Chapter One

Christmas at the Hogwarts dorms had been an uneventful day, and vaguely disappointing, which was all the more surprising considering practically every student had decided to stay at school during the holiday break. Harry had, obviously, stayed at school, because neither he nor the Dursleys wanted to be in the vicinity of each other. He, Hermione, and Ron would have gone to stay at the Burrow, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, after many years, were on their second honeymoon. Ron had told her that Fred and George had gotten the tickets to Bora Bora for themselves initially, for a meeting with a huge company that would have taken Weasley's Wizard Wheezes international, but the dates for the meeting had been changed, and the tickets were nonrefundable. That story was a secret, however—to Arthur and Molly Weasley, it was simply a generous gift from two affectionate sons. Hermione would have visited her parents over the vacation, but Ron and Harry had convinced her otherwise; they swore their Hogsmeade trips wouldn't be as fun if she left, and she had to agree that everything was better when the three of them stuck together.

Hermione sat on the edge of her bed. It was late morning, and she had to meet Harry and Ron in the dining hall in ten minutes, but she hadn't opened her presents yet, and she was too eager, and couldn't wait another second. One was wrapped in plain blue paper—from Harry. The package was dense when she picked it up, and she knew immediately that it was a book. She tore off the wrapping paper eagerly and uncovered a handsome, leather-bound novel entitled The Life of an Auror: an Honest and True Account. She smiled—she knew that Harry had wanted to become an Auror, and lately, he had begun pressing the idea on the Ron and her. Attached was a small note: I hope this takes your mind off of SPEW for a few minutes. Have a wonderful Christmas. Love, Harry.

She knew that if she opened the book she wouldn't put it down until she finished it, and she didn't have time for that, so she instead moved on to her other presents. Her parents had also gotten her a book, although it wasn't magic-related like Harry's. It was heavier than Harry's book, and also much larger. She tore off the shiny silver paper—Multivariable Calculus. Hermione's parents had become worried with the curriculum at Hogwarts when the only mathematics Hermione could demonstrate to them was a long Arithmancy chart, which her parents only smiled tightly at, with an expression that clearly indicated that they did not consider that real math. Since then, they had begun sending her textbooks in various that muggles studied: mathematics, physics, and English. She already knew a considerable amount of math, so she assumed the textbook they sent her was university-level.

There was another package that was wrapped in a stiff box, and she immediately recognized that as a gift from Mrs. Weasley. Opening it, she found it filled with homemade fudge. Underneath the box of fudge was a thick, woolen scarf, with the initials H.G embroidered on the hem.

Her heart warmed in appreciation of Mrs. Weasley, who despite being on vacation, managed to make sure everyone got his or her presents on Christmas day. She admired her for allowing her entire family to be part of the Order, and most of all, for taking care of Harry. She and Mrs. Weasley were never incredibly close, but Hermione always respected her for loving Harry like one of her own sons.

Taking a bit of fudge, she began reaching for another present when there was a tap on her dorm window. Looking up, she noticed a stern-looking silvery gray owl perched on her windowsill. Attached to its leg was a letter.

Hermione quickly opened the windowsill and removed the letter from the owl's leg. The bird gazed inside her room imperiously, searching for its reward, but Hermione could only offer him fudge. He stared at it for a moment, almost affronted by this meager offering, and with a regal flourish of its wing, soared off. She shrugged.

She was about to open the scroll and read whom it was from, but she noticed the time and—she was late. The boys would be waiting for her, and as they had planned on reaching Hogsmeade before there was too much of a rush, they might have gone ahead without her. She scrambled with the letter still clutched in her palm, throwing on her coat and scarf and sped as fast as she could to the dining hall.

She scurried to the dining hall, the letter in her fist. She found Harry at the Gryffindor table, in their usual spots, and with a heavy sigh, sat down across from them.

"Hermione!" Harry said genially. She smiled.

"Where's Ron?" she asked.

"Ron? Oh, he went to the bathroom, actually. Told him it was best to go before we went to Hogsmeade. Did you plan on doing something there?"

"Oh, no, actually, I was looking forward to just browsing. A trip to Honeyduke's sounds fun. I've been craving their chocolate. The kind with the firewhiskey in them." They both chuckled.

Just then, Ron appeared, and she smiled at him.

