Ballad for the Lost Romantics

BALLAD FOR THE LOST ROMANTICS

CHAPTER 12

~*~

Contrary to what may be popular belief, This Author is very well aware that she is viewed as somewhat of a Romantic cynic.

But that, Dear Reader, cannot be farther from the truth. This Author loves nothing more than a happy ending, and if that makes me a Lost Romantic, then so be it. But sadly, I also am in possession of something that I like to refer to as common sense, for I also realize that happy endings are not always possible...especially in instances of unrequited love.

Lady Rowena's Ballad for the Lost Romantics

~*~

As I have stated before, I like to think of myself as a pretty smart witch. In fact, I can be too smart for my own good in certain instances (the events that lead up to my petrifaction come to mind, although it can be considered a good thing that I had solved that mystery).

But, quite honestly, for someone so smart, I can be quite dense at times.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves here.

So April had fallen upon the castle and I found myself sitting across a formidable oak desk from Albus Dumbledore himself. It had been at breakfast earlier that day when I had received an owl requesting my presence in his office promptly after 'eating my fill, but saving some room for some lemon drops', as he had so eloquently put it.

"Miss Granger, lemon drop?" asked the benign old man with that always present twinkle in his wise blue eyes.

I smiled politely (again having that sneaking suspicion that Albus Dumbledore could read minds) and took one of the lemon drops from the candy dish of off his desk.

"Professor Dumbledore, sir, I don't mean to be rude, but I was..."

"Speculating as to why I've summoned you here today since the Head Boy and Girl meeting had been yesterday?" he offered in seeming innocence.

"Precisely," I smiled, silently wondering at the man before me.

"Hermione," he began, leaning forward to pluck a lemon drop out of his dish, "this year has almost come to a close and like every year before this, my office is bombarded with some prospective job offers for some of the graduating students," he began, studiously finger-combing his beard.

I felt my heart stop. Dare I dream that one of those owls had an offer for me?

"This year, however, we have received quite a few more from newspapers and magazines such as Witch Weekly, or The Daily Prophet, all asking me just about the same thing: to try and persuade Lady Rowena to come and write for their establishment. Tell me, Hermione, have you ever thought of continuing your writing career outside of Hogwarts? You already have quite the following..."

I felt my chin drop to the floor. Of course mentally I have always known that Albus Dumbledore had to have known that I was Lady Rowena; but knowing so mentally and actually coming face to face with that fact are two completely different things.

My mind whirled, trying to come up with something, anything remotely intelligent to say at that moment. But alas, all I could find on the tip of my tongue was the urge to deny it.

'Oh, you must be mistaken, Headmaster, I am Hermione Granger. How can I possibly write something as frivolous and pointless as a Love column...?'

Of course, no such denial had been uttered. Albus Dumbledore was an extremely wise man, and I would never insult that wisdom by denying what he knew to be fact.

So, all I managed was a wane smile and a muttered, "Actually no, Professor, I haven't."

Dumbledore leaned comfortably back in his chair. "I thought as much, which is why I decided to call you here today to inform you of quite the increasing demand you and your articles are in."

Belatedly I realized what he was saying, "Professor, are you saying that wizards outside of Hogwarts have been reading my column?"

Dumbledore grinned and gave a nod, "That's correct, Miss Granger, and quite avidly, as well. There have been quite a few articles about Lady Rowena in many magazines, Witch Weekly, for one; I'm surprised you haven't seen or heard of them for they are quite enthusiastic about you. They all call you Hogwarts' best kept secret."

"I never would've dreamed..." I trailed off dazedly.

Dumbledore gave me a knowing look, "Well, in any case, I only wished to make sure you were aware of all possible choices and careers you could take in your future. After all, one forgotten choice can lead to a life of regret and 'What ifs'. Best to avoid that," he smiled.

"Quite so," I readily agreed, "Um, Headmaster, I don't mean to be intrusive, or anything, but I was just wondering that, well, since you know that I'm Lady Rowena if you knew who it is that I, err, write about?"

That notion had been drifting at the back of my mind for quite a while, and now I'd know for certain if whether or not a student and a Professor being romantically linked was forbidden at Hogwarts.

