Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, particularly the movie, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire from which some quotes are taken.

Note: During this particular scene, I always have trouble remembering the quotes, so bear with me if they aren't exact.

Dance Lessons

"Now, just place your right hand on my waist."

"Where?"

"My waist."

Ron Weasley and Minerva McGonagall, Goblet of Fire Movie

Oh, God, this must be some sort of nightmare or something, that is the only possibility. This is even worse than driving that Ford Anglia as if my life depended on it (which it did), away from those man-eating acromantulas. If only Mosag had been real, and not just because she has nice legs. . . . Why the bloody hell am I thinking this? She is a spider; spiders cannot er . . . do anything with humans. But Hermione can. . . . Ah, I'm going crazy! Hermione is a friend! What was my point again? Ah, well, it doesn't matter anyway.

Mum actually thinks I have ADD, to tell you the truth. What is ADD? I don't know! And more importantly, I don't wish to know. Oh, wait, it's coming back to me now, it stands for Attention Deficit Disorder or something like that. Of course, that's in Hermione's terms. In English, it's that I have trouble paying attention and go off on these crazy tangents, at least that's what Mum says. I can pay attention perfectly when the subject's interesting enough - like killing Snape in the most gruesome way possible (letting a herd of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts loose on him has its points). But for stuff like History of Magic, everyone is bored and dazed if not asleep within ten minutes, coming to just to jot down a random phrase or word. Mine are usually nonsensical, a bit like this.

Goblin Rebellions

goblins . . . bad

many people die, goblins are unclean . . . ugly . . . bloody rich

Snape is a vampire.

Snape and goblins die during rebellions.

um . . . goblins bad, wizards beat goblins I think.

Hermione, Hermione, Hermione. . . .

And that's all, there is no more. I repeat: that is all. Hermione's the only great one in History of Magic, she's so nice and smart and wonderful and b-, um the best person in the world (or at least in Hogwarts), for letting us copy her notes.

"For the Yule Ball is, first and foremost, a dance," I hear McGonagall say. What? A dance? Nooooo! Who the bloody hell mentioned a dance of all things? Oh, yeah, McGonagall, that must have been my point at the beginning. Maybe Mum's right about this ADD thing after all and maybe, just maybe, if I pay better attention in my classes, Hermione will notice me. Not that it matters, it's to bring her own self-esteem up, because it's not like any guy will ever really want to have a relationship with her, especially since Harry, her only hope, seems to like Cho now. I mean, come on, she's a bookworm! If she could choose between reading The Advanced Theory of Numerology and watching a close Quidditch game between the Cannons and the Arrows, she'd choose to read! Not that there's anything wrong with that, I'm a supportive friend; and, as a supportive friend, it is my job to help her. Therefore, if it makes her self-esteem go up to have a relationship with me, I'd be open to help her and that would be it. That would be all. Seriously . . . really. . . .

Although even I - a supportive friend - have to admit that when her hair is all tousled after coming in from a windy day outside, it looks kind of nice, and now that her teeth are shrunk, they look . . . pretty nice. So now she looks, er . . . more nice. I wonder what she's wearing to the Yule Ball thingy; I wonder how she's doing her hair. Should I ask? Has anyone invited her yet? Probably not, I tell myself. She's pretty plain-looking, but, maybe as a friend, I could. . . .

But, no, it's a dance, a formal dance. So, not only do I have to dance (formal, old-people dancing, not break-dancing which I can at least do alright. But then again, that might have been because one: it was a dream and two: I was in front of a crowd of man-eating spiders that would tear me apart if I didn't entertain them, and make me extremely uncomfortable even if it didn't kill me). Plus I have to wear those horrible dress robes that Mum sent me with lace and a button-up collar, so they basically look like a dress! I may have followed butterflies into a glade a few years back (and even that was a dream!), but I am not and never will be gay! I actually did consider burning them, but then realized that someone might take pictures, (who knows if Colin is going with anyone?). The robes that the bouncing ferret git laughed at when he saw me unpacking them in the Great Hall. How I hate him, I just want to rip his head off and plant it on a stake at the entrance to the Gryffindor common room to warn any Slytherins that Ron Weasley is a fearsome person. And then, Hermione will see how brave and macho I am, and will go to the Yule Ball with me . . . as friends . . . to boost her self-esteem. . . .

