Ballad for the Lost Romantics

BALLAD FOR THE LOST ROMANTICS

CHAPTER 6

"Oliver!" I exclaimed, trying, and no doubt failing, to keep the surprise out of my voice. I held myself stock still as he came to a halt at my side and only managed to mutter embarrassedly, "Fancy meeting you out here."

He studied me for a long moment before asking in seeming innocence, "Were you dancing?"

"Dancing?" I faintly echoed.

I could tell he was trying not to smile. "Yes, that's right. It looked like you were dancing."

Guiltily I wrung my hands out in front of me and twisted my toe into the mud. "Well, looks can be deceiving."

He gave a snort that sounded suspiciously like a stifled chuckle. "Perhaps, but I am almost positive that you were just dancing."

His amusement was evident in his every tiny gesture.

"How preposterous! Why would I be dancing out in this weather? Dancing in the rain is simply childish and not very sensible; one could catch a cold," I logically rambled.

Oliver looked comical in his disappointment. "Pity then, for I would've felt obliged to have partnered you; I've never been dancing in the rain before," he informed me in a confiding tone.

And here it is folks, the first turning point in our story. Now, if Oliver would have said this to me during my time of writer's block, I would have just laughed at his joke and let him be the charming, witty one, but not that day. It could have been Ginny's words, or perhaps even Hagrid's, but that day, I didn't give a fig about unrequited love; all I wanted was to forget my cares and to be myself (for once) in Oliver Wood's company.

I decided to give up worrying about my problems and to finally let go around Oliver Wood; for once I let my guard down, and doing so changed my life forever.

I smiled then, a smile that I wasn't even aware I was capable of giving. It was coy, sly, and mysterious all in one. "That's a shame then, it's really quite fun."

Oliver's eyes widened in delighted surprise as he played along, "Hermione, I thought you said you weren't dancing!"

I lifted my shoulders in a lazy, impish shrug. "I lied."

His grin turned wicked suddenly, making me eye him warily. "Well, if that's the case, then surely this is my dance." He stuck out his hand with an air of expectancy.

Suddenly, I stopped smiling. "Come again?" I asked dumbly.

Oliver rolled his eyes. "You simply cannot issue a dare like that and expect me not to rise up to the challenge," he announced airily.

With a jolt, I realized what he meant. "Oh, Oliver, I'd love to, but, you see, uh-um, I'm a terrible dancer," I lied.

Oliver would have none of that. "That's quite alright; I'll lead, and you can just follow."

I'd quite readily follow him into the fiery pits of Hell if he had asked me to, so how could I refuse to follow him in a simple dance?

Slowly, that remarkable smile began to crawl across my face, and I took his proffered hand. His hands were rough, toughened from many years of gripping a broom, but they were so gentle with mine. Almost reverently he laid a gentle hand on the small of my back, pulling me to him while the other held up our hands in the perfect waltz position.

He took small steps at first, making sure that I could follow his lead. When it became abundantly clear that I was a very apt dancer, he lengthened his strides and I found myself truly dancing. There was no music, of course, and yet remarkably our steps were completely in synced with the other's, almost as if we were dancing to the song of time (cliché, yes, but seeing how you weren't there you'll just have to take my word for it).

Buckets of water fell from the sky, but I didn't notice. My hair clung to my face and drops of water clutched at my eyelashes, but it didn't matter. Oliver's hair looked very similar to Harry's in that it stuck out in every direction; there was a streak of dirt across his left cheek and he reeked of mud, sweat, and grass, but he looked positively gorgeous to me.

That's when I felt him tug me a bit closer, almost possessively, one might say. That's when I felt my heartbeat begin to thump painfully against my chest and my head tilt back on its own accord. Oliver was about a head and shoulders taller than me, so he bent his head downwards, eyes slowly moving down to stare at my wet lips.

We were going to kiss, I distractedly noticed, too caught up in Oliver to be nervous. Oliver was going to kiss me; the key word being 'was.' We would have kissed, honestly we would have, but given my luck (or complete lack of) it was that precise moment that I slid on a particularly muddy wet patch of grass./p>

I felt myself beginning to tumble backwards, and in an effort to prevent my fall, I grabbed a hold of the closest thing by me to regain my balance, which was (figured) Oliver.

I saw his deep, dark brown eyes widen only a second before my arse solidly connected with the hard Earth, Oliver, himself, following shortly after.

I sat there dumbly for a moment, slightly dazed. After that moment, though, a small smile that grew into a large, maniac grin, and then some laughter, all ensued. I laughed until my sides ached, and I thought I'd retch. I laughed until my tears and the heavy rain drops were one in the same- Only I could ruin such a romantic moment so royally.

