Ballad for the Lost Romantics

BALLAD FOR THE LOST ROMANTICS

CHAPTER 7

I like to think of myself as a pretty smart witch. Now, if I were going for complete honesty, I would be forced to admit that 'pretty smart' is somewhat of an understatement.

I have always had a very easy understanding of magical concepts, which was very rare for a Muggle born witch. All I needed to do was read about a spell or charm and it seemed to engrave itself in my mind, never to be forgotten. I was the top of all my classes; top of the whole school, even. Now since I had already taken most of the seventh year classes in my sixth year, I had a very flexible, relaxing schedule.

So, all of this given, taking on one extra subject should have been easy for me. This, however, was not the case.

For the most of November I became very skilled at ignoring Oliver Wood without appearing to do so. Later I'd find that I wasn't as convincing as I would have liked to have been, but that is not the issue. The point is, is that November had drawn to a close with me successfully escaping Oliver and his flying lessons.

It wasn't that I was afraid of flying, I told myself on the first of December while taking my seat for breakfast. It was only because I didn't want to be placed in an awkward position with a professor. Learning the art of flying from the man you love, but is clueless about it, was very awkward, indeed.

As I poured myself a nice, hearty glass of pumpkin juice, Lavender, sitting next to Ron, leaned over to give me back my copy of the school paper. The page, predictably, was turned to the last page she had been reading (my article, in case you couldn't guess).

~*~

December has finally fallen upon us, bringing with it the thrill and joy of the Christmas holidays. Ambitious teenage girls can already be seen at the Gladrags in Hogsmeade, eager to purchase those perfect dress robes for the recently announced Yule Ball. For hours This Author has overheard the talks of who is going with whom, and which color looks better on whom. This ball was announced a mere three days ago, and yet I'm almost positive that every witch has already decided on how to do their hair, and their makeup.

And to them I say only this: stop.

You are all wasting your time planning and plotting for romance and, I admit, the blame can (mostly) be placed upon This Author's burdened shoulders. It would appear that I have forgotten to mention a few other things on the extensive subject of love in my last column, which can be forgiven since the topic is so very complicated...

Love is unpredictable and unplanned, my friends. You cannot plan for it, ensnare it, or trick it into coming to you.

To those ladies who are strategically planning how to smile and what to say, you should stop, for love does not care for practiced, fake smiles.

Love cannot be tricked, ladies, and it cannot be forced upon another. Either a person can love you, or they cannot.

Please, do not misinterpret what I am saying to you all. If there is a certain someone in your life that you care deeply for, but they do not seem to share the extent of those emotions, that does not mean they will never come to see you in a different light. Sometimes love does not come to you because it is the wrong time or wrong place, and you must only be patient.

But listen to this! I suppose I really should be heeding my own advice (or the advice offered to me from a couple of great friends). Talk about eating your own words. I suppose I should come right out and say that I have feared lately that I may have been misleading in my previous articles. As I look at my problem now, my desolate situation does not seem as dark as I had once thought it to be, but love can often blind a person to what is right in front of them.

So here's to hoping against hope and to patience- the most valuable of virtues!

Lady Rowena's Ballad for the Lost Romantics

~*~

Talk was abuzz in the Great Hall; every one of my 'Lost Romantics'- as Ginny had affectionately termed my readers, were ablaze with the thought of Lady Rowena and her not-so-hopeless situation.

So what had brought this tiniest of sparks for hope to flare in me where I had once had none? Well, as I had been writing that article, I suddenly realized something, or rather, recalled something that had slipped my mind.

Oliver had been about to kiss me that day out in the rain. The very thought of the mere possibility unleashed a herd of hippogriffs in my stomach. And why, I ask you, would Oliver have tried to kiss me if he did not at least feel something for me? There you have it, then. Not even I, logical, problem solver extraordinaire, can argue with that.

That morning had been an exceptionally warm day, if memory serves me correctly (and it does, for that day was one that I'll never forget). Breakfast was finished and classes began, and all the while, I had uncharacteristically stared out of the windows, thinking of what a shame it was that we had to be locked inside on such an unusually warm winter's day.

Before I knew it, I had finished lunch and had a free hour. Lazily I strolled my way towards the Library (my home away from home) and lightly swung the doors open, eager for some quiet reading, and some intriguing notes. But, I never got to do my reading or take any notes, for as 'luck' would have it, Oliver spotted me the instant I took one step inside my sanctuary.

"Hermione! There you are!" he exclaimed from his post where he had been leaning up against one of the tables.

Madame Pince threw a sharp glare at Oliver, who completely ignored her and sauntered over to me.

A sudden suspicion puckered my brow. "Were you waiting for me?" I asked warily.

Oliver flashed Madame Pince a charming grin as he grabbed my elbow and casually steered me around and out of my Library.

"Not, waiting, per say," he began smoothly. "More as if accurately predicting you'd be there the same time I would be."

Dumbly, I followed him, not even realizing his hand was still guiding me even though I was quite willingly following him. "Oliver, that's the same thing," I pointed out.

Another boyish grin, "Of course, but that is beside the point. I've been meaning to talk to you, Miss Granger, about those flying lessons..."

Too late I tried to retreat by digging my heels into the stone floor. "Well, Professor, I would love to have those lessons right about now, but-"

"Great! Because I'd love to give them right about now, so it's settled!"

Arguing would be futile, so I meekly matched my pace with his, dreading what was no doubt going to be a horribly embarrassing experience for me.

But, my luck had turned around once we had reached the Quidditch Pitch. The moment Oliver had me standing out there on the massive field, nervously biting my lower lip, he took pity on me.

