Strictly Ballroom

Strictly Ballroom

Prologue

"Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation" - Kahlil Gibran

It was the chiming clock that woke him. That stupid, darned carriage clock that Harry had given Mr Weasley for a birthday present. And now it was chiming. Very loudly. At midnight. Ron was not impressed.

"Shut up, you stupid thing!" he moaned, turning over in bed to bury his head beneath the pillow. Soon enough it would stop chiming. He waited for the blessed silence to return. But it did not. The clock kept on insistently chiming, and seemed almost to be getting louder. Ron groaned once more, before sliding out of bed and grabbing his wand.

"Right," he said grimly, grasping the wand as if it were a spear. "You asked for it, clock." He left his room and made his way to the chest of drawers by the large bay window, where the offensive clock was still chiming away happily as if its life depended on it.

"Silencio!" Ron muttered, waving his wand at it and, finally, it shut up. "Thank you!" Ron sighed, as his ears filled with - music? Who was playing music at this hour? Everyone else in the house had gone to bed, yet he could definitely hear some kind of music playing. It took him a moment to realise that the sound was not coming from inside the house but from outside. Strange. Ron moved to the window to discover the source of the haunting melody.

The moon was full and bright, casting silvery ripples over the land. Forgetting about the music for a moment, Ron grinned as he thought of what lay ahead. He could hardly believe that it was a whole week since he had set foot in Hogwarts for the final time. It still felt as though it had been that long since he had first set foot on the Hogwarts Express. But now Voldemort had gone; the darkness that had hung over them all since first year had finally gone, to be replaced with light. Just like the silvery moon in the sky. And tomorrow would be Ron's first day as Keeper for the Chudley Cannons Reserve Team. He could hardly wait. Everything would be different. He planned on telling Hermione exactly how he had felt about her for the past four years. He would be everything she wanted him to be and more. As long as she liked him too, of course.

Now, however, his thoughts returned back to the music. He didn't recognise it, but it was a very beautiful song. He could see someone on the grass dancing, dressed in as long white dress. He couldn't quite make out who it was, but he had a shrewd suspicion.

Quietly, so as not to wake anyone else, he crept down the flights of rickety stairs and let himself out of the backdoor. He could see her dancing barefooted on the dewy grass, her long white nightie whirling about her bare ankles, while her hair flew around her face. She didn't seem to notice him; she was too absorbed in her dance. Ron never knew how long he stood watching: it might have been minutes, it might have been hours. When there was a slight pause in the music, however, he moved forward slowly, calling her name.

"Hermione?" She jumped and spun round to stare at him, her face almost as white as her gown. When she recognised the intruder, however, she smiled, although something wistful seemed to linger in her eyes.

"Ron." She seemed pleased to see him, but a little embarrassed. "Don't creep up on me like that, you startled me."

"Sorry," he said apologetically. "It's just - why are you dancing?" Hermione laughed.

"I love dancing," she said simply. "When I was a little girl, my parents paid for me to have dance lessons, and now whenever I go back to the Muggle world I go back and practise my dancing. I danced a lot at Hogwarts, you just didn't see."

"You dance very well. But you still didn't answer my question. Why are you dancing?"

"I told you. I love dancing. In fact," Hermione looked away from him into the starry sky, "I always felt rather like I'd been neglecting my dancing a little, all the time when I was practising my magic. And that's why..." Her voice seemed to drift away on the breeze.

"That's why what?" Ron asked, puzzled. Hermione sighed, still determinedly not looking at him.

"That's why I have to go."

"Go where?"

"Tomorrow I take up my position at the Royal Ballroom Academy. I'm going to train for three years and then take it up professionally. It's always been my... my dream." It didn't look like it had always been her dream. Her eyes filled with tears as she said the words and she turned back to look out over the moonlight landscape.

"You're going to live as a Muggle? After everything that's happened? Gods, Hermione, you just graduated as a fully-fledged witch a week ago! And now you're throwing that away?"

"What has the wizarding world given me, Ron?" she asked shrilly, turning to face him. "Seven years of abuse from idiots like Draco Malfoy, seven years living in fear from an evil tyrant, seven of what should have been the best years of my life wasted worrying about my friends and, oh yeah, it gave me two dead parents! Oh, how could I not want to stay?!"

"It gave you me and Harry," Ron said quietly. "Aren't we enough?"