But, no, I have to dance and right now McGonagall is talking about dance lessons, the whole reason why this day is the worst day in the history of Hogwarts. Dance lessons? Dance lessons?! I cannot dance! Haven't I stressed that enough? No, it seems not and it seems that McGonagall doesn't care, for she's droning on about how great Godric Gryffindor is and how Gryffindor has commanded the respect of the wizarding world for, well . . . for a long time (there goes my trying to sound like Hermione), and basically how we had better not mess it up. Stupid bloody founders, I bet it was Rowena or Helga who came up with this stupid Yule Ball dance thingy in the first place and Godric and Salazar were all whiny about it. I bet that's why old Slytherin made the Chamber of Secrets, because he was angry about the Yule Ball, so Harry can blame all of his misery in second year (and all of Hermione's misery!), on Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Guess he can forget about Cho Chang, now. But then again, guess not, she's too pretty to be evil and Harry's a stubborn, noble jackass, anyway who would try to save Cho from the "evil of her House," or whatever. However, while I reflect on the plight we Gryffindors have gotten ourselves into now (oh, Merlin, I sound like Percy!), Fred and George are murmuring something and laughing under their breath while all the other Gryffindor boys are looking bored.

However, the girls' side of the room is the exact opposite of this, they're all passing notes to each other (it's a good thing that Mad-Eye isn't here). Even Hermione is, she just wrote something to Ginny, who shows it to Parvati, who shows it to Lavender, who breaks into a fit of small giggles and the four grin at each other. I roll my eyes - girls, you can't live with them and you can't live without them. Hermione shoots me a glance now and I feel my ears go scarlet. What does she want? What was that note about? Is she thinking of inviting me to the Yule Ball, is she wishing that I would invite her. Or . . . is she saying that she was asked by someone else? No, that couldn't be! It couldn't! Because . . . because it wasn't like any guy would ever want a relationship with her, and if she had been invited it was probably a guy teasing her - that git, it was probably Malfoy. I'll make sure to get him back when I go with her, because that's what good friends do, especially when their girlfriend (as in a friend who's a girl, not a girlfriend), is one as sensitive as Hermione.

The girls giggle again and the guys roll their eyes as McGonagall turns to them and says, "Inside every woman there is a swan, waiting to burst forth." The guys sigh and Hermione shoots me another glance. Or she might be looking at Harry with his arm in a sling and everything, as if he's a big hero when all he did was outfly a Hungarian Horntail who could have given him a slight roasting and, oh, yeah, he nearly fell off the castle roof. But besides that, he wasn't at all brave!brave stuff and it was me, Ron Weasley who had to put an arm around Hermione to comfort her while she was screaming her head off and saying something about a wand. Oh, yeah, that might have been for Harry to use a Summoning Charm, because she's so much smarter. Then again, I might panic when I'm about to be roasted, too. She might as well give up, though, she doesn't have much of a chance with him, like I said, he fancies Cho, but there is me. So, is she staring at me or not? And if so, why? I mean, it was me, Ron Weasley, who nearly had a heart-attack when I saw him doing all that

And there's only one way to find out. Throwing caution to the winds, I say, "There's something that's about to burst inside me and I don't think it's a swan." The Gryffindors around me laugh, yet McGonagall turns to me, a strange expression on her face. OK, maybe that wasn't such a great idea. Great, now she's going to take a million points off of Gryffindor and I'll be nothing again - I'll be Ron Weasley, the youngest son in my family and a kid who's afraid of spiders - in other words, nothing.

