“We can only learn to love by loving” “ Iris Murdoch
Throughout the course of the day, Ron met the other celebrity contestants. They were mostly TeleWizion stars, although there were also a famous singer, two comedians and “ Gilderoy Lockhart. Ron and Hermione had returned to the dance floor to find Lockhart swanning around it dragging his partner, who looked scared out of her wits. Consequently Ron spent the majority of the day avoiding Lockhart. All too soon, however, the evening’s performance was upon him.
The presenter of the show was an old wizard called Bruce, and a young lady called Tessa was helping to co-present. When they greeted Ron he managed a quick grunt before scooting off to attempt to calm his nerves. Normally, of course, he’d have reached for the brandy, but he was under strict orders from Hermione not to touch a drop.
Finally, they were all dressed in their (in Ron’s opinion) ridiculous outfits, made up in thick foundation for the bright lights with their hairstyles coiffed and held rigidly in place with a gallon of hairspray each. All ten couples were nervously hanging around in the green room as the opening notes heralded the start of the show. There was a bit of banter from the presenters before the first couple came on: it was an international Gobstones player, Terence Blackworth and his partner, whose name was Camilla. Ron and Hermione watched nervously on the monitors in the green room as the pair of them performed a Waltz, to great acclaim from the judges. After their performance, they returned to the green room, beaming broadly as they should with a score of 27 points.
“You know what I’m going to do after this?” he whispered to Hermione, trying to keep his voice steady.
“What?” she whispered back, looking nervous herself.
“Go out and get absolutely smashed.”
“You most certainly are not,” Hermione replied, firmly. Ron glanced at her, angrily.
“Since when did you become She Who Must Be Obeyed?” he asked, irritably.
“Since I became your dance partner,” she hissed back. “Don’t you know how much that stuff affects your concentration?”
“That’s why I have boxes of Healey’s Happy Hangover Cure stored in my kitchen,” Ron replied pointedly. “Works a treat, you know, next time you’re drunk I’ll give you a bottle.”
“I don’t drink,” Hermione told him primly.
“Oh, sorry, you never do anything that’s anywhere near related to fun. Come on, Hermione, you’re a dancer. I’ve been through hell this week “ and this is what you do for a living?! Live a little.”
“Just because you ‘live’ by getting out of your head every night and sleeping with any piece of skirt that comes your way-“
“Yes, well at least I get some!”
“Excuse me?!”
“Ron, Hermione, you’re up next!” shouted the backstage manager, beckoning them to the edge of the curtain from which they would appear.
“Smile “ you’re on camera!” said a small witch with pink cheeks, and Ron forced a smile to his furious face as quickly as possible. Hermione seemed to achieve it with no effort.
“Gods, Ron, try to look happy, not constipated!”
“Shut up, you have no idea how nerve-wracking this is for me,” Ron hissed back, fake grin still plastered to his face. Hermione fell silent. She seemed to be thinking.
“Ron, I-“ she began, but she was interrupted by the announcing of their names by the presenter. A storm of applause greeted them as Hermione quickly grabbed Ron’s hand to give it a quick squeeze, and then led him out onto the dance floor. Ron was slightly stunned “ he had just had a big argument with Hermione, and insulted her too, and yet she was still trying to make him feel better and more confident. Sometimes, no, all the time, he just couldn’t work her out.
The opening notes of ‘Love don’t live here anymore’ were played by the orchestra, and Ron began dancing for his life. Well, metaphorically anyway. His brain seemed to be working overtime just trying to remember all the steps, yet something was distracting him. Quite possibly the fact that he was holding Hermione in his arms, just like he’d always dreamed.
After what seemed like an age of twirling around, they gracefully drew into the final pose, to which the crowd began to cheer once more. Ron bowed, looking embarrassed, and Hermione curtseyed, beaming, before they made their way to Bruce and the judges. He stopped, his arms by his sides, but Hermione quickly grabbed them and held both his hands on her shoulders.
“Look happy,” she muttered, moving her lips as little as possible. The fake smile was re-attached.
“I thought it was a good effort,” the first judge said in a slightly bored voice, “but you were rather wooden and clunky.”
“You didn’t seem to be concentrating on the steps too much, and I think your feet ran away with you a couple of times, but there was some good choreography there,” the female judge agreed. The man sitting next to her nodded.
“I think that for one week’s work, it was a tremendous effort,” he said, smiling at the pair of them, “and I think I can sense a bit of chemistry between you already, but you did seem a little tensed up.”
“Yes, try to relax into your lower back more,” the final judge said. “It will give you better turns and make it more gentle and fluid.”
Was that good or bad? Ron couldn’t quite tell. He just wanted to leave the dance floor and get a stiff drink. Finally, after waiting agonisingly to get their score of 21, before leaving the floor.
“Well, that didn’t go so bad, did it?” Ron sighed as soon as they were out of sight of the cameras. Hermione said nothing, she merely gave him a frosty glare.
“Look, I’m sorry for what I said earlier,” Ron sighed. “Can I make it up to you? I’ll take you out for dinner next week?”
“If you think that I’m just going to fall into your lap like all the other girls then you’ve got another think coming!” Hermione replied angrily, pink spots appearing on her cheeks.
“I’m not saying that, I’m just asking you out to dinner next week,” Ron said, trying to keep as calm as possible. She glared at him.
“I’ll see.” The rest of the evening was not pleasant for Ron. Hermione spent it talking to her professional partner, a smarmy guy called Ira, and his partner, while all the other couples were chatting between themselves. Ron was extremely conscious of the fact that he was the only one with no one to talk to. After around 40 minutes of waiting, all the couples were called back to the dance floor for the final result.
Being back on the dance floor meant the fake smile had to make a return. Ron could feel his jaw aching as Hermione held his hands like the other pairs were doing. Instead of being warm and friendly, however, she was gripping his hands in a cold vice-like grip. She still wasn’t pleased with him.
Eight of the ten couples were to be announced as having got through to the next week. Hermione’s grip on Ron’s hands grew tenser and tenser as more and more couples were announced, until finally only Ron and Hermione remained along with one other couple.
“Now,” Bruce was saying, “I’m afraid we’re going to say goodbye to one pair, and I’m afraid that couple is…”
The wait before he announced the names seemed like an eternity to Ron. He could feel Hermione’s hands in his growing tighter and tighter, and he held his breath, hoping, praying, although he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t enjoy the dancing, yet he wanted to carry on with it. He knew it was probably because he wanted to spend more time with Hermione. She’d been gone from his life for 10 years, and had only been back for a week, yet he could feel their old selves, the ones that had spent so much time together as children. He hoped that he could maybe get her to feel something for him, if only he learned to be loving towards her.
“Marlene and Eric!” Bruce cried, and the audience broke into applause for the first couple to leave. Ron, however, was in shock. Hermione had flung her arms round his neck, and he could feel her heart racing. Something within him told him he did not want to put Hermione through all those nerves next week. Something within him made him determined to work as hard as he could that week, and to achieve top marks with the judges for their next dance. He was not going to risk being voted off next week.