“There’s a lot to be said for self-delusionment when it comes to matters of the heart” “ Diane Frolov and Andrew Schneider
“This week’s dance is the Jive,” Hermione told Ron on the first Monday back in the dance studio. “It’s kind of like rock and roll “ you know what rock and roll is, don’t you?”
“Put it this way, Hermione, if it’s a Muggle dance, then the answer’s no, if it’s a wizard dance, the answer’s still no. So what’s the chances of me saying yes?” Ron said sourly. Hermione still had not mentioned his invitation to dinner.
“Alright, alright. What’s got your goat, latest little tart won’t jump into bed with you?” Hermione replied derisively. Ron said nothing, he merely glared at his reflection in the wall length mirrors. He’d had to put up with Heavenly-Paige’s constant whinings for him to take her back, that they could work things out, that she could change.
“Anyway, the jive started in the 1920s, and soon became known as a dance for younger dancers. Older adults disapproved of it and tried to ban it from dance halls, claiming Jive was non-progressive and disturbed other dancers who were progressing anti-clockwise around the floor. It was bought to Europe by American G.I.'s during WW2 but was danced underground due to its ‘Corrupting Influence’,” Hermione explained while Ron pretended to listen politely.
“This is one of the Latin dances,” Hermione continued. “And it’s very fast with lots of sharp actions. There’s lots of kicks and flicks and stuff. I thought the music we could use this week is Jailhouse Rock, by Elvis Presley. Heard of him?” The raised eyebrow on Ron’s face told her that no, Ron had never heard of the King of rock and roll. She supposed she should have guessed he wouldn’t have.
“The hold for the Latin dances is much looser and freer,” Hermione told him, grabbing his arms to demonstrate. Ron had not forgotten his promise to himself to make it through this week, and so did not complain.
Ron soon learnt over the next few days that if he had thought the waltz was difficult, he’d had another think coming. The jive was so much faster, with much more complicated footwork, even to the point where Hermione decided to get their costumes made early, so they could get used to them and make sure there were no problems with skirts or anything. She had explained to Ron about how, during her first professional competition, her heel had caught in her jive skirt and torn half of it off, as well as making her stumble to the floor and end up disqualified. Ron wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be sympathetic to this, so he settled for what he hoped was a understanding grin.
So it was that, two days before Saturday’s performance, Hermione entered the studio with a large cardboard box in her arms. Ron opened it to discover yet another horrifying outfit. He had a sleeveless shirt in bright mid green, along with a bright blue tie covered in “ sequins. His trousers (again with stirrups) had a blue stripe of sequins down the outside of each leg. He held them up, looking sickened.
“Hermione, I thought I warned you about horrific costumes?” he said angrily. He glanced at Hermione’s dress that she was now wearing.
“How come your outfits are always alright?” he asked indignantly. Hermione’s dress was bright green fading to a bright blue skirt, which was quite short and spun out when she twirled around. The top section had blue straps and blue ribbons criss-crossing, and her dress also had sequins on.
“Oh, come on, Ron, it’s not that bad. At least you haven’t got frills this week,” she pointed out, although she was attempting to stop a grin. “Go and put them on, I’m sure you’ll like them once you’re wearing them.” As Ron departed to get changed into his shocking outfit, Hermione broke into laughter.
“I can hear you, you know!” Ron bellowed angrily from outside the door. He returned inside and Hermione lost control “ she bent over double from laughing so much.
“You look very, er, dashing, Ron,” she giggled, gasping for breath.
“I look like I’m on the turn!” Ron yelled back, his ears going red. “I’m not wearing this.”
“You are too,” Hermione told him firmly, her giggles subsiding. “And I don’t want to hear another word of complaint. Now, let’s practise.”
~~*~~
Ron was gradually learning to fear Saturday nights. By that Friday night he was sitting amid pizza boxes on his living room floor, bottle in hand, watching some shopping channel, in which a very seedy looking wizard was trying to flog a ‘real’ gold watch. A sound at his front door made him look up sharply, but upon thinking about it, decided that he really couldn’t be bothered to go and see if it was burglars. They could take what they liked, he could afford more. He returned to the TeleWizion.
“Ronald Weasley, how can you live in a pigsty like this?!” Ron groaned. It was Hermione.