However, I've never been particularly skilled at Divination and McGonagall doesn't say what I think. In fact, it is something far worse than taking a million points off of Gryffindor. She smiles and says, "Inside every man, there is a lordly lion prepared to prance. Mr. Weasley, would you join me, please?" There is a collective laugh from the boys' side this time. Traitors! I stay sitting and McGonagall beckons to me threateningly with a look that says, "get up here, now, or you will have detention until you graduate," and with a prod from a grinning Harry, I stumble up to the old witch.

She nods and says, "Now, place your right hand on my waist."

Her what? Isn't she a bit too old for me? I'm sorry, but we cannot have a relationship, it just wouldn't work out, I feel like saying. Yet, I don't say any of this, instead I say something that I know I will regret until my dying day: "Where?" Along with that, I do one of those grotesque faces that, if someone were to take a picture of, would wonder what sort of pain I was in.

"My waist," she answers, above the students giggling. Never have I felt so adolescent, not even knowing what a girl's waist is. But I know! It's where they curve wonderfully, yet when you're seventy years old, your beauty kind of starts to decline, so that it's just . . . blah. Doesn't she know that? Or does she think that she has a chance with Dumbledore? Or . . . me? I think I might be sick. Nevertheless, I place my hand . . . there, amid whistles from Fred and George and the other boys laughing.

Music starts now as McGonagall steers me across the floor (I think it's actually called "leading," but whatever). Wait a second - music? Is McGonagall flirting with me? Does she like me, that way? That must be it, why she didn't choose any of the guys who were laughing, because she likes me - that's why! I can see it now, me at the Yule Ball in those girly dress robes and her coming up with her hair in that same tight bun and snogging me to her heart's content while Harry laughs his head off, his arm out of the splint and Hermione looks on pityingly while she is led off by . . . Viktor Krum? No, that isn't going to happen. There is no way that Hermione can go out with a star Quidditch player, she's mine! And . . . and it's not as if he would like her, anyway, it's a dream, that's it, just a scary dream. . . . It's not like the Viktor Krum would even think of inviting plain Hermione Granger to the Yule Ball.

"Everybody! On your feet!" McGonagall orders as she steers (or is it leads?), me around the classroom. Is it just me, or is she humming to herself? I feel bile well up in my throat and force myself not to puke. At least it's not spiders, at least it's not spiders, I repeat in my mind frantically as the girls get up and go over to the boys' side, some of them casting me pitying glances (and some of them giving McGonagall pitying glances!). The girls pull the boys to their feet and find themselves a partner, it seems like it's on a first-come, first-serve basis to me. I crane my neck to see who's dancing with who. There's Ginny with Neville, ah, well, that's not too bad, Neville looked pretty willing, anyway, and then Hermione . . . where's Hermione? I look for her in the limited space that McGonagall and I are revolving in, but am only able to catch glimpses of things: Parvati with her arms around Seamus's neck, Angelina and Fred - Fred who is trying not to tread on the former's toes, Filch "dancing" with Mrs. Norris - freaky.

Hermione, where are you? I feel like yelling, but then I catch a glimpse of bushy, brown hair and look to see Hermione with her arms around . . . around Harry! No! I thought that he liked Cho, why is he with Hermione? I guess that I crane my neck too far for McGonagall's standards, for she draws me back with a sharp snap. "Mr. Weasley, will you pay attention?"

What did I ever do to deserve this? Harry is with Hermione and I'm with old McGonagall. It's not that I mind Hermione simply dancing with him, but it's that he won't be able to keep his promises if she thinks she'll be able to have a relationship with him. For God's sake, can't the insensitive jerk see that he's just raising her hopes of having something more than a friendship going on even if he's already committed to Cho? Poor, innocent Hermione, I'd help her, but, no, I'm stuck with McGonagall. Once again, what did I do to deserve this? The only time I kicked her was when I thought that it was Mrs. Norris, and that was in first year. I was an innocent first-year! Can't she understand that? Why, oh why does she have to punish me now, right when Hermione needs my support most? Why, why, why?

