Ballad for the Lost Romantics

BALLAD FOR THE LOST ROMANTICS

CHAPTER 5

Three weeks ago to this very night, This Author was met with a harsh reality that caused her world to irrevocably change; I had been met with the knowledge that I was destined to forever love someone who'd never love me.

Now, Dear Reader, one can argue that I had already known this before; however, that did not keep this hopeless romantic from dreaming.

So what happened? What changed? - Certainly, not my feelings for Him; those, I fear, are quite permanently set in stone. But yet something has changed for here I sit, writing of it.

It was three weeks ago that I came face to face with the fact that my love was falling for someone else- that's what happened.

As I sit here, I find myself hard pressed to put these emotions down on a simple sheet of parchment. This Author does have limitations to her writing abilities, after all, and I'm finding it quite difficult to describe the feeling of a broken heart.

That, Dear Friends, is the problem with love; it's fallible. Sure, we all know it can make a person deliriously happy, but very few ever remark on love's downsides, such as broken hearts. But, have no fear; for I am well aquatinted with these downsides and since I have suddenly became very apt nursing a broken heart, I shall relay them to you all.

First of all, my Friends, you need to realize that love, in the simplest of terms, hurts. Love can hurt you because you are so much in love that everything inside of you aches with joy, or, as I am well aware of, love can hurt you because it is not returned. Please, Simple Reader, do not read this with the misconception that love is cruel because of this hurt; love is merely versatile because of it. But, what, exactly, is love? In order to understand it, it stands to reason that we should know what it is.

There are many definitions of love, many accurate and many more idealistic. One that I find most apt happens to be the likening of it to spinning. If a person were to throw their arms out and spin around in fast, glorious circles, spinning without a care in the world- they'd have a close approximation of what being in love is like. However, what most people fail to notice is that if the person spinning doesn't keep their eye on something still they could fall, loose their balance and their sight of the world around them.

And fall, Dear Hogwarts, I have indeed done; I have the bump on my head to prove it. Love is wonderful friends, no doubt about it, but, as I am sadly fated (doomed) to also know, love hurts. And, as much as This Author would like to believe otherwise, love simply cannot *always* conquer all.

So there you have it, Esteemed Colleagues; the faults of love from yours truly. You can't keep yourself from falling in love, and indeed, you shouldn't. All you really can do is to try to not break your neck during the fall.

Lady Rowena's Ballad for the Lost Romantics

~*~

I smiled to myself as I read the article about a week later in the school's paper. Another hurdle cleared and I certainly hoped writer's block would no longer be a problem on my growing lists of them.

It was raining that Saturday morning when the second edition of the paper had been delivered; the weather perfectly mirroring my mood. I've always loved the rain, though. I figure that if the day already starts out cold and gloomy then there's no possible way for it to get worse.

Well, of course I had to go and jinx myself by thinking that. Although, as I look back on that day, I find it wasn't all too terrible. More embarrassing than anything else, really. In fact, I hold the memory of that day close to my heart as one of my fondest memories. But let's get back to the subject at hand.

For some odd reason that day, I felt restless. I felt as if I had to get up and go, but to where, I had no idea. Spontaneously, I jumped up from my cozy chair in front of the fireplace in the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Hey, 'Mione, where you going?" asked Ron curiously as I made my way to the portrait hole.

I didn't even stop to think of an excuse, but uttered the two words I knew would keep Ron from following, "The Library."

I caught Ron's face scrunch up in distaste before the hole swung close again. Once out in the corridors, I thought of where I could go. I didn't particularly feel up to the library at that moment, which should have alerted me right then and there that something peculiar was going on. There was never a day that I didn't feel up to going to the library for extra study time.

Frowning, I chose not to analyze this and impulsively went left, taking quick, precise steps towards the Great Hall. But once I reached the giant oak doors I had convinced myself that that wasn't where I wanted to be.

So this brought on the logical question: where did I want to be?

Not the library or the Great Hall, apparently. Lightly tapping my forefinger against my chin in thought, I thought about where to go. There really weren't any places I could visit outside the castle, except to see Hagrid, that is. Suddenly my finger stopped tapping against my chin and inspiration hit.

That's where I needed to be; Hagrid's. I knew it was raining quite heavily, but as I said before, I've always loved the rain so that really didn't dissuade me.

Making up my mind I quickly pushed open the massive doors to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry and made my way to the small, familiar hut not too far in the distance.

The rain violently fell on me, but I hardly even noticed. I was getting soaking wet, sure, and the thought of casting that very handy charm that repels water on my own person didn't even occur to me. I was a girl on a mission; and that mission, apparently, had been to speak with Hagrid.

I came to a stop in front of the comforting hut, knocking politely and smiling when Hagrid stuck his burly head out to greet me.

"Great Scotts, 'Ermione, yer sopping wet!" he pointed out the obvious.

"Yes, Hagrid, I know," I smiled up at him. "Do you think I can come in?"