"Our first lesson, of course, will not be hands-on. I would like to spend some time going over the basic do's and don'ts of flying, if that is alright with you, of course," he looked down at me expectantly.

I quite readily agreed with him and stood patiently, intently listening to him speak. Throughout the whole session, one thing was forever apparent: Oliver Wood loved flying. Now, I of course already knew this before the lesson; saying Oliver loved flying was like saying fish love water- it was a given. But, I had never before been witness to his enthusiasm. He could have been talking about the most mundane of things related to flying, but there'd always be that glint in his eyes, a true sign of his love for it.

Now, I am many things, but a hypocrite is not one of them. I did not judge Oliver and his love of flying, of all things, and I did not see him as a typical meat-headed, jock that only cared about the beloved sport of Quidditch, for I knew I was the same terrible way with my precious books.

Quite honestly, when Oliver explained the "art of flying to me", his enthusiasm rubbed off. No, I still detest the broom and I'd still never mount one, even if my life depended upon it, but that didn't mean Oliver did not alter my perspective of flying. I slowly began to see it in a different light. Instead of pointless, I saw it as an escape for some, just as the Library served as mine.

All in all, it was a very progressive start, and to be honest with you all, I would have stayed out there much longer if only to hear Oliver's passionate arguments on the virtues of flying.

"Are you with me so far?" he asked in his lilt, Scottish voice.

Dazedly, I snapped back to the normal world and nodded an affirmative.

"Well, then, I suppose we can call it a day. Come on, I'll walk you back to the Common Room."

We didn't hold hands that time, but I took secret pleasure in the fact that we were standing slightly closer than what might have been warranted.

"Read the paper?" he asked conversationally.

I nodded. "Yes, that Lady Rowena column did cause quite the stir, didn't it?"

It was the first time I had braved to bring up the topic of Lady Rowena ever since That Night (as I had taken to terming it). Even now I am astounded by my courage.

But, right after I said it, I immediately regretted it. Instantly Oliver's gaze became shuttered and distant, as if he wasn't really there, walking beside me. "Yes, it did," he faintly muttered.

Again, some of my rare Gryffindor courage kicked in. "You, uh, fancy her a bit, don't you?"

Suddenly, Oliver snapped his head down at me, fully present now. "What makes you say that?" he asked defensively.

Despite my best efforts, I, too, became slightly defensive, as well as annoyed. After all, I did have a right to know, seeing as how I was bloody Lady Rowena. "Well, one might say that I have a talent for seeing things others usually ignore."

Oliver gave me a slight frown. "And do you also have a talent for intruding on other people's privacy?"

That was it. Oliver Wood was going to get a piece of my mind whether he wanted it or not. I had been in love with this man for almost four years, and I bloody well had the right to give him a dose of reality. "Listen, Oliver, I'm not trying to be intrusive. I just think that it is not healthy to moon- yes, moon, Oliver," I added when I saw that he was about to protest, "Over someone you don't even know. I'm just worried, is all, so there is no need to act all miffish with me!"

I really did have a way of verbally slapping people. At least Oliver had the grace to look guilty. "Look, Hermione, I'm touched that you are concerned about me; and yes, you are right. I do, erm, somewhat fancy her a bit, but I am well aware that her heart quite irrevocably belongs to another. I'm not going to pine over her, okay?"

I softened my expression. I didn't realize that creating Lady Rowena would have put such a strain on Oliver, me, or our relationship. Bloody hell, when I created Lady Rowena I had no idea that a relationship with Oliver and me was even feasible! "Why do you like her, Oliver? I mean, you've never even met her," I asked, really meaning 'What the hell does Lady Rowena got that I haven't?'

Oliver looked into my eyes, and I suddenly felt as though I had been hit with the jelly legs curse- and I knew, friends, without a shadow of a doubt, that Oliver had felt it, too. I could see it in his eyes when they widened in disbelief, right before they hastily looked away. "I can't explain it to you, Hermione. You don't understand what it's like to be in love."

And then Oliver- Professor of flying, Witch Weekly's winner in its newest category of Most-Charming-Bloke, Quidditch hero and player extraordinaire- turned and ran away from love, saving me the trouble of doing so.

(A/N): Hey all, I'm so happy that you're all enjoying this story, since I am having so much fun writing it...

And now for something completely different, I have recently found my hotmail inbox littered with one or two flames....no, not for this story, but I still feel like posting them so everyone can have a good laugh at the idiot who seems to think he's God of the Harry Potter fanfiction world....

"Posted: February 1 2003, 17:56 #10

Title: Alone Together

Author: Bertie Bott

URL: click me if you dare...

Review..

Oh my god, Randy, look at this fic! It's so... boring. It's so... out of character. It sucks! It sucks all over the place. How can this author take a decent ship and ruin it so much? I'll tell you why: you obviously think that using very little dialogue and OOC characters is the key... boy are you wrong! You have got not talent, no skill, no sense of writing, and you can't even draw the reader in. How dare you call yourself a writer. You couldn't even write a plot to terrible even if you have the majestic pen of Rowlingesque yourself! Absolutely awful.

-Simon Cowell..."

First of all, how dare this presumptuous little bastard dare to tell me why I wrote that piece; second of all, if he had bothered to read any other reviews that fic had received he would have noticed that I had no problem with intriguing an audience, and third, I dare to call myself a writer because that is what I do and love, and I will keep on writing, if only to piss people like him off...

The rest of his poorly written critique is pretty self-explanatory...So let's all have a collective laugh at the idiot who presumed too much...the presumptuous little twit...

P.S...the word 'presume' and its related forms are tiny little insights of the next chapter...