There is soft, romantic music playing in the background now and I am revolving slowly on the spot with my dance partner under bright lights. This must be the Yule Ball, I decide. But where are my dress robes? For when I look down at myself, I see myself dressed in royal-blue dress robes with gold trim around the edges. I look, for lack of a better word . . . handsome! Let's see Harry beat this! However, when I look up at my dance partner, I feel mediocre in comparison for there is Hermione. I am stunned speechless as I see her, her hair is drawn up in an elegant bun with curled strands of it framing her face. There are faint glimmers of makeup on her perfect features and she is wearing periwinkle blue dress robes with flowing veil-like sleeves and a low neckline. If they had been white, it would have looked as if she were getting married. Which she might . . . hopefully she might . . . to me.

I stare slack-jawed at her for a moment, until she smiles and says, "Mr. Weasley, what are you doing?" There is a slight laugh in her voice and I grin at her. Flirting with me now, is she? 'Mr. Weasley,' instead of 'Ron,' now, am I?

"Just taking in your beauty, my dear," I reply, trailing my fingers down her neck tenderly.

"What are you doing?" she asks, a bit of a reprimand in her voice.

Normally, Hermione's snap would have stunned me speechless and I would have stopped instantly, but I am beyond reason, now, I'm in love. Hermione's not just my friend, anymore, she's my love! "I love it when you act like this," I whisper, before kissing her passionately, my arms going around her neck as I move them everywhere, feeling her perfect body, not caring who's watching as the kiss continues. I'm in love and I don't care who knows it!

I am brought to by a resounding slap on my cheek and draw back, rubbing it. Did I go too far? Is it all over? It is then that I hear a whistle and laughter breaks out. I look to see that it was George who had whistled and is now bent over, clutching a stitch in his side and laughing his head off while Fred does the same. Must be surprised by my show of affection toward Hermione, when before she's simply seemed to be a friend . . . a good friend. Oh, but she's so much more than that now! However, it is then that I realize that none of them are in their dress robes and, upon looking at myself, I see that I'm dressed in my plain school robes. And if this isn't the Yule Ball, then . . . oh, please God, no. Please God, please!

"What exactly did you mean by that uncouth display, Mr. Weasley?" a sharp voice asks and I look up to see Professor McGonagall, her mouth the thinnest of thin lines, straightening her bun and moving her high-collared robes up still higher.

"I . . . well, I. . . ." I stammer, blushing crimson as I notice Harry and Hermione watching me raptly, the only straight faces of students while other couples lean against each other, clutching stitches in their sides, and, although Harry's lips are twitching, I can tell that he's trying his best not to laugh. My blush fades slightly - only slightly, mind you - since I'm glad that I have a good friend such as him, even if he is the wizarding world's savior and even if he is giving Hermione false hopes. However, it all changes when I see Hermione, she looks confused, dazed. Did I actually ruin my chance with her? Does she think I'm committed somewhere else? Oh, God, if she thinks I have a . . . relationship with McGonagall, I'll die! How am I supposed to ask her to the Yule Ball now when she thinks that one of her best friends is committed elsewhere? Oh, God, what did I do to deserve this?

"Detentions all this week, Mr. Weasley and I will be telling the headmaster about this," Professor McGonagall says curtly, although not totally hiding the shakiness in her voice. "Class dismissed," she says and all of the students leave, the girls and guys separating into their own cliques and whispering and laughing about what has just happened. It will be around the school in a few hours or less, I know; even Malfoy will know. God, I thought dance lessons were horrible, but this is so much worse, I'll only ever be friends with Hermione and the school will talk about the affair that the nothing Ron Weasley had with Professor McGonagall for ages to come.

Note: Well, that's it . . . for now! When the Order of the Phoenix movie comes out (sixteen days!), then I'll see if there are any good quotes for Ron and, hopefully, write a chapter for it. I'm pretty sure there will be, though, I mean, he's Ron, he's the comic relief in the whole series. Without him, who would I have to laugh at?