"Too much pain," Hermione whispered, shaking her head dejectedly, tears rolling down her cheeks. "Too much suffering. I can't take it anymore. I'm going to become a dancer. End of story. I promise I'll write." She switched off her music and hurried away into the house. Ron stood silently, shocked, before making his way to the small bench overlooking the valley. He didn't know how long he spent there. But when he awoke dawn had broken, and Hermione Granger had gone.

Chapter 1

"To fear love is to fear life, and those who fear life are already three parts dead" - Bertrand Russell

10 years later

Screaming. He couldn't stand anymore screaming. He couldn't stand waking every day to more screams. Groaning, he rolled out of bed and dragged himself across to the window and opened it.

"Go away!" he yelled hoarsely. "Leave me alone!" After yelling a few choice swear words at the gaggle of hormone-infested teenage witches outside his apartment building, Ronald Weasley crawled towards his bathroom, through the mass of beer bottles and pizza boxes that seemed to amass more and more every night. Particularly the beer bottles.

Not like he couldn't afford it. As Chudley Cannon, England and now Europe goalkeeper, he could afford anything he liked. The only problem was that he had nobody to share it with. True, he'd had his fair share of girls. More than his fair share. But none he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. He couldn't stand the thought of it. Every time he looked at his latest girlfriend, Heavenly-Paige Shuffle-Gordon, he saw her fake blonde hair transform into frizzy brown curls and her vacant blue eyes become brown and earthy. He could never love anyone the way he'd loved Hermione.

She'd kept her promise. She'd written once a month to both him and Harry, and had recently told them that she could add Wizarding European Ballroom and Latin Champion to the numerous Muggle titles she had already won. Harry wrote back with news of his and Ginny's wedding, and subsequent birth of young daughter Charlotte. Hermione had not been able to attend the wedding, due to a competition in Belgium. Ron thought whether this was a good or bad thing. Perhaps it was best she hadn't seen his drunken display on that particular occasion. Or any occasion since. Hm.

It really was useful, Ron thought, that he was now the face of Healey's Happy Hangover Cure. Before being supplied with dozens of boxes of the stuff free of charge, he'd had to make do with puking his guts out every morning before forcing down his own home-made remedy of ketchup, ice cream and gherkins. He now grabbed a bottle from his plentiful supply and took an enormous swig, feeling his headache and nausea disappear almost at once. He looked at the clock. He would be late again. Not that it mattered: his coach wasn't about to sack the 'greatest goalkeeper that ever lived'. Or at least that was what the Daily Prophet called him. The same Daily Prophet that so stupidly printed his address in the paper only a week previously. Hence the screaming fan girls outside his apartment morning till night. Ron frowned out the window at them, then even more at the mess that was his flat. He was a complete wreck.

Sighing, Ronald Weasley changed into his Quidditch robes and Apparated to his training ground.

~~*~~

When he returned home at half past four, Ron was dismayed but completely unsurprised to find his flat exactly the same as he'd left it. He manoeuvred his way to his phone to find six messages waiting for him from Heavenly-Paige, each more sickly-sweet than the last. There was one final message left for him, which turned out to be from his agent, Estelle.

"Ron, it's me, Estelle. Just thought I'd remind you that it's the Masquerade Ball tonight to celebrate Wizarding Sports Personality of the Year, for which, I might remind you, you are an honorary guest with a chance of picking up Sportsman of the Year. So you will be there at half past six, and you will not get drunk until after receiving your reward. There's something else I want to talk to you about, but I'll wait to tell you in person. See you there."

Ron groaned.

~~*~~

"And the winner is," the blonde haired Quidditch Seeker announced, "Ronald Weasley!" Booming cheers and storms of clapping erupted as Ron got up to graciously accept his award, smiling as falsely as he could.

"Thank you, thank you, it's very kind of you all, thank you so much," he uttered, before taking the award back to his seat and wiping the grin from his face once he was sure no cameras were on him. Estelle was sitting beside him.

"Nice acceptance speech," she said acidly.

"Oh whatever, just pass me a beer," Ron muttered. Estelle sighed, but obliged. Soon the award ceremony was over, and everyone was ushered into a huge room decorated with enormous silver drapes. They all adorned masks and thus the Masquerade Ball began.

Ron, of course, made for the bar.