Hagrid gave a jolt and hurriedly opened the door wide in invitation. "Of course yeh can! Come on in, sit yerself by that fire and I'll make yeh a spot of tea," he kindly bellowed.

I did as told and sat on the oversized chair closest to the fire. I sat for a few minutes while Hagrid bustled about in his kitchen. By the time he came and took the chair opposite of me, my teeth had stopped chattering and I was a tad drier.

"So what brings yeh to my humble abode in this weather, 'Ermione?" he asked conversationally, handing me a cup of tea.

I took a generous gulp of the liquid and felt my whole body sigh at the warmth. "I don't really know, Hagrid. I felt a bit restless and just let my feet do the walking and they steered me here."

Hagrid scratched his beard thoughtfully. "Well, that's funny; not that I'm complainin' mind yeh," he assured me.

I smiled kindly at my friend. "Of course, Hagrid, I quite agree with you. But, here I am. So, how have you been?" I settled on idle chit-chat while sipping on my tea.

Hagrid reached for one of his infamous rock cakes, munching on it thoughtfully. "Well, I've been fantastic, really," he announced shyly.

I leaned forward only slightly. "Really, why's that?" I asked curiously.

Were my eyes deceiving me or was Hagrid blushing?

"Well, I, uh, 'spose I could tell yeh this, 'Ermione. Yeh know those articles in the paper that everyuns's all hyped up 'bout?"

I nodded in affirmative.

"Well, err, after readin' that story how that poor girl ran away from luv, I decided to, eh, to err, learn from her mistakes," he stumbled nervously.

A persistent grin was tugging at my lips, but I didn't wish for Hagrid to think I was laughing at him, so I only prompted politely, "How so, Hagrid?"

"Well, uh, I jus' kinda err, I sent a little note to, err, to Madame Maxime tellin' her, some, some things, 'sall. And well, she uh, wrote some...nice things back," he stuttered, looking anywhere and everywhere but at me.

I felt a damn burst inside of me. This, my friends, this was exactly what I needed to hear. This was why I had started my column. To share my story with others who might benefit from it. And there was he was, good ole Hagrid, sitting across from me and blushing to the tips of his ears, telling me that I had been successful. I had changed his life for the better, and knowing so changed mine for the better.

Now, I don't fancy myself a very emotional person, but I couldn't control the urge to leap out of my chair and to tightly squeeze Hagrid, so I did.

"Oh Hagrid, you have no idea how happy I am for you," my voice was muffled by his coarse shirt.

Hagrid lifted a meaty hand to gently pat my head. "Well, uh, gee 'Ermione, there's no need to get all wound up 'bout it," he bashfully professed.

I pulled back and met his comforting, beady black eyes. "Hagrid, you just made my day," I announced.

He stared at me for a moment, studying me, I think. I grew a little apprehensive as the time lengthened and all he did was look at me with the most peculiar expression on his face. Hagrid, very much so like Ginny, was another person who was smarter than what people gave him credit for.

Oh, no, he didn't figure out that I was Lady Rowena, I assure you. Hagrid wasn't that brilliant; but that didn't mean he did not notice anything amiss.

Hagrid is the type of person to think with his heart and not his head, and right then and there, his heart was telling him that there was something else behind my overjoyed reaction for him.

"'Ermione, is there anything yeh want to talk to me 'bout?" he asked carefully.

I was extremely touched at his concern, but my problem was simply something I could not speak with him about. "No, Hagrid, there's nothing worth talking about in my life," I responded, somewhat wistfully.

Nothing, indeed, I miffed to myself. That was probably the problem; that nothing was happening in my life.

Hagrid, bless his heart, remained concerned. "Yeh know yeh could tell me anything if there was something wrong, righ'?"

I nodded with a small smile and he seemed to accept this.

I stayed with Hagrid for about an hour after that. We talked about many little things and after I politely declined some rock cakes for the road, I left the warmth of his hut to walk back to the castle.

It was still raining, but not nearly as bad as before. It was only a slight, persistent drizzle that gently kissed my face as I lifted it up to the light gray sky.

At that moment I felt free. I was in the state of mind where everything was just perfect and I did not dwell on unrequited love or Voldemort looming on the horizon. It was just me and that feeling of freedom, of happiness.

I took a few light steps towards the castle, slightly humming to myself. I reached a particularly muddy spot that I just sort of glided around, my humming turning into singing (soft singing, of course- for I was not so far gone that I actually wanted to be heard singing in public).

I slid to my right, doing a small twirl. Which was, of course (since it has been pretty well established in this story so far that I have the worst timing ever), the precise moment that I heard a clear, Scottish male voice call out my name.

I skidded to dangerous halt and gave many thanks to that one god that pitied me enough to keep me from falling flat on my face. Turning around with a strong sense of foreboding to see who had called out my name (even though I already knew who he was), I realized that the one deity that had spared me just a few short moments ago had just as quickly betrayed me.

Wearing his old, muddied, crimson and gold Gryffindor Quidditch uniform and a nice warm cloak was Oliver Wood, slowly but surely making his way across the field towards me.