When I saw Oliver's look of confusion I only laughed harder. "We look as if we've been mud wrestling," I proclaimed, distantly noting that the idea held some merit.

Oliver began to smile, his deep chuckles slowly joining my hysteric giggles. It was only a matter of mere seconds before he was laughing so hard that he had to hold his stomach for fear of rupturing something. Minutes could have passed, maybe even hours, with us rolling around happily like pigs in their sty, without a care in the world.

The laughter subsided eventually, though, and I suddenly realized that I was freezing cold.

Oliver, ever the gentleman, noticed my shivering. "Here," he began, crawling over to me while taking off his cloak and casting a charm for warmth on it. "Take my cloak," he fairly ordered in a no-nonsense type of voice, draping it over my trembling shoulders.

All at once I was engulfed in deep warmth that had nothing to do with Oliver's handy little charm. "Thanks," I muttered gratefully, fending off a blush.

"That's what I'm here for," he proclaimed, trying, and failing, to rise to his feet.

I laughed as he missed his footing and slipped back into the mud. A few tries later found Oliver firmly planted on two feet, stretching out his hand to help me up.

"Here, I'll walk you back up to Gryffindor Tower; I'm to talk with Harry, anyway," he offered.

Tentatively I placed my hand in his, marveling at how easily he pulled me up. We set off towards our destination at an easy, casual pace.

"So, how are your classes going, Professor Wood?" I asked, mostly to fill in the void of speech.

"Well, Miss Granger, they seem to be coming along nicely, except for a few first years that are quite hopeless," he announced proudly.

I smiled sadly. "Don't be too hard on them, Oliver; flying does not always come easily for some," I stated knowingly.

Oliver turned his head towards me, quirking a brow as he held the great, oak doors open for me. "Why do I get the feeling that you're speaking from experience?"

I blushed. "Probably because I am," I cheekily responded.

"Oh? Please do elaborate; this, I simply must hear," he drew out dryly.

I snorted a laugh at his tone. "I hated first year flying lessons; I never did get the hang of them," I exclaimed, my loathing of the broom probably evident in my voice.

"And yet, you passed with decent marks," he pointed out.

I gave another unladylike snort, "Barely. Anyway, it was all thanks to Harry. He gave me a few lessons, but those only put me off of flying even more."

"How so?" he queried.

I shot him a wry look. "Harry's a terrible teacher. He couldn't explain something that came so easily to him. He'd always say pointless things like, 'Okay, Hermione, now mount your broom; once you feel that jolt, that connection between you and your broom, just let your instincts take over.'- The only thing my instincts told me to do was to get off the broom and swat him in the head with it," I laughed, picturing Harry's face as I did just that.

"God, even Ron was a better teacher than him; except he'd always get mad at me and yell if I couldn't 'understand the subtle and exact art that is flying and Quidditch'."

Oliver had a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Maybe you just need a better teacher, then. If you want, I could teach you how to fly," he offered.

I had to remind myself how to breathe. "That's real sweet of you, Oliver, but I'll probably end up breaking my neck. If I never got on a broom again it would only be too soon," I announced.

Oliver looked scandalized. "Never get on a broom! That's blasphemy! I'll hear none of that from you, Miss Granger; I'll teach you to fly properly and I won't take no for an answer!"

Well, if he wouldn't take no for an answer... "Alright, I suppose you can," I caved in quite easily, happy at the prospect of spending time with Oliver.

He was saved from replying since we had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady.

"Open sesame," I muttered, smiling in greeting to the kind lady.

The portrait hole swung gently open and I followed Oliver in. All at once every head swung to us, which, I might add, was practically every head in Gryffindor since it was a rainy day. I saw Harry and Ron look at Oliver in a mixture of amusement and anger, since he was standing far too close to "their ickle Mionekinns". I caught Ginny's eye and saw her grin while silently mouthing the words 'love always conquers all' to me.

Giving her a quick frown of disapproval, I suddenly felt a wave of recognition crash through me as I realized something. There I stood in front of all my classmates, and my hand was still firmly secured in Oliver's.

Funny, I had thought to myself, I wasn't even aware that we had still been holding hands all throughout the walk to the Tower; that's how natural it felt. Standing in front of everyone now, though, I was all too aware of it.

Quickly I snatched my hand away from Oliver's, smiling tersely at him. "Well, err, thanks Professor Wood, I can't wait to start those flying lessons," I said in a strained voice, followed up by a nervous laugh, not even giving him a chance to respond because I bolted towards the stairs.

I heard Ginny's laughter follow my retreat and it was only when I was safely and securely locked away in my own dorm that I realized why she had laughed. Belatedly I remembered that I was also still wearing Oliver's cloak.