"Hello, Ron," she said.

"Hey there, Hermione," he said a bit sheepishly.

Their relationship had been fairly silent recently. It had teetered between friendship and something more, and it seemed like neither was making the first moves to bridge that gap. She knew Ron must be too bit nervous and unsure, but she wasn't sure why she hadn't made any moves herself yet. She didn't know why didn't want to. Ron was wonderful, and everyone seemed to think there was something between them, but she wasn't sure about them yet. As a result, their conversations were fairly awkward and short, with Harry being the intermediary most of the time. Hermione knew this probably wasn't too much fun for Harry, and Ron probably realized it too; so today they were both determined to keep everything as light and fun as possible.

"Shall we go?" Harry asked. They nodded.

"Hey, Hermione, what's that?" Ron asked as they stood up, pointing to the letter in her fingers.

"Oh! That's um—" Hermione began, but she never finished because someone bumped into her, rather roughly, and in the process wrenched the letter from her fingers.

"What's this?" jeered Pansy Parkinson, unfurling the letter with her bony, pallid fingertips. Her face had an ugly, twisted sneer. Her eyes popped open in surprise as she read the top of letter, "A love letter? From Victor Krum?"

Ron's head snapped up to stare at Pansy. Pansy's face seemed to glow with the grotesque grin that spread across her face, distorting her features.

"Ah, yes, My Dearest Hermione," she began, and Hermione swallowed nervously as Pansy continued, "I know it has been many months, but even now, I think of you often. I still remember pulling you out of the lake in the second task of the Triwizard Tournament, and I must say, even now, you are the person it would most hurt me to lose—aww, how sweet, he's still quite fancies you," Pansy snickered. The Slytherin table burst into peals of laughter, seemingly led by Draco Malfoy, whose blond head bobbed up and down behind Crabbe, whose enormous shoulder blocked Malfoy's entire frame. The laughter wasn't confined to the Slytherin's—Hermione swore she saw Parvati turn her face away, her hand covering her mouth, her shoulders shuddering. Angry tears stung Hermione's eyes, but she mostly blamed herself for not keeping the letter in her own room.

"Shall I continue?" Pansy asked as the Slytherin's cheered, "all right—Everything has begun to seem quite empty without you—"

"Stop it," Hermione growled, her face red, "Give that back."

"Or what," Pansy drawled, "you'll get Krum to take it from me?"

The laughter intensified. Hermione seethed and opened her mouth to respond, but Harry stepped forward. His mouth was pressed into a hard line, his jaw set, and his eyes were deadly serious, green darts.

"Give the letter back to Hermione," he said slowly. His voice was soft, but still managed to somehow carry over the laughter, which was quickly dying out as the room sensed mounting conflict. It was clear that he was furious, and a strange power emanated from him, the kind that could quickly overtake a room. His hand was slung almost casually inside his robe, a clear indication that he would have no trouble whipping out his wand if necessary, and his expression of undisguised loathing conveyed that he would have no problem hexing the whole Slytherin table into cockroaches if they crossed him.

This was Harry at his most intimidating, and his most impressive. Hermione had always admired Harry for his ability to control a room, although Harry himself had never been aware of how influential he was, and she had even been a bit envious at times. Still, she had always loved him like a brother, and here, having him stand in front of her, trying to protect her, made her heart swell with affection. Even so, she couldn't stand the thought of him getting in trouble over her.

She was about to rebuke him, but Draco Malfoy had suddenly joined the action, accompanied by Crabbe, who seemed itching for a fight, and Hermione realized that this was probably not the time to be scolding Harry in public.

Pansy had shrunk away from Harry, but kept her eyes glued on Hermione, a look of contempt in her eyes. Hermione returned the stare steadily, and Harry glared at Malfoy.

"What's wrong, Potter," Malfoy sneered, "jealous of Krum? I wouldn't be, if I were you, why I have no idea what Victor Krum is doing with that Granger. You'd think he'd have better taste—I would never associate with some lowly mudblood—"

Ron finally found his voice.

"Shut up Malfoy, before I hex you to that wall over there," Ron barked, drawing his wand and pointing it threateningly at Malfoy, "and a good Permanent Sticking Charm might well do the trick… and then we can all sit here and watch Filch try to peel you off." The Gryffindors laughed heartily, but Malfoy continued to sneer, his eyes focused in on Ron's worn secondhand wand, the unicorn hair poking out of the tip, a brilliant white.

