Ballad for the Lost Romantics

BALLAD FOR THE LOST ROMANTICS

CHAPTER 8

There comes a time in every decent story when its hero, or heroine as the case may be, is faced with an unexpected obstacle. Our dilemma comes to us in the form of the Yule Ball. Well, it wasn't necessarily the ball itself that presented the problem, but really what occurred there.

There I sat- Ginny and I, up secluded in my rooms, preparing for said ball. I was excited, nervous, and furious all at the same time. Excited, because I had played a major part in planning the ball, and its success would be a direct reflection on my character. Nervous, because I really wasn't sure how well the open dress code that allowed both Wizard and Muggle formal attire would swing. And finally furious, because where in the bloody hell does Oliver Wood come off telling me that I don't know what it's like to be in love?

Not for the first time, I found myself glaring at the air, my jaw clenching in annoyance.

"That presumptuous little snot," I ground out, furiously working the tangles out of my hair.

Ginny raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow in amusement. "What was that, Herms?"

Glaring at my reflection and throwing the comb over my shoulder in favor for a brush, I replied, "Oliver Wood is a presumptuous little snot, Ginny."

I could tell Gin was trying not to laugh. "Why is that?" she prompted.

My eyes narrowed at Ginny's reflection. "You know perfectly why that is, Virginia Weasley!"

A smothered giggle was my response, followed by, "Oh come off it, Hermione. You should be happy!"

I could feel my eyes widen incredulously. "Happy? HAPPY?" I fairly screeched, twisting on the stool to meet Ginny's eyes.

Ginny took on a knowing air. "That's right missy, happy. Oliver Wood is in love with you."

Grumbling, I turned back to face the mirror, giving up on my wild tresses and casting an easy straightening charm on them. "He's not in love with me, Ginny. He's in love with Lady Rowena."

Ginny rolled her eyes, while she sauntered over to fix my hair. "I don't know why you didn't just do that in the first place," she referred to my rather handy charm, and then added, "And Hermione, you are Lady Rowena!"

Childishly, I crossed my arms across my chest. "Only on weekends," I huffed.

I heard Ginny sigh, and knew that she would let the matter rest, just for then, anyway.

Once Ginny declared both of us ready we made our way down to the Common Room and met up with our respective dates.

Ginny, much to her delight, would be gracing the Hall on the arm of the one and only Harry Potter. I smiled as I watched Harry visibly swallow at the sight of her. I had no doubt (and still do now, *hint, hint, Harry*) that Ginny would make Harry a great wife someday, if the prat would ever snap out of the daze she put him in long enough to ask her.

Ron was already down there as well, patiently awaiting our arrival with his girlfriend Lavender on his arm; both looking regal in their finery.

Smiling at each couple in turn, I then greeted my escort, one Neville Longbottom. I had a tremendous amount of affection for Neville, and loved him dearly as a friend. He knew and understood that, and we had both come to an arrangement of sorts; to put it bluntly, we were each other's pity dates. But I would not let that stop me from having a good time!

As I hooked my arm through Neville's, our group happily made our way to the Great Hall, decked out in its entire splendor.

Now, I could easily go into great detail about the beauty of the decorations, the wonderful menus the House Elves had prepared, and the gorgeous, melodic music, but that would be pointless.

I could also go into great detail about the first three-quarters of the Ball, and who danced with whom, and who said what, but that, too, would also be meaningless, since a great deal of you were there. Instead, I'm going to take you to the height of the night, the big twist in our story.

I had just finished a dance with Neville when Dumbledore began to encourage the professors to dance and mingle with their students. And, wonder of all wonders, Ginny seemed to have gotten the brilliant (please note sarcasm) idea of having Oliver Wood dance with (drum roll please) me.

"Oh, Professor Wood!" Ginny proclaimed in mock surprise as she saw Oliver making his way to the group, probably to talk Quidditch with Harry.

"Come now, Ginny, none of that. It's just Oliver tonight," Oliver smoothly greeted.

Was that a spot on my brand new shoes? Maybe it was a piece of gum. Do Wizards chew gum? Oh, wait, yes, they chew 51-flavored double yum gum that Fred and George came up with (it turns your hair the color of each flavor as it comes)...

"Hermione?"

Belatedly I realized Oliver had been speaking to me. Controlling the urge to strangle the presumptuous snot, and then kiss him like there was no tomorrow, I looked up from the spot on my new shoes (it was most definitely a piece of gum) and met his slightly wary eyes. "Come again?"

A small smile tugged at his lips, "I asked if you were enjoying yourself," he offered.

"Oh, yes, immensely," I feigned, not the most convincing.

A twinkle in his eyes let me know that he was on to me. "Well, since your escort has seemed to have mysteriously disappeared, why don't we dance again?" he asked with a challenging raised brow, emphasizing the word 'again.'

Harry, who stood by a manically grinning Ginny, pondered allowed, "I don't think I remember seeing you two dance tonight."

"That's because we haven't yet," Oliver simply stated, taking my limp hand into his, and leading me out onto the floor.

Okay, calm, breathe in, breathe out; just relax. It wasn't as if I never danced with him before. But, of course, that had been away from prying eyes and under completely different circumstances.

And so, our dance began on the pitiful note of me telling myself how to breathe.

