“When someone allows you to bear his burdens, you have found deep friendship.”
That weekend Ron did something he had never done before. He cleaned his flat. From corner to corner in every room he washed, cleaned and dusted, until by late Sunday evening the apartment was unrecognisable. There was not a beer bottle in sight: empty or otherwise, although Ron hung onto a box of Hangover Cure. Just in case.
He was so determined to start afresh and make things up with Hermione that he arrived at the dance studios ten minutes earlier than usual, and practically skipped up the stairs into the studio. Finding it empty, he threw back the curtains at the windows and opened wide the windows, letting sunlight stream forth into the room. He was just practising his turns with an imaginary partner when a small cough from the door made him start.
“Looking good, Ron,” Hermione said, grinning. “Who’s a better dancer, me or your imaginary girl?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” Ron grinned back sheepishly, pretending to be thinking hard. “It’s a very hard call, that one.” Hermione shook her head, laughing. Ron beamed still further at making her smile.
“So, what dance are we doing this week?” Ron asked Hermione, eagerly. “I can’t wait, I’ve been looking forward to it.” Hermione looked suspicious.
“Really?” she asked sceptically. “You know, Ron, if you want to talk about the whole getting married thing, then-“
“Oh, no, it’s cool. Really, I’m happy for you. You deserve to be with him if he’s the one. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy.” Hermione was still scrutinising him closely.
“Yes, well, I suppose,” she muttered, more to herself than to him. After a brief moment, she seemed to return to herself and was businesslike once more. “Right, this week we’re doing the Tango. Have you heard of it?”
“Of course,” Ron replied indignantly, although he had secretly been brushing up on his ballroom vocabulary over the weekend, to further impress Hermione. “It was a dance for lonely Argentinean peasants. The gauchos of Argentina wore chaps that hardened from the foam and sweat of the horse's body, causing them to walk with flexed knees. At night they would go to crowded night clubs and ask ladies of the night to dance but since the gaucho hadn't showered, the lady would dance in the crook of the man's right arm, holding her head back. Her right hand was held low on his left hip, close to his pocket, looking for a payment for dancing with him.” Hermione stared, her mouth slightly open.
“Erm, yes, that’s right but “ how did you know all that?”
“Doesn’t everybody?” Ron asked with a maddening smile. Hermione had clearly been caught off guard.
“Well, er, I suppose, but anyway, the steps, yes, um-“
“The Tango is a very emotional dance, and there should be lots of clipped movements, with staccato action and lots of sharp head turnings and stops. It has a different hold which is tighter and there should be no rise and fall. It is as very flat dance, and therefore the knees are always slightly bent,” Ron recited, parrot fashion. Hermione was plainly gob smacked. Ron saw his opportunity and went for it. “I found a song we could dance to as well, it’s very good and full of, er, passion,” he added, his ears reddening slightly.
Turning away from Hermione, he hurried to the CD player she had left by the door and put Ginny’s CD into it. Immediately the strains of ‘Roxanne’ began to play through the room. He turned back to find Hermione staring at him intensely.
“Are you sure everything’s alright, Ron?” she asked slowly.
“Oh yes,” Ron replied, grinning happily. “Never better.”
They spent the rest of the day learning their routine, and to Ron’s surprise, he picked up the steps a lot quicker and easier. Perhaps it was because of his newfound enthusiasm, but he didn’t find the dancing quite so difficult this week. In fact, he was almost enjoying it, so much so, that he offered to collect the costumes from the store cupboard at the top of the building at the end of the day, but Hermione just laughed and told him to go home.
As he pushed open the front door of the studios to blinding sunlight, he inhaled a great breath after a proper hard day’s work. His nostrils filled with the scent of trees and fresh air and “ smoke? Ron sniffed again. Yes, something was definitely burning. Cautiously, Ron stepped forward and glanced at the buildings around, but he caught no sign of fire. He hurried to the end of the street and looked further, but still saw nothing. Perhaps someone had a bonfire going, and that was what he could smell.
Ron turned back around and his gaze was drawn to something high above him, something bright against the cool blue of the sky, and in that moment he forever after believed that his heart actually turned over. He now saw the source of the smoke “ it was issuing in thick clouds from the top of the dance studios, filling the sky with an old foggy gloom contrasting against the bright red flickering flames of the fire. He began to sprint as fast as he could back towards the building, barrelled through the doors and pelted up the stairs. The smell of the smoke had not reached the lower levels yet, although Ron could not understand why the fire alarms were not ringing. He ran up flight after flight of stairs, not concentrating on anything except the fact that Hermione was at the top of that building in the store cupboard full of costumes.
