Lord, I can't believe I'm doing this again....

Another ball at Hogwarts. Honestly, you'd think they'd be tired of the hype, being that the Yule Ball was barely a year ago. But, oh no, the girls loved it. Everybody loved it.

Hannah Abbot started a petition, the blonde wench. A petition that nearly everyone at Hogwarts jumped at the opportunity to sign.

You guessed it...they wanted to have another dance. No, not just one more. A yearly dance. As if one wasn't bad enough. Dumbledore, being the (heaven help me) amiable git that he can be, agreed.

So now for at least two ruddy months out of every school year, the girls will bustling about, giggling and goggle-eyed, jabbering over their dresses and their dates. Lavender

Brown bounded up to me the other day, a dreamy look in her eye, asking if I thought Neville would ask her. What could I say?

Why, of course he will, Lavender! Don't be silly!

As the yanks say..."duh!" Who else in their right mind would agree to going with him? Even he knows that. Maybe you should wash that bleach out of your hair, sweetheart. I think it's seeping into your brain. Wait, what's that? Your just naturally stupid? Excuse me then, it was wrong to make fun.

Next thing I know, she grabs me by the arm and drags me into the Gryffindor common room. What does she want? To show me her dress, of course. I stroked my aching arm and 'admired' her gown.

Goodness, that's beautiful! Where on earth did you get that?

I lied, it was hideous. But I did want to know where on EARTH she could find something that could looked straight from the Muggle-American sixties. Don't they only sale those at American vintage shops? But I suppose that would be a little harsh on the Muggles.

Wow, Lavender, it really does bring out the color in your eyes!

Sure, it had enough green stripes to slightly hint at her eye color. But of course, I bit my tongue and pretended not to notice that it also brought out her nearly-negative A cup as well. I myself am not exactly voluptuous, but I at least have enough sense not to show it off. Perhaps I should have suggested tissue? No, that would have been awfully rude.

Four days later. The dance has come. I left every bit of dignity and self-pride at Hogsmeade when I went out and against my will, bought a gown. I figured I might as well go for show. It would be a bit snobbish of me to stay in the Gryffindor room...though I deeply wanted too. Along with the dress, I bought another can of disgustingly sticky hair gel. I primped, I propped, I brushed, I struggled, I applied makeup, I coughed, and I cried until I was finally ready. As opposed to other girls, dressing up does not come naturally to me. I imagine I looked rather pretty, as I admittedly did last time, but that hardly soothed over my deep self-resentment for attending this overrated ball.

So I went. I sat through the feast. I smiled and played happy. I sat through the opening ceremony. I smiled and played happy. I sat through nearly half the dance. I smiled and played happy.

And now I'm here...an hour before the end of the dance. My cheeks are a bit numbed from

my fake enthusiasm, but other than that I'm actually not as miserable as I thought I would be. Maybe it's because I know I only have one more hour to sit through this. Maybe it's because I'm enjoying the music. Or maybe even I've had one too many butterbeers, but I'm quite content sitting in the dark corners of the dance room. I should go dateless every year. Looking over, I can see Harry talking with Seamus by the food. I can see Ron dancing with...oh no...poor girl.

Ron's dancing with Parvati. I think it's dancing, anyway. It looks like he's imitating a monkey with a hoola-hoop. A group of Slytherin's are snickering and pointing in their direction.

Poor Parvati...poor sweet, pretty, Parvati.

The song just ended. Parvati walked off, shaking her head. Can't exactly say I blame her.

Now Ron's looking in my direction and...oh no...he's coming over here....

Oh God...please don't let him ask what I think he's about to. No...go away Ron...go away...

Sure Ron, I'd love to dance with you!

Argh! Yeah right! I want to kick myself. I really do. Why did I agree to dancing with him?

Sure, I was the only girl sitting down, but did he have to pick me? Why me? WHY?!

Don't get me wrong, Ron's a great guy. But for what reason on the good Lord's planet did he have to come and ruin my life just as I had started to feel the least bit of content?

Thanks a lot Ron, you inconsiderate little monkey.

Yep, I think that's a slow song. No, you put your hand here. Right...no, right here. There you go.

I don't want to dance with you. I want to sit in my dark little corner and wallow in my misery. Honestly, is that really so much for a simple girl to ask? It would be heaven compared to dancing with you, you big ape. If only you weren't my friend...oh, WHY must I be so nice all the time?

Easy there, buddy! If his hand goes any lower I will slap him. Be it an accident, ignorance, or pure intent, I will slap him.

I know, isn't this a cool song? Yes...yeah I love this song.

Someone give me a handgun. Or a noose. Pills. Someone just take me out of my sugar coated misery...

No! What am I saying? I love Ron! I do. But I don't love his dancing. Heaven forbid, the guy cannot dance. Oh my...slow down some, Ron, please?

You know, I've never noticed this before, but Ron, as confessedly cute as he is, has an annoyingly excessive amount of freckles. Each one a little speck of brown and tinted with shades of red...God, how I hate them. They're have eyes, those freckles. They're sticking out...any further, they'd escape and attack me. Especially that big mole on the side of his face. That mole will lead in the freckle revolt one day. Oh God, I'm going nuts.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCCCCCCCCCCCCCCHHHHHHHHH!

Hurt? Nah, I'm fine. Barely felt it.

Ice! Oh my Lord, I need ice! Pain-killers! Ron's big hoof of a foot trampled mine! Oh, my poor foot...my poor, poor foot. I need that foot, God dammit! I walk almost 6 miles a day in this bloody school! All the price for taking advanced classes. Though once McGonagall sees that I've agreed to dancing with Ron, she'll be sure to question my intelligence.

You know, people see me as perfect. 'Perfect Hermione'. 'Perfect and Polite Hermione.' It gets so old. Sometimes I just want to be like every other person and be rude as hell. But what do I do? Live up to their expectations. Damn, I'm such a loser.

Straighten up Hermione, don't let him see you limping...that would be rude.

Oh, to heck with it...

I might just collapse in his skinny little arms. I'm in pain, I'm dizzy, and he's going to fast.

Stay on beat, nitwit! It's a slow dance, not a tango!

Maybe I should see Madam Pomfrey after this is over...

Oh, you like my dress? Thanks! I think you look rather handsome yourself!

Aww, look. You made the poor little sap blush. Smile like you mean it now, Hermione.

That's a girl. Note to self: Stamp big 'L' on forehead.

No...I don't love him...I don't....

How long do songs last anyway? This has got to be the longest song in history. I think that somebody was plotting against me. Somebody hates me. The Slytherins are looking over here, having quite a fun time laughing at my misery. Let's add salt to the injury while were at it. And lemon juice. And freckles.

I bet one of them planned this. One of them somehow forced Ron to ask me to dance, and requested a long song. Is that logical? No, but who cares? I'm miserable.

Get a hold of yourself, Hermione! You love Ron, remember? He loves you too, just look at his face!

But the fool cannot dance.

Ack! Don't kick, stupid! Ow! Is it so much to ask that I make it through the evening without being covered in bruises? Is it, Ron? I paid a good bit for this dress.

Ow, ow, ow! That did it. I have to tell him something. Come on Hermione, tell him he's killing you. This is abuse, for crying out loud. Isn't that illegal? OW!

Ron, I....

Oh, I can't. I just can't. Suck it up, Hermione...

Wait...the music...

It's stopped! The music stopped! The blasted song is over! Your free, Hermione, free!

Wait, why's he looking at me? Oh, that's right...

Ron, I wanted to tell you that I've really enjoyed dancing with you.

That was terrible. Absolutely horrid.

...but why do I still love him?