Albus Dumbledore just sat in his aged chair, grinning serenely as he said from out of nowhere, "I believe you have someone waiting for you, Miss Granger. Please, rest assured that there is no rule that forbids the romantic ties between a professor and a student so long as there is not a significant age gap and she is of age; which, I may point out, you are. Now, if you'll excuse me, remember what we spoke about today, and do please take a lemon drop for the road, oh, and why don't you grab one for Oliver as well."

I looked quite ridiculous; standing there in front of what was probably the most powerful wizard in the world since the Hogwarts Four, gaping like a fish.

"Good day, sir," I faintly managed to the happily grinning man who had already dismissed me and was smiling down at his beard.

As I made my way out of the Headmaster's office, I was suddenly struck with the need to write.

True, Oliver was waiting for me, but our next flying lesson didn't technically begin until thirty minutes from then, and as any good author knows, a person can get much written in thirty minutes.

~*~

Another school year has almost come to a close, and I sit here with a heavy heart as I recall fond memories of the past.

I believe I can speak for us all when I say that this is a year that will forever live in infamy. Not only because Hogwarts had started a school newspaper, but also because of an anonymous love columnist who has managed to lead the entire school body around on a piece of thread (not that I'm bragging, or anything of the sort).

Quite honestly, I do not see what is so appealing about my story, or my love life. Don't you all have your own to consider? Perhaps you should all stop talking about living the day and seizing the moment and take the leap as I have done.

I can assure that the outcome of my leap of faith has been most pleasing, for if I have learned anything during the duration of these past three years it's that love is only unrequited if you believe it to be so. For nothing, Dear Hogwarts, is impossible; improbable, and unlikely, sure, but nothing's impossible.

All love needs is a chance, a chance to grow and bloom; and under no circumstances should anyone deny it of that chance, for that is a true crime against nature.

Lady Rowena's Ballad for the Lost Romantics

~*~

See, one can get a bit done in thirty minutes. In fact, I had some time to spare until I was to go and meet Oliver, so I thought I'd take my completed article up to the owlery and send it off to Dumbledore.

Now, there has been much speculation over how easily I was able to hide my identity, and since I am no longer playing the role of Lady Rowena, I hardly think she'll mind if I expel her secrets.

All I had to do was fold my article into an envelope, and then charm that envelope to reach Professor Dumbledore. It was quite easy, really. If anyone were to intercept the owl, they would have had no evidence as to who sent it or who it was for, since there were no addresses. In fact, the only way for anyone to know that the letter had any connection to me was for them to see me in the process of writing it, or sending it, and the owlery was always vacant when I was in it...

Almost always, that is.

I had been up there no longer than three minutes, trying to find a volunteer owl for the job, when the door swung open in sickeningly slow motion and Oliver Wood poked his head in, causing me to startle and drop the envelope in surprise.

That was my first mistake: I dropped the envelope.

"Oliver!" I gasped, biting my lower lip and wringing out my hands, "what are you doing here?"

Oliver gave me that special smile meant only for me and walked further in. "Ginny said you came up here to deliver an owl."

I nodded emphatically. "Yes, I did."

Oliver grinned, "Obviously, since this is the owlery."

A change of subject was definitely in order, "Am I late for our lesson?"

Sensing that he had an opportunity to talk about his beloved sport of flying, Oliver beamed, "No, as a matter of fact, it's supposed to begin right about now."

I gave him what I hoped to be an easy-going smile. "Well, I better get down to the pitch and prepare...I don't want another disaster like last week."

Just what exactly that disaster was, you may be wondering, will be left unsaid for my own benefit.

So, with that said, I swept nervously out of the owlery in attempt to escape the air that had seemed to grow so thick and heavy.

And that was my second mistake: I left the owlery.

If I had stayed, perhaps I would have noticed that I had failed to retrieve my envelope from off of the floor. If I had stayed, perhaps I would have seen Oliver bend over to rescue that said envelope for me. And perhaps, if I had stayed, I would have been able to stop Oliver from opening that un-addressed envelope out of curiosity...

But I had left, you see, and Oliver did bend down to reclaim that envelope, and he did open it out of a curiosity he thought to be harmless.

Well, you've all heard of the old, Muggle saying, 'curiosity killed the cat.'