When he finally reached the top level, he could hardly see, for the smoke was thick and black. He bent his head and battled through, and realised that the fire itself was in an old boiler room of sorts that was next to the store cupboard. So far it seemed to be the only room in flames, but he knew it wouldn’t last long. He could hear someone calling out for help and kenw it was Hermione.
Ron pulled his jacket over his nose and mouth and kicked the door to the store cupboard open to see Hermione on the floor trying to escape the smoke, and coughing furiously. Her face was dark and ashen and she could hardly speak, but Ron pulled her to her feet.
“Come on!” he yelled hoarsely, “we’ve got to get out of here!” He half led, half dragged Hermione from the room and together they ran down the flights of stairs, as the smoke began to thin as they reached the lower levels. They stumbled out of the building into the clean air outside, where a large crowd was gathering to stare at the burning building. Sirens could be heard from far away as fire crews sped to the scene, but Ron concentrated in getting Hermione over to a bench so she could sit down. Her face was still blackened, and her breathing shallow, but she smiled at him.
“Don’t speak,” he told her, when she opened her mouth. “Come on, let’s get you to St Mungo’s. Are you alright to Apparate?” Hermione paused, then nodded, and the two of them Disapparated from the scene and appeared in a small backstreet in London. The pair of them sneaked their way to Purge and Dowse, and made their way into the magical hospital.
Half an hour later found Ron and Hermione cleaned up and Hermione lying in a clean white hospital bed. She was to stay the night for observation, although it seemed that the worst of her smoke inhalation had been prevented by Ron’s rescue. Now Ron was sitting by her side in the hospital, and the pair of them were lamenting about losing their dance studios.
“We’ll have to practise our routine at my house,” Hermione was saying. “We’ve got a small studio in our basement, that’ll have to do.”
“Will your boyfriend be alright with that?” Ron asked quietly. Hermione looked at him, puzzled.
“Of course, but “ why wouldn’t he?”
“Oh, no reason,” Ron said, hurriedly. “Just thought he might not like me invading your home.”
“Well, he won’t be there when we practise, or else he might object. He can get a bit, odd, about that kind of stuff,” Hermione said quietly, staring at her hands.
“What d’you mean?” Ron asked, confused.
“Oh, he just doesn’t always like me dancing. You know, because you have to hold your partner close, and he can get quite jealous and, well, possessive. But that won’t be a problem anymore, once we’re married.”
“Why not?” Ron asked. “Surely it’d just get worse if you’re husband and wife?”
“Oh, erm, he asked me if I’d marry him on one condition,” Hermione mumbled. “After we’re married I’m going to give up dancing. Because it gets him so riled sometimes, you know. I mean, it’s for the best.”
“What are you talking about?” Ron said, bewildered. “You love dancing! It’s your life! You gave up your whole magical career just so you could be a dancer. Do you love him more than dancing?”
“Well,” Hermione muttered, “I don’t have much choice, do I?” Ron stared at her.
“Of course you have a choice! You don’t have to give up your dream because he wants you to. Why marry him if you can’t live the life you want to?”
“I want to marry him. If I marry him, then everything will be alright. All the other feelings will go away,” Hermione said hoarsely.
“What other feelings?” Ron asked quietly. Hermione looked at him, thinking.
“The confusion, the decision-making, just “ just everything,” Hermione looked tired and sad.
“Before you do anything rash, Hermione, please make sure you are getting exactly what you want and that you are happy. If I could ask you anything, I would ask you to make sure that you choose wisely. I’m still here, you know,” Ron added, staring at her. Hermione lifted her eyes to his, looking deep in thought.
“We’re friends, Ron. Just friends. That’s all we can be. That’s what started this whole mess in the first place.”
That evening Ron left the hospital for his flat thinking hard. Hermione had claimed that the feelings between him and her were what had started ‘this whole mess’. Was she only marrying her boyfriend to stop any feelings she might have for Ron? Was she really willing to give up her dream of dancing just to stop her feelings resurfacing?
However, her relationship with her boyfriend did not seem quite as sturdy as Ron had supposed. Perhaps it would be easier to win her back, Ron surmised. And, when asked whether she loved her boyfriend “ Hermione had not replied.