"With that wand, Weasley? I'd be surprised if you could still perform alohomora with it—that wand of yours is only good for scratching your back now, although, I suppose you didn't know how to do much else with it anyway."

"Shut up," Hermione said fiercely, "and give me back my letter."

"Or what, you'll tell McGonagall on us?" Malfoy sneered.

Hermione's body filled with a flash of hot anger, and she did something she was not expecting. She knew Draco would not be publically intimidated, so she trained her eyes on Pansy Parkinson, and in a long, fluid motion, drew out her wand.

The entire dining hall was silent enough to hear a pin drop. Hermione Granger, Head Girl, Prefect—about to duel with another student?

"What are you going to do, throw that at us?" Draco barked out a derisive laugh, but Hermione could hear the tinge of panic behind it. She knew could probably beat the entire Slytherin table in a duel if she had to. She'd read all about dueling; she knew more spells than anyone else in their year, and she knew that Pansy was staring at the end of Hermione's wand with an expression of sheer terror. In her peripheral vision, she could see Ron gaping stupidly at her, his wand now pointed at the floor. Even Harry looked surprised, although when she darted her eyes to the side to look at him, he seemed to give a small, supportive nod.

"In about two seconds," Hermione began, her voice high and clear, turning her eyes back to Pansy, "I'm going to perform the Full Body-Bind Curse on the three of you and leave you tied to a tree in the Forbidden Forest," her voice was flat, threatening. She saw Malfoy, Crabbe, and Parkinson swallow hard. "I'm sure you won't die," she continued, "I'm sure Hagrid will hear your screaming and come save you. Eventually," a hard, malicious grin tugged the corners of Hermione's mouth, "but the Forest can be quite nasty, I've heard."

The entire dining hall gaped, except for Harry, who pressed his lips together, suppressing an enormous grin. Pansy, already pallid and sickly-looking, grew even paler. Sensing defeat, and terrified of the forest, she threw the letter at Hermione's feet, and stormed out of the dining hall, seething, making strange choking noises that Hermione fervently hoped were suppressed sobs. She picked up the letter and tucked it into her pocket, and when she looked up, she noticed Draco was staring at her, his expression dangerous.

"This isn't over Granger," he began, his eyes steely, "I don't know how you could even think—"

"Actually, Malfoy," Hermione said, rolling the letter between her fingers, "it seems to me that this is over." She turned on her heel, and she, Ron, and Harry strode out of the dining hall, leaving Malfoy's bitter expression on his mouth.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry marched out of the dining hall together, as people stared at their backs and gaped. They could hear the whispers behind them; some admiring, like their fellow Gryffindors, and others malicious, seething, like the Slytherins.

"So—to Hogsmeade?" said Harry, who looked deceptively happy. She could still see Ron looking sullen and sulky behind her, and she knew that it was only a matter of time before the letter from Krum was brought up again. She didn't want to set anything off.

"Yes—to Hogsmeade," she agreed, hooking her arm in Harry's, as Ron followed them closely.

"I must say," Harry began, "that was rather impressive, Hermione. I do think Pansy Parkinson ran out in tears." he chuckled.

"It was something I actually picked up from you," Hermione said, and Harry raised his eyebrows, "You have a way of controlling a room, you know," she elaborated.

"Me?" Harry said incredulously, "Absolutely not."

But as vehemently as he denied it, Hermione saw him flush slightly pink with pleasure.

The minute they reached Hogsmeade, Harry and Hermione they decided to visit Rosmerta for drinks when Ron abruptly muttered something muddled about "meet you later… something to do…just go ahead without me" and disappeared before they could object.

Harry and Hermione ordered two butterbeers, then sat down together at a table.

Hermione sighed heavily. There was no keeping any secrets from Harry, who was truly the only person she could ever talk to without reservations. Especially about Ron.

"Ron's not pleased about Krum," she said, and Harry nodded somberly.

"Hermione…" Harry began, and she could see the guarded look in his eyes, "I know this is between you and him, but it's been months, and he's crazy about you and just doesn't know how to say it."

"I know that already," she replied.

