A.N. Harry Potter does not belong to me. The imagination behind this one-shot is the only thing that is mine. This story is a completely AU Hermione's history.
He watched her. He wasn't sure when it had started, but it was impossible to tear his eyes away. The small girl fascinated him, made him want to know her, made him want to understand what the pain behind the smile was.
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She felt eyes watching her. In the library, in the Great Hall, it didn't matter. She felt exposed, the eyes that watched her were probing, searching, examining. They searched her for any moment of weakness, when she would let down her mask and show the girl behind the fake smile.
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Many people did not know he was observant. They saw him as a pretty boy, useless to anyone unless they were of the female gender or if they wished for fifteen minutes of glory. They saw him as someone who basked in attention, someone who had nothing but frivolous thoughts in his head.
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Masks were essential for her, necessary for her existence. People think that they want to know what a person is truly like, but they hide in the face of such knowledge. Her true self was hidden from everyone, even her two best friends. They did not want to know what she was truly like, why she strived to attain knowledge, why she went to such lengths to prove herself. No one wanted to know, no one cared.
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The girl was an enigma. She was extremely smart, a fact that was known throughout the school. She was loyal, brave, a Gryffindor to the core. Everyone though they knew her, but did they really? Did they know who her parents are, other than the fact they are muggles? Did they know her dreams and goals, other than her pursuit of knowledge? What was she really like? Why did she wear a mask? Why has no one else noticed?
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She felt eyes again. It was actually pretty simple to figure out who was watching her, but what was surprising was who. She did not expect and pretty boy like him, two years older than her and in a different house, to be the one watching her. She felt uncomfortable, knowing that he was watching her so intently, knowing that he was trying to figure her out. In all her years at Hogwarts, everyone avoided knowing her, accepted her as the know-it-all bookworm, Gryffindor mudblood extraordinaire.
She watched him disdainfully, the boy trying carefully to tear down her walls. He, too, wore masks, wore fake smiles, wore the costume assigned to him. He was the epitome of perfection, a good student, a Quidditch player, a prefect, and overall, a pretty boy. Yet, even though he had all of this, he wore a mask. Regardless of all that, he tried to figure her out. She did not have peace in the library, during meals, even in the halls when she passed by him. What was he doing?
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He walked into the library, going straight for his desk, when he realized it was occupied. Her telltale curly hair gave her away and he was startled when he realized she didn't have any books or work in front of her. She was stiff; her arms were crossed and she was looking out the window. She looked frustrated and sad at the same time and he took a moment to look at the oxymoron she personified. It was strange, her calm façade was cracking and he had a feeling it was his fault. He really needed to get this conversation out of the way before she broke completely.
" Granger?" he asked softly, as he sat down across from her. Her spine stiffened and when she looked at him with cool eyes. Her mask was on again.
"Diggory. I am not one to waste words so I will get to the point: What are you playing at? I have felt you watching me, staring at me, and frankly, it's getting old." She said this all in a cool voice that had the underlying threat of anger barely suppressed.
"I have done nothing like that, Granger. I am merely seeing you, the real you, the one hidden beneath who everyone thinks you are." The end of this statement was quiet, almost a whisper, as if confiding in her a great secret. She was not placated by his small explanation of his motives, in fact, this angered her even more.
"Who they think I am? Who do you think I am, Diggory? What gives you the right to stalk me, pick me apart, try to figure out who I am? You are nobody to me, not a friend, not even a classmate. I have never had any communication with you, save for exchanging pleasantries. I don't want you to know me, to dissect me, to try to figure me out!" She punctuated her statement by standing up to leave, sick of this chat that was leading her to nothing but frustration. She didn't see his hand shoot out, holding her in place.
He knew he was playing with fire, but he couldn't help it. He had observed her for a long time, had seen her when her mask cracked, had seen her true self, full of and pain and sadness. "Why do you wear a mask Granger? What are you hiding?"
His inquiry was stopped when she tugged her wrist out of his grip, throwing him a weary look that spoke volumes; her eyes looked old and wise, the eyes of a child that had grown up too quickly. "No one will ever know, Diggory," her eyes were sad as she said this, "I'll make sure of it." With that she walked away, walked away from someone who actually cared to find out what was behind the girl who strived for knowledge, who sometimes let her mask crack enough for a person to look through. He watched her jog out of the library, ignoring the look Madame Pince threw her. He watched his opportunity to meet Hermione Granger walk out the door.
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Weeks later, during the third challenge of the Triwizard Tournament, Hermione Granger remembered her conversation with Cedric Diggory. She thought about it as Fleur Delacour and Viktor Krum were declared out of the running for the cup. She thought about it as they were informed that the cup was a Portkey. She thought about it as she saw her best friend come back, only this time with Cedric Diggory in his arms, dead. She thought of the words that would never be exchanged, and as no one watched, Hermione Granger broke a little more.
A.N. Well, this is my first angst story, so tell me what you think. There will be a prequel posted soon, so please be patient for it. Thank You!