Ballad for the Lost Romantics

BALLAD FOR THE LOST ROMANTICS

CHAPTER 1

It is with a surprisingly sentimental heart that I write these last words. No, you saw correctly, Dear Reader, it did indeed say 'last.' After a solid eight months of wistful, fanciful writing, This Author has decided to turn in her quill.

Although one Mr. Malfoy's challenge of uncovering my true identity was surely a catalyst for this retirement, the blame cannot (entirely) be placed upon that Slytherin's shoulders. Truthfully, the column has sadly grown wearisome of late, less fulfilling to write which implies that it would be less exciting to read. This Author needs change; which, one must admit, is not surprising. Eight months is a long time of writing about oneself.

And, quite frankly, the recent renewal of interest in This Author's identity is somewhat disturbing. The lure of the challenge and the prospect of the great prize has put friend against friend and brothers against sisters- something that completely contradicts This Author's reasons for starting the articles in the first place. Indeed, the column had started because it sounded as if it would be something fun to do; something that would take up my spare time and allow This Author to vent on some things that, under normal circumstances, I most definitely would not have shared with a soul. It was an escape of sorts; the only way I could freely voice my opinions and love freely without worrying about the consequences it might have on my pristine, perfect image.

Certainly, This Author had never intended for her articles to be such the smashing hit they have become. I had never dreamed that they would not only run amuck within Hogwarts, but also spark the interest of the Wizarding World as a whole. But ignite a spark they did, a spark that only grew into a raging fire that hungrily swept across the Wizarding Nation.

But alas, Dear Reader, as most Muggles so eloquently say: 'All good things must come to an end.' It's sad, but in this particular case, entirely true.

But, before this rather distinctive column can come to a complete close, there is still the matter of the quest for This Author's identity to address. I am well aware that my retiring will most certainly not quench this ridiculous need to find out my true name. What's in a name, after all? It's just another word that serves as a label, but, since it is so apparently interesting to you all, I suppose the least that I can do is answer the two questions that have plagued most of Hogwarts for the past eight months: What is Lady Rowena's true identity and who is this man she writes about?

The answers, Dear Reader, are Hermione Granger and Oliver Wood.

I sincerely hope that this satisfies your curiosity and settles Mr. Malfoy's bet (I shall be expecting the 100 galleons within the week, by the bye).

So, I bid you adieu, Dear Hogwarts! I shall cherish the memory of your sure-to-be shocked faces as you read this last article of mine forever in my heart of hearts; This Author is, after all, a very sentimental person.

Lady Rowena's Ballad for the Lost Romantics

~*~

Okay, now I know what you're thinking. Alright, who am I kidding; everyone knows I'm a failure at Divination, so I have absolutely no clue of what you're thinking. Perhaps instead of wasting my time trying to read your mind, I should get this thing started, and where a better place to start than from the beginning?

It had been just your average day at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; well, as average as a school of magic can get, anyway. I remember it as if it were yesterday. Sunny, not a cloud in the flawless blue sky, a slight autumn chill to the air... there are more impressive adjectives I could use to paint the picture for you, but I hardly wish to bore you with the details.

Anyway, my point was that it was a normal day, more or less. I say more or less because for Hogwarts, there is no normal, only customary; but it was most certainly not customary for our beloved school to have a newspaper.

Alright, I'm jumping ahead of myself again. Look at me, where are my manners? Here, let me introduce myself. I am Hermione Granger; yes, Hermione Granger as in Lady Rowena. Surprisingly enough, I hardly get called that anymore. I was known as the infamous Lady Rowena, the operative word being, of course, 'was'. I had retired that name almost two years ago, which takes us to the beginning of my tale.

I had only been seventeen at the time I started writing Lady Rowena's Ballad for the Lost Romantics. I was young and eager to please. I suppose I really should say am young and eager to please for twenty is hardly old, and even I know I'd do anything to please the correct people.

Listen to me, I'm rambling again: must be my old age. Anyway, you're not reading this to learn about me. You merely want the story that I have to tell you, or really, the story behind that which you already know. It's not a particularly interesting tale, in my opinion, but far be it from me to withhold it from the people.

Okay, enough of what I think and more of the story. I'll try to keep it as simple and uncomplicated as possible, but let's face it, folks; love is never simple and uncomplicated.

So, back from the beginning, it was a perfect day. I had just completed my first week as a seventh year student and as Head Girl. We, and when I say we, I mean my dearest and best friends Mr. Harry James Potter; yes, the Boy Who Lived, in case you didn't know. One Ronald Arthur Weasley was also present, and last, and most certainly not least, Miss Virginia "Ginny" Weasley. We were all sitting down at our typical seats at Gryffindor table, eating a typical Hogwarts dinner, and were patiently waiting for Dumbledore to make what was to be a typical announcement.

His announcement, however, was far from typical.