"I know you do. So why don't you two just sort it out? Get together? Haven't you wanted to, since first year when you wouldn't leave us alone?"

"When I wouldn't leave you alone?" She began incredulously, "That's something. Who kept running after me all year, begging 'Hermione please check this', and 'Hermione please help me with that…'" There was no tension, just playful mocking. Harry laughed.

"That's true. You've saved us more times than we can count. Really, we'd never get anything done without you. It doesn't get said enough." Harry said, and she could feel the earnestness in his voice.

That was the thing with Harry, and it had always astounded Hermione. She knew what his home life was like—or, at least, she had a decent enough of an idea how terrible the Dursleys were. It seemed impossible that someone as decent and kind as Harry could come out of those circumstances. It seemed impossible that he, after suffering years of abuse and oppression, could turn out to be someone who could voice his emotions so clearly, so candidly. And yet, here he was. Her best friend.

Her best friend, who at the moment was convinced that Ron and Hermione were an inevitable pairing. It annoyed her sometimes, how so many people thought the same thing. Sure, she had a crush on Ron their first few years at Hogwarts, but they were children then, and it wasn't fair to hold the feelings she had when she was twelve over her head for the rest of her life. She knew that Harry meant it in the best way, that he truly believed that Hermione felt the same way about Ron that Ron felt about her, but it wasn't necessarily true. It had nothing to do with Ron and how wonderful he was—because, truly, he was wonderful—it was about herself. She wasn't sure how she felt, and until she could figure it out, it had seemed unfair to string Ron along in a pseudo-relationship just to appease the expectations of everyone around her.

She thought about the Yule Ball. She learned valuable lessons about herself that night. She had gotten dressed up, shrunk her teeth down, spent a horrendous amount of time and effort on her hair to make it lie smooth, and had gone with Viktor Krum, the famous Bulgarian Seeker, of all people. It was the first night that she had ever felt truly beautiful, like maybe her life was more than what she had previously expected. Why did she always think that cleverness and beauty were mutually exclusive? They weren't, she realized. Why did she think that just because she had dressed up and looked wonderful, that the world would bend to her will? It didn't—Ron had still been a jerk at the end of the night, effectively ruining everything for some reason. She had residual feelings about him back then, but after that, she had begun to realize that maybe that wasn't healthy for her. So instead of dwelling on a world of might-have-been's, she began writing to Krum.

Krum, who had been head-over-heels about her since he arrived at Hogwarts. Who had thought she was beautiful, long before she had shrunk her teeth or put on a pretty dress. Who had sat in the library for hours, watching her read, of all things, trying to work up the courage to talk to her while his own fan club fluttered about the library, giggling. Who asked her to come visit him, an offer which she had to decline because she had to stay with the Order and help guard Harry's life. It was all immensely flattering, and Hermione began to think that maybe, she deserved to be flattered like that by a boy. Maybe she wanted to be pursued, rather than the one doing the chasing. She didn't want to have to run after Ron and have her heart broken again and again—and she liked Viktor. She wasn't sure how much, or in what way just yet, but she knew Viktor was smart, talented, and sweet. And she simply had not come to any conclusions about how she had felt about Ron yet.

She realized that she hadn't said any of this out loud to Harry, who was staring at her warily, waiting for some type of response.

She sighed heavily, thinking that Harry did not need to hear everything that had just transpired in her mind, "I honestly haven't made up my mind about Ron yet, Harry," His mouth popped open in surprise, but she pressed on, "those childhood crushes were a long time ago. And I don't think you should expect me to know exactly how I feel. I don't want to make Ron think anything that he shouldn't—I'd never want to lead him on like that. We are friends first, and no matter what, I'd like to at least keep it that way."

Harry paused, "Do you think you like Krum instead?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I haven't really decided; it's all too complicated."

"Jeez, Hermione, your love life is fairly complex, isn't it?"

His timing couldn't have been worse—Cho Chang walked into the restaurant, and Harry quickly averted her gaze, awkward to the core.

"Clearly not the only one, though, eh?" Hermione prodded. Harry gave her a meaningfully exasperated look, but then smirked.

"I guess that's true. Hey, we should meet Ron at Honeyduke's. He'll be waiting for us."

Hermione sighed again, and watched Harry drain his butterbeer in one gulp.