"One large vodka," he ordered of the pretty bar girl. "And whatever my good friend here is having," he added, as a tall girl wearing a long sparkly red dress appeared beside him. She looked appraisingly at him.

"I can get my own drinks," she told him, curtly.

"Yes, but I can get your drinks too," he told her, wagging a finger.

"Yes, but I don't want you to buy my drinks for me," she pointed out. Ron stared at her. No girl ever turned down an offer of a drink from him.

"Don't you know who I am?" he asked, incredulously.

"No," she replied. "You're wearing a mask. And I don't want to know, thank you."

"Tell you what," Ron said, raising an eyebrow. "I won't buy you a drink. I won't even talk to you for the rest of the evening. Just give me one dance." At that very moment, the DJ began playing Chris de Burgh's 'Lady in Red'.

"Come on, they're playing your song!" Ron said enthusiastically. He could just see one of her eyebrows raised.

"Fine," she said, getting up and stalking over to the dance floor. "Come on then." He hurried over to her and put his arms around her, and they began moving in time to the music. Ron tried to look into her eyes, but they were firmly fixed on a point over his shoulder.

"You're a good dancer," he said, hopefully.

"Thank you," she replied, the eyebrow raising once more. "But how can you tell, when all we're doing is moving from side to side?"

"Er..." He supposed she had a point.

"How do you know Muggle music, anyway?" the girl asked, clearly looking for some conversation.

"This girl I used to like played this song all the time," Ron admitted, thinking of Hermione.

"It is a nice song," the girl admitted grudgingly. Then, for the first time, she looked into his eyes.

There was something about her eyes. He couldn't say what it was, but some kind sparkle glittered in the bright brown eyes behind the mask. Neither of them spoke again until the end of the song; the girl appeared to be lost in thought.

"So," Ron said hopefully, leading the way back to the bar, "what about that drink?"

"I'll have a small Fire whiskey, then," she said, finally. As the bartender went to fetch their drinks, a man appeared between them, placing his hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Oh," she said, suddenly startled and a little flustered, "this is Alex," she told Ron. "My long-term boyfriend."

Ron looked Alex up and down. He was shorter than Ron, but had deep blue eyes, spiky blond hair and a strong jawline. Dammit.

"Long term?" Ron asked sourly. "Why don't you just go ahead and get married?"

"I don't believe in marriage," the girl said quietly.

"Come on, love, let's go and dance," Alex said, pulling the girl away. Ron caught one last fleeting glimpse of her brown eyes behind the mask before suddenly she was gone.

"Best make that a large one," Ron told the bartender bitterly, indicating the girl's untouched Fire whiskey. "It's going to be a long night."

~~*~~

By the time Estelle found Ron several hours had passed. He attempted on several occasions to try and count the numerous beer bottles lined up in front of him, but they had an irritating habit of moving from side to side so he lost count.

"I thought you'd be here," Estelle said reprovingly as Ron downed half a bottle in one gulp.

"Eh? Oh, it's you!" He pulled her into a tight hug. "You're not gonna leave me, are ya? Cosh, everyone does, but you are like, my best mate, yeah? Whoa!" Ron nearly toppled off his stool but grasped the bar top for support.

"You've got an invitation to appear on a reality TeleWizion show," Estelle said slowly. "You'll have to dance, and-"

"Dance?! I love dancing!" Ron proceeded to show off his 'dancing' skills, but merely succeeded in falling flat on his face with a groan. Estelle suppressed an eye roll, as nearby photographers hurried to get yet more shots of the plastered Quidditch star making a fool of himself. Yet again.

"So you'll do it then?"

"I'm in!" Ron shouted gleefully.

"Great, you start tomorrow. Now let's get you out of here, so you can fall into your drunken stupor in private."

~~*~~

When they reached Ron's apartment, he was singing loudly, accompanied by the odd giggle and occasional loud belch. Estelle enlisted the help of the taxi driver to heave Ron, whose feet appeared to have failed him, up to his apartment.

Once Ron was safely inside his flat, Estelle and the cabbie left. Inside, Ron staggered about drunkenly until he found his bedroom and, with a final thought of the mystery girl, passed out on the bed.

Chapter 2

" The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances: if there is any reaction, both are transformed" - Carl Jung

It was not the screams that woke Ron next morning. It was the shrill ring of the telephone.

"Ron Weasley, you get yourself to Pine View Studios within 10 minutes or you get yourself another agent!" Estelle shrieked at him by way of greeting. He winced - he had not yet taken his Happy Hangover Cure.