With an aging grace the old Headmaster had risen from his chair, a respectful silence ensuing. "It has recently come to my attention that many Muggle schools have their very own newspaper made up of articles for the students, and by the students. Since Hogwarts is sadly lacking such a paper, the staff and I have decided to amend that. Therefore, we will now be accepting articles written by 6^th and 7^th year students to be published in Hogwarts's very first school newspaper. We will, of course, require sports, gossip, Wizard news, Muggle news, and advice columns, along with any pieces that you feel would be interesting to share. If your article has been selected then you will be permanently a part of the newspaper staff, and a confirmation owl will be sent to you shortly after we have reviewed you works.

I am also pleased to announce that a new flight instructor has been found to replace Madame Hooch, who has decided to retire after a particularly nasty fall. I would like you all to welcome Professor Oliver Wood; I know we are all very pleased to have him here. That is all."

And then he simply sat down, smiling benignly at the response of his statements. Actually, it was more of his lack of a response. Only Albus Dumbledore could shock a school as large as Hogwarts into dead silence.

As I sat there, my mouth hanging slightly open, I tried to put two coherent words together. Quite honestly, I didn't know which was more shocking to me: the newspaper or Oliver Wood's return to Hogwarts. Why I, someone who can quite honestly say she abhors playing Quidditch, was so shocked at having the famous Quidditch star keeper come to my school as a professor may be a little confusing for some of you. Let me see if I can enlighten you just a bit. You see, I had been keeping a very well-hidden secret at that time, but for obvious reasons, I am now willing to share that secret with you all.

I, Hermione Jessica Granger, had been in love with Oliver Wood since my third year at Hogwarts. Now, I know what you all must be thinking. Hermione Granger falling in love at age thirteen with a guy that was four years her senior and a Quidditch player to boot? That's impossible!

But, my friends, nothing is impossible; improbable and unlikely sure, but impossible- no, for it has indeed been done by yours truly.

I was smart about it at first, I'll have you know. I had managed to convince myself that it was a harmless school girl's crush, similar to the one I had the year before on a certain Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. At times I had even summed up that suspicious feeling I got deep in my gut whenever Oliver smiled as nothing more than something I had eaten earlier that day.

But then something happened, and all at once I knew for sure that it was love. It had been a terrible, rainy day on a Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor Quidditch match. My good friend Harry was having trouble finding the golden snitch because of the water on his glasses. Oliver had called a time-out, and I had ran down to the field with a very ingenious idea, if I do say so myself. Rather smugly, but just as happily, I placed a charm on said seeker's glasses so that they'd repel water. Clever, wasn't I?

Well, needless to say, I was the entire team's hero at that moment, and when I turned my happy eyes to Oliver, I froze seeing the most peculiar expression on his handsome face. He looked as though Christmas had come early, like he'd never seen anyone quite like me and as if he was going to kiss me, all at once.

I left before I could be disappointed, though, taking with me the startling realization that I was very much in love.

It's hard to explain, really. I'm not a very poetic person, so I'll just do my best trying to muddle through everything I had felt when I saw that look on his face. As I looked into his awed eyes, I suddenly realized that if Voldemort would have come prancing down the field, singing show tunes, I wouldn't have even batted a lash. Harry and Ron could've told me that I had failed all of my classes, and I wouldn't have given a fig. I suddenly knew that if Oliver were to look at me that way every day for the rest of my life, I would be utterly complete. The only thing that mattered was that Oliver had to keep looking at me that way; that loving way.

And so there I was, thirteen years old and head over heels in love with a Quidditch fanatic, of all people. When Oliver graduated I tried to move on, but with a few persistent dreams and a couple of unsuccessful relationships came the revelation that I was not only in love with Oliver, it was the 'till-death-do-we-part' love. I suppose I should have expected it, though. After all, when Hermione Granger did something she did it at a 110%.

And so I just sat there dumbly with the rest of my class, shocked into silence for a completely different reason than them.

Successfully I avoided looking longingly towards the Head Table where Oliver was no doubt seated, and instead I did the only thing I could do. I distracted myself with the former part of Dumbledore's announcement.

As Head Girl, I knew that it was my responsibility to participate in the school's newspaper, but what was I going to write about? The sports, gossip, and advice columns were all out of the question since I was good at none of them. I opted not to do Wizard news since Voldemort was still on the rise then and there'd no doubt be numerous attacks to report, and I did not want to be the bearer of bad news. Muggle news was also out of the question for it would have only succeeded in making me homesick. And so, my only option was to create my own clever, witty column. But what about?

I wasn't a very interesting person. In all aspects, I'm very much like an open book; I mean you pretty much get what you see. But then my earlier thoughts came flooding back with a vengeance, making me realize that no, that wasn't exactly true. There was one thing about me that no one knew; one thing that was worth writing about. It was something that could grab a good sized audience and also a way for me to finally release some pent up emotions. I knew much about the subject and would easily be able to write various columns about it; it was, after all, a very broad topic.

I was going to write a column on my experiences with unrequited love.