On their way out, they passed Draco Malfoy and his gang, and Malfoy gave Hermione a malicious glare that set the hairs on the back of her neck straight up. She steeled her gaze, and felt Harry's arm tighten around her protectively.

Ron was waiting outside Honeyduke's, gangly and awkward, the tip of his nose red with the cold.

"Hey Harry. Hey Hermione," he said, still sounding rather sullen.

"Hey, Ron," Harry said, deceptively cheerful again, "Want to go inside?"

"Hermione," burst Ron spontaneously, "can I talk to you out here for a second? Harry, you carry on without us; we'll only be a minute."

"Sure, Ron," Harry said hesitantly, giving Hermione a meaningful look before going inside.

Ron stood in front of her, his hands stuffed in his pockets, shrugging his shoulders, and it suddenly occurred to her how boyish he was. He really was just an exceptionally tall child—really, he must have already cleared six feet now, he hadn't even come of age and she was sure he wasn't done growing. The length of him gave him a looming, wispy, melancholic air, or maybe that was the fact that he was currently staring at her morosely with that long-nosed face of his.

"So, about Krum," Ron began, and Hermione inwardly flinched, "are you seeing him?"

"Well, no."

"But you've been writing him?"

"Yes, or at least, I had. But we sort of fell out of touch after a while. While we were staying with the Order at the Burrow, you know. It was sort of difficult to send correspondence to other people."

"Well," Ron began bitterly, "he clearly wants to keep in touch now."

He looked so hurt and sulky, and Hermione immediately thought of how unfair that was, that he felt entitled to stare at her like she had ruined him or something. They were never an item. Ron had never even remotely expressed interest in her, except for one time when he was delirious and accidentally broke up with Lavender Brown for murmuring Hermione's name in his sleep. Hermione had waited for him for so long, and now that she had begun moving on, Ron had started digging his heels in, refusing to be put away without destroying something in the process. Hermione had hoped dearly that this wouldn't cost their friendship, but she was starting to reconsider.

"Are you… are you going to write him back?" Ron was staring down at her, so hopefully. It was tiring her, really, making her annoyed. Just say whatever it is you have to say, she thought, but Ron was still silent, waiting for her to reject Krum for him, for an advance that may never even come.

"Maybe," Hermione responded, and Ron's face immediately grew dark.

"Well, then," he grunted, "have fun with that."

He turned on his heel to leave her standing out there in the cold, and Hermione quickly felt furious.

"Ron," she barked, and he turned around to face her, shocked.

"W-What?" he stuttered.

She rounded on him, furiously, "What is the matter with you? What do you think you're doing, sulking around all the time, avoiding me, and then interrogating me whenever you feel like? Did you ever think of how I feel about all this—this—mess we're in?"

Ron's eyes hardened, "Look, if you're not…interested in me, Hermione, you'd better just say so. Go on running back to your famous Krum, your talented Krum, your rich K—"

"Don't you dare, Ronald Weasley!" she bellowed at him, "Don't you dare insult me like that! Don't you think I didn't wait for you? Years, Ron, I spent years thinking about you. You never noticed me, and then when you did, you never did anything about it. You instead grabbed up Lavender. And I have every right to like whoever I want, to see whoever I want, to feel whatever I want—"

"Yes, I get it, you're a classy, independent woman," Ron said acridly. Hermione felt her eyes fill up with tears, "Let me know when you run for the blasted Minister of Magic."

And he turned and left her alone in the frigid air.

Hermione felt hot, angry tears pour down her face, and then quickly get frozen by the cold air. A second later, Harry jogged out of Honeyduke's, his hands full of candy, and stopped in front of Hermione, his eyes full of concern. She could see his eyes spasm with discomfort when he noticed her sobbing.

"Hermione…" he began awkwardly, and she knew that he wasn't equipped to handle tears, and that there was nothing he could say that could make her feel better.

"Just leave it, Harry," she interrupted, "I'm going back to my room—I think I just need to be alone right now," she said. She turned away from him before he could say anything.

As she turned, she saw Draco Malfoy staring at her, his face glowing in a smug, malicious grin that made her blood boil. Incapable of words, she hurried right past him quickly, and heard him chuckle behind her.

(Hello! Please do comment, I'd love your feedback, and to know what you think so far!

-Belstine)