"Are you feeling alright, Hermione?" Oliver asked after a few quiet seconds of simply swaying to the music.

"Splendid," I assured him as he twirled me away and then back to him.

Oliver looked at me through calculating eyes. "I think you're not," he contradicted.

"How presumptuous; but you're nothing if not that, eh Oliver?" I sarcastically drew out, not knowing what had overcome me.

Oliver drew slightly back in shock. "Why do you say that?"

God, did he have to act so charmingly clueless? "You know perfectly well why, Oliver!" I countered.

Another moment's pause before, "Is this because of what happened shortly after our flying lesson?"

I rolled my eyes and with an uncharacteristic sneer retorted, "Well, gee, glad you decided to join in on our conversation."

Oliver gave another soul-deep sigh, lowering his head while saying, "Look, Hermione, I truly am sorry for snapping at you when you were only concerned about me."

I gave a snort. "Please, Oliver, I've already forgiven you for that."

He snapped his head up, confusion clearly written on his handsome features. "You have?"

"Ages ago," I drawled.

"Then," he tentatively began again, "What are you still mad about?"

"Just who the bloody hell do you think you are? Presuming to tell me that I don't know what it is like to be in love?" I was making a scene, I knew; probably overreacting, but I really couldn't help it. That's what it's like to have no control.

Oliver blinked owlishly. "I did what?"

"You are a condescending little snot, Oliver Wood; you should learn to keep your mouth shut before you go off making presumptions!"

"Oh dear," he faintly muttered. He did look quite silly, standing there with a blush spreading across his face (yes, I made him blush!) and muttering those two words that would've sounded more appropriate if they were coming from my Grandmother.

"Oh dear, indeed," I sulked.

"Hermione, are you in love?"

Oh dear God, just what I needed to hear. All of the anger drained from my face, along with any color. It was as if the fight had been knocked right on out of me, and I could do nothing to confirm or deny this startling turn of events.

Oliver waited for no confirmation or denial, however, but instead jumped to his own conclusion- which just so happened to be correct.

"Hermione, I had no idea," he began, with, was that regret in his eyes? Jealousy, maybe?

"No one does," I whispered, avoiding his eyes.

I felt his grip tighten on me, but mercifully, the song came to an end. I could practically feel his eyes roving around on my face, trying to catch my eyes, but I tactfully avoided them.

"Oliver, Hermione, there you guys are!" Neville proclaimed, strolling up to us.

"Hey there, Neville," I greeted in painful cheerfulness.

He opened his mouth to say Lord knows what, but immediately shut it when Draco Malfoy and his entourage came waltzing up to us, his posh voice drawling, "Well, well, well, what do we have here?"

Oliver narrowed his eyes at the smirking Slytherin. "Run along, little Malfoy."

"Tsk, tsk, Professor. Where are your manners?" he provoked, being his usual annoying self.

"I have plenty of manners, Mr. Malfoy, it's a pity you can't buy any with all of your daddy's money," Oliver spat out in past hostility (apparently he keeps a very detailed catalogue in his head of every single foul a Slytherin has committed in Quidditch and holds it against them for life).

Draco, wisely, said nothing to the Professor, and instead re-aimed his sneer in my direction. "Granger, didn't you read Lady Rowena's column? She expressly explained that love will never find you."

Oliver put a protective arm around me.

"Well, that's a load of rubbish if I've ever heard any. Not once in her column did Hermione's name come up," Neville countered (you all remember how Neville grew a spine after the fourth year and started sticking up for himself).

Draco shot him a glare. "She didn't have to, it was implied. This Lady Rowena is conniving that way; it's no wonder she's a Slytherin."

Laughter bubbled out of me. "A Slytherin? Lady Rowena? Please, Malfoy, everyone knows Slytherins don't have hearts. But, I must thank you; you're always good for a laugh if nothing else!" I giggled, positively enraging Draco.

"Well, since you're so smart, Granger, why don't you enlighten us? Which house is she in? Or better yet, who is Lady Rowena?" he challenged, his voice growing in volume so that we now had a good sized crowd.

I bit my tongue and remained silent. Really, Draco Malfoy was quite the annoying git back at school, and even now that he's out of school, come to think of it. But, I'm not one to hold grudges, especially since dear Draco did eventually see the light, so to speak, and ended up joining our little crusade against Voldemort (but we all know how he fought valiantly against being a pleasant person even though he became a good guy).

"What? Don't you know?" he taunted, "Well," he started again, puffing out his chest importantly and directing his attention on his audience, and thankfully not me since I had resorted to childishness by sticking out my tongue at him. "How many great mysteries are there at this school?"

No one said anything, so I spoke up, "One-hundred and three, not including the Chamber of Secrets."

Malfoy duly ignored me, and only proclaimed, "I have a proposition of sorts, and you all here are my witnesses!"

He really did have a flare for the melodramatic; in fact, I'd have recommended to him a long time ago to audition for a soap opera if it wasn't for the fact that he is still afraid of Muggle technology (yes, afraid, Draco, don't deny it).

"Fifty- no! One-hundred...one-hundred galleons," he paused for dramatic affect, a few of the students leaning in anxiously to hear better, "To the one that unmasks Lady Rowena's true identity!"