"Whoa, 'stelle. Too. Loud. Bad. Head. Gonna. Puke."

"I'm not surprised, the amount you drank last night, but at least you got more publicity, you made the front page again. Anyway, you get to the studios now. Your partner's already waiting and you can't back out now. I've signed the contract for you."

"Whoa, whoa - partner?!"

"Yes, I forgot to mention - it's ballroom dancing."

Pause.

"My partner is a girl, isn't she?"

"Yes, of course she is, just get your butt over here now and meet her."

Wahey, Ron thought gleefully as he put the phone down and scrambled for a bottle of Hangover Cure. A girl. A dancer girl. In pretty dresses. You, Ronald Weasley, have hit the jackpot. Note to self: dump Heavenly-Paige.

~~*~~

So what's the show about?" Ron asked Estelle when he met her in the reception of Pine View Studios.

"Your partner teaches you how to ballroom dance, you perform live on a Saturday night and the worst couples get voted off each week," Estelle explained in a bored voice, as she led him into a large dance studio.

"Wait here, I'll go and get her," she instructed him before departing. Ron looked around the huge white room and noticed one wall was panelled with mirrors. Ron immediately hurried over to fix his hair.

He was interrupted from his preening by a slight, very deliberate, cough from the near the door. Hurriedly he jumped round to meet his partner for the first time.

Or not, as it turned out to be.

The girl standing in front of him was quite tall and slim, with bright brown eyes and lots of frizzy brown hair. It was Hermione.

It was at this moment that Ron's jaw became acquainted with the floor.

"Ron!" she shrieked joyfully, running to him and hugging him. "It's you! It is you, isn't it?" she asked, suspicious at his lack of greeting.

"Yeah, it's me," Ron managed to say. He was dumbstruck. The first thought that ran through his head was, 'I'm gonna need a stiff drink tonight.'

"It's good to see you," Hermione said, breathlessly. "I've, er, seen a lot of you in the papers," she added cautiously.

"You seen this morning's?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"Oh, it's a classic - spectacular vomit all over the World Cup winning Quidditch coach. Fantastic."

"Oh. This is a pretty regular thing?"

"What, me getting wasted? Oh, every night."

"Why?"

"What?"

"I asked you why you do it," Hermione said, in a hard voice. "What happened to the fun-loving Ron who never went too far?"

"He's probably gone with the happy Hermione who never deserted her friends."

"I never deserted you," Hermione said, shocked.

"Er, correction, I think you did. You left the wizard world for seven years before finally deigning to return and not meet up with us for years. No desertion there, clearly."

"Oh shut up, Ron, and let's get on with this," Hermione spat, acidly.

"Fine. What dance are we doing?" Ron asked bitterly, folding his arms.

"The waltz. Now, the waltz has its history rooted in a peasant dance from the Provence area of France in 1559, from a piece of folk music called The Volta. Partners had to hold each other in such a close embrace that many declared it immoral, and Louis XIII even banned it from his court for a while."

"A close embrace?"

"Yes, like this." Hermione proceeded to move Ron's arms into the correct position. Ron attempted to shift himself: this embrace was definitely rather too close for comfort, especially when it was with a girl he'd spent over half his life dreaming about yet hadn't seen for 10 years.

"Why the hell did I agree to do this?" Ron muttered under his breath.

"I'd blame the beer," Hermione replied smoothly.

~~*~~

By the time Ron reached home at half past six that evening, he was absolutely shattered. His feet were aching from having leapt around the floor, his legs were aching from standing up all day and his head was aching from Hermione shouting at him all day. Not to mention that time she'd hit him round the head for not co-operating. He didn't understand how she could enjoy this sort of painful torture.

Normally Ron would have headed directly for one of his crates of beer, but something stopped him. Perhaps it was seeing Hermione again, but something in his head was telling him to stop. Instead, he decided, he would call for a Chinese and get an early night. As he thought this, Ron shook his head slightly, wondering if this dancing business was affecting his brain. The earliest night he'd gotten recently was about two in the morning, and that was only because he'd been thrown out of the club he'd been at and had nowhere else to go.

