A/N: It's a very very long time since I wrote or even read any fanfiction so I'm not sure precisely what's got the bug back into me now! Procrastination, chiefly, I think… anyway, needless to say I have no claim over these characters and they are all the work of J.K. Rowling. Oh and I guess I should also say that the title is taken from a not-very-well-known song by Elton John.
Original Sin
It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to kiss him, Hermione thought despondently as she lay in bed, the blanket pulled up tightly round her chin in a vain attempt to counter her slightly sick shivering. It's just, she hadn't expected it… or at least, she hadn't known for sure that it would happen and she wasn't prepared. It was, she reflected, like how Ron or Harry might feel in Charms when Professor Flitwick asked them a question about some reading they had omitted to do – they could and should have been ready for it but still they weren't. Except at the same time it wasn't at all like that! Merlin knows she'd tried to read around the subject and she had devoted as much time and energy as she could to finding out what she might be able to say or do at the right moment. Why, she cursed, didn't they have, I don't know, classes or something on it? Then she wouldn't have had to turn her head to the side and wriggle out of his arms, which had been so comfortable until she saw his gaze darken, and he tongue darted out to wet his lips and he had leaned in ever so slightly… she flushed deeply, remembering how her heart had thudded just once and she had done her silly twirly stupid squirm. His fingers had slid down her arm as she pulled away, gently brushing her skin, grasping her hand and then trailing away reluctantly. When she had dared to look back at him he looked confused and she didn't blame him. During the Yule Ball he had fetched her enough drinks that she had tipsily flirted with him, teasing and even touching him… and then she'd managed to say "I could do with stepping outside for some air," just like Ginny had told her, and he'd known – or thought he'd known – what she meant and they'd been outside by the lake and it had been romantic, really it had and oh, she was fifteen, why on earth hadn't she been able to kiss him? For all her gloating over Ron, she had failed to be a girl, because girls, she knew, liked to be kissed and didn't panic because they hadn't found the right technique in a book. A single tear rolled down her face. She might never get another opportunity – she definitely wouldn't with Viktor – and it wouldn't matter if she did because she would clearly just duck away again. Because she was a childish, cowardly, foolish idiot; she didn't even deserve to have boys wanting to kiss her. Especially not boys, no, men, she corrected herself, like Viktor whom all the girls liked because he was famous and he was good-looking with his dark hair and pure, fleckless black eyes and even his crooked nose somehow suited him – it made him look different to the others, more experienced… Well, that thought certainly sent a shiver through her. But it was pointless. She had had her chance to press herself against him and feel his masculinity surrounding her and she had walked (wriggled, oh no) away. She would just have to stay in her room until the Triwizard Tournament was over; even the library was not worth the risk of having to meet his eyes and see him nodding to himself that yes, books were all she was good for.