“A love that has not friendship for its base, is like a mansion built upon sand.” “ Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Hermione was permitted to leave hospital the next day, but she wasn’t to do any dancing until at least one day’s further bed rest at home. Therefore, Ron did not see Hermione until Wednesday, when all the other couples were well into practising their routine. Added to that, the fact that all their costumes had gone up in flames meant that Ron and Hermione were really behind schedule.
They rehearsed at Hermione’s house, as planned, but Ron noted that whenever they were there, the boyfriend was not. He made no mention of this to Hermione, who had made a full recovery from the fire and was back to her usual bossy self.
“We need a way to make the judges like us this week,” she was muttering. “I suppose the best way is to really project into our dancing, you know, show real, strong emotions. But how are we going to do that?”
“We could put a story behind it,” Ron suggested enthusiastically. “It could be like, some hidden love or something, and then at the end, they realise who each other are.” Hermione stared at him, and then burst into peals of laughter.
“You don’t know how weird it is to hear Ronald Weasley making a statement like that,” she giggled. Ron looked rather put out.
“Well you think of a better one then!” he retorted, irritably. Hermione laughed and put a placating hand on his arm.
“No, it’s quite good really. We can have character names and everything, and then you’ll feel more in the dance, won’t you?”
“Uh…” Ron replied, dumbly.
“Ok, I shall be, um, Roxanne, you know, from the song, and you shall be,” Hermione paused, searching for a Spanish name, “Carlos!”
“Carlos?!” Ron spluttered. “Carlos?!”
“I think it suits you,” Hermione told him teasingly. “Anyway, we were going to have red costumes, so we need to sort out some replacements. I’ve got an old red dress somewhere, do you have a red shirt?”
“Er, possibly,” Ron replied, making a mental note to go out and buy a red shirt as quickly as possible.
“We’ll borrow some dance trousers from Ira, and then we just have to jazz up your shirt a bit.”
“No glitter,” Ron said quickly. “I’m allergic to the stuff.” Hermione laughed again.
“Ok, fine, no glitter. But we’ll add some black piping or something, anything to make it look more jazzy.”
~~*~~
By Saturday night ‘Carlos’ was standing in the wings once more with newly jazzy shirt and sweaty palms. He was getting used to dancing in front of thousands of viewers at home, and in front of the judges, but tonight was different. He was dancing in front of his best friend. Harry had come to watch “ and mock. Ron knew he was never going to live this down, even thought part of him kept reminding himself that Harry had seen all the shows on TeleWizion. Even so, no guy wants to be prancing around in dance trousers and flaming red shirt in front of his best mate.
“Nervous?” Hermione asked, slipping her hand in his. Ron gulped and nodded, he couldn’t speak.
“You two are on next,” the floor manager told them. “Smile for the camera.”
Ron was determined to get through with flying colours this week. The judges were going to like him. They had to.
“I brought an extra prop for the dance,” Hermione said suddenly. “It’s just a red mask, I found it when I was looking for my dress. I’m going to wear it through the dance, and then you take it off at the end, as if you’ve ‘found’ me, alright?”
“Righto,” Ron said hoarsely. “Take off mask, got it.”
“But not until the very end,” Hermione told him sternly. “Come on, we’re on.”
Ron led the way out, Hermione following behind. They took up their positions on the floor, back to back, and Ron felt Hermione putting the mask on.
The music started, and Ron began to dance. A few bars of solo violin, while Ron and Hermione mirrored each others’ movements while still back to back.
As the first chord struck, they spun around simultaneously to take up their tango position. And Ron nearly yelled out loud in shock.
He had seen that mask before. And the eyes that were shining through it.
Hermione was his mystery girl.
And he couldn’t believe it. He stood stock still for a split second, before remembering where he was, and he continued his dancing. All the while he stared at Hermione, watching her eyes as they watched him. He felt something in the dance that he had not felt in any of the others, but he knew that something had changed.
The music drew to a close, and Ron slowly brought his hand to Hermione’s face, to pull off the mask, to do what he had wanted to do ever since meeting the mystery girl.
Underneath the mask was a smiling face, with pink cheeks, and those bright, shining eyes. Ron couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Hermione led him over to the judges’ table, and he noticed, rather uneasily, that they were sitting there in stunned shock. Had he really been that bad?
“That was,” the first judge said slowly, “absolutely beautiful. Practically perfect. What an amazing transformation!”
“I completely agree,” said the next judge, nodding happily. “There was a real passion and drive behind that, and you were certainly not wooden this week!”
“It amazes me that it takes the burning down of your studio and the hospitalisation of your partner for you to finally dance like a professional!” laughed the third judge. “Something has changed about you, although I’m not sure what.”
“That was without a doubt one of the best dances of the series so far,” the final judge told them, smiling.
They received their score of 33 and left the stage to rapturous applause, both of them elated and beaming happily.
“We did it, Ron!” Hermione squealed, throwing her arms around him.
“Well, we have to wait for the public to vote first, dear,” Ron reminded her, reddening.
~~*~~
They needn’t have worried about the public vote: for the first time in the series, they were kept in straightaway.
“D’you want to go and celebrate?” Ron asked, his arm around Hermione’s shoulders. She looked at him suspiciously.
“No alcohol involved, I promise,” he told her, solemnly. He led the way out of the studios and all the way through the streets to the beach. Walking along the pier, licking chocolate ice creams and still in their dancing costumes, Ron turned to Hermione.
“So, when’s the wedding?” he asked. Hermione looked startled.
“Sorry?”
“When are you getting married?” he asked, slowly, but grinning.
“Oh, um, in about two months or so, Alex said,” Hermione told him.
“That was quick,” Ron muttered. “So, can I come?”
“Well, er, yes, I suppose so,” Hermione said, puzzled.
“Only two more months of dancing then?” Ron fired at her. “You must be looking forward to chucking it all in for your boyfriend.”
“Ron, that’s my decision, not yours,” Hermione reminded him quietly. “Besides, it’s not just what I want that I have to think about.”
“Yes, I agree, but you do have to take it into account, it’s important for you to be happy, you know,” Ron said firmly. “If you don’t want to give up dancing, and I know you don’t, then tell Alex that.”
“How do you know I don’t?” Hermione asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Hermione, I know you better than anyone. Trust me, I know you don’t want to give up dancing,” Ron told her, finishing her ice cream. “But, like you said “ it’s your decision.”