After placing his order with the Chinese takeaway round the corner, he decided he would follow Hermione's advice to listen to some music. She had given him a CD which had three songs on it, and she wanted him to choose one for them to waltz to. After several minutes of trying to work his CD player, Ron finally managed to get it working. The first song that came out was sung by someone with a very powerful voice, but he did not know who it was, for it was a Muggle singer. He glanced at the piece of paper that Hermione had listed the tracks on and saw that it was called 'I Have Nothing' by some singer called Whitney Houston. It seemed to be ok, but a bit soppy for Ron's taste. He flipped to the next track.

The next track was called 'Moon River'. It was a very orchestral version that Hermione had chosen, and Ron didn't find himself particularly enthralled by it. He sat through one minute of it before skipping to the final track, which was called 'Love Don't Live Here Anymore'. This was the only song Ron sat all the way through, listening to the words running through his head. It seemed so true to his life at that moment that he didn't think there was any way he couldn't pick it. This was the track.

~~*~~

That week Ron had to juggle training with his Quidditch team with dancing lessons with Hermione. The first day back at work he'd had a bit of stick for doing ballroom dancing, but when he reminded them that he was spending possibly the next ten weeks in close proximity with a dancer, they shut up. In fact, they seemed rather envious. Ron didn't mention that his partner just happened to be his long lost love of his life. All too soon, however, the first live show came upon them, and Ron was facing the prospect of dancing live to millions of wizards up and down the country.

He spent every spare moment practising steps. He didn't want to let Hermione down, and couldn't face the thought of being voted out in the first week. She kept promising him that wouldn't happen, but he wanted to make absolutely sure.

He arrived at the TeleWizion studios early, and was surprised to find Hermione there also. He found her in the ballroom studio where they would be dancing, as she looked around at the amount of space and the positions they would have. Ron gulped as he saw the rows and rows of gilt backed velvet cushioned chairs, the huge orchestra stand and enormous expanse that was the dance floor. To one side was a long gilt table with four seats behind it: this was where the judges would sit.

"Merry Merlin's aunt," he muttered softly. At the sound of his voice, Hermione turned round.

"Ron! Don't creep up on me like that, you startled me!" she gasped.

"Good morning to you too," he replied. She laughed.

"Hey, you want a quick practise now?" she asked, gesturing to the dance floor. He agreed gladly, and soon they were waltzing around the floor. Ron began to marvel at how quickly and easily he had become used to Hermione's presence once more, and how the unnaturally close grip no longer felt uncomfortable. He smiled at the thought that he would be dancing that evening with the long lost love of his life.

"Knut for your thoughts?" Hermione asked, softly, as they twirled round and round.

"I was just thinking, er," Ron cast around for something to say, "that, er, you're going to look very pretty in your dress tonight." Curse you Ron Weasley! You're not supposed to say what you actually were thinking!

"Oh," Hermione said, surprised, blushing slightly. "Erm, thank you. Have you seen what you're wearing yet?"

"No," Ron replied, startled. "Can't I just wear a suit?" The music finished and Hermione collected her CD player, laughing.

"No, Ron, you've got to wear proper dancing gear. Come on, I'll show you. I'll show you my dress at the same time," she added, glancing at him. Ron caught her glimpse, and the two of them hurriedly looked away again, not speaking until they reached the dressing rooms. Hermione went into hers and retrieved two large clothes bags, one of which she handed to Ron.

"Here's my dress," she said, lifting the bag and showing him. It was floor length pale blue material, with dark blue shimmering material veiled across it in several places.

"It's er, very nice," Ron said, lamely. Hermione grinned.

"Wait until you see yours," she said slyly. Slowly, Ron took out his costume: and yelled in shock. The trousers were going to come up way too high, and even had stirrups on the bottom to keep them attached to his dancing shoes. On top of that he had a pale blue shirt with ruffles down the front, and a dark blue bow tie and waistcoat.

"I. Am not. Wearing. That."

"Yes. You. Are. We have to go together, Ron, and the blue on your outfit matches my dress. Don't complain."

"Don't complain?! You don't have to wear this thing! I've never worn anything so hideous!"

"What about those dress robes in fourth year?" Hermione asked pointedly, a grin creeping up her face once more.

"I didn't have to wear those on national TeleWizion!" Ron yelled.

"Complain all you like then, but it's not changing. You are wearing those, and that is final." Hermione stalked off into her dressing room, slamming the door behind her and leaving Ron standing with mouth wide open and hideous dance costume in his arms. This show was not going to go well. He could feel it.