“Because I am a bloke, I like mess, and because I’m lazy. Is that enough for you?” he replied, not taking his eyes off the screen.
“No. Scourgify!” Hermione waved her wand at the mess, making pizza boxes soar into the bin and bottles fly into an empty cardboard box.
“Hey!” Ron shouted. “That was my mess!”
“I’m sure you will manage to recreate the look in no time,” Hermione said pointedly, sitting down on the floor next to him. “And I thought I told you no alcohol?” She pulled the bottle from his hand and put it in the box with the other empty bottles.
“I learnt long ago, Hermione, if I want to survive in this world then I don’t listen to you. If I did I’d be in an asylum by now.”
“Well, if you want to survive this weeks contest then you’d better start listening to me,” Hermione told him shrewdly. “Oh my goodness, it’s Bagman!” Sure enough, Ron now recognised the seedy wizard to be none other than Ludo Bagman.
“Ha! Look at him! He looks like a wreck!”
“Remind you of anyone?” Hermione said under her breath.
“Hey, I’m better off than he is!” Ron said, indignantly. “He looks like he hasn’t had any in years!”
“Is that all you think about?” Hermione asked, angrily. “Is there nothing else in the world that you value? Or is life all about seeing how many girls you can do before you die, is that it?”
“You know nothing about my life!” Ron retorted heatedly. “You walked out of my life for 10 years! Now you come waltzing back in and decide you need to sort out my life for me!”
“I don’t want to see you throwing your life away! You’ve got so much to give and living like this is just going to make your life disappear!”
“My life disappeared the night you walked away from me!” Ron shouted. Then he realised what he’d said.
“What did you say?” Hermione asked in a whisper.
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter now anyway,” Ron muttered mulishly.
“If it doesn’t matter then why won’t you talk to me about it?” Hermione said quietly.
“Because there’s no point,” Ron replied, stubbornly. “It’s over. It’s not going to change.”
“Look, Ron,” Hermione began, going pink. “I did like you too. But you never said anything about how you felt. Granted, neither did I. We were both too close-minded and obstinate to do anything about it. But I’ve got my life sorted now. I would give up everything for you. If you must know I, I’ve got a boyfriend. I love him, but not as much as I used to love you. You don’t have a girlfriend, do you?”
“No, not at the moment, but you’d just dump him, for me?!” Ron asked, astonished. Was this the same Hermione Granger he’d gone to school with?”
“It’s almost like I’ve been waiting for you to come back into my life,” Hermione said softly, almost more to herself. “I’ve put him off for so long, and now I know why.” Ron stared at her. She stared at him. Perhaps it was from the days he’d spent watching her as a teenager, but there was something familiar about the way she was looking at him. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it was… something.
She was moving closer and, without meaning to, so was he.
A sudden noise made them start and turn around. As Ron saw who had entered, he cursed her silently for her timing. He watched Hermione’s face grow slightly pink with anger, and her eyes became cold and hard. Standing in the doorway was a tall skinny girl, with long, bleached blonde hair and very blue eyes. She was wearing a short lycra dress and very high heels. Heavenly-Paige.
“Ronnie!” she exclaimed. “I’ve been dying to see you again!”
“Hermione,” Ron began, as she got to her feet.
“I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Ron,” Hermione said coldly, sweeping past Heavenly-Paige and slamming his front door behind her.
“Curse you, woman!” Ron bellowed at Heavenly-Paige, who batted her eyelashes, confused. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you, pumpkin,” she replied, in a pathetic, hurt voice. “You haven’t replied to any of my messages. Did you get them all?”
“YES!” Ron yelled. “I got them! All of them! All 23 of them! Did you not get the message that I didn’t want to see you again?!”
“But Ronnie,” Heavenly-Paige began.
“Don’t call me Ronnie!” Ron shouted. “Just get out of here and don’t come near me again or I’ll get a restraining order put on you! Now do you get the message?” Heavenly-Paige blinked stupidly at him, before turning and shuffling away. Frustrated, Ron kicked his sofa hard, achieving nothing but pain. He had been so close to getting together with Hermione. She had been willing to give up everything. He had promised her, truthfully, that he didn’t have a girlfriend, and now she thought he’d lied to her. He’d had that one opportunity to give his life some meaning, to bring something of worth into it, to make it complete in the way that only Hermione could.
He somehow didn’t think he’d ever get the opportunity again.