Some Enchanted Evening

It is peaceful by the lake. Peaceful and lonely. This stretch of bank, anyway. Certain parts of the lakeside seem to have become designated social spots somehow; she supposes it's just one of those things. Even at a time like this, when the air is palely inky and just starting to get cool, there will be people there, giggling, setting her teeth (though she won't admit it) just the slightest bit on edge. She knows, though she doesn't like to think about it, why she hasn't made many friends. It's because she would almost always rather be somewhere else, away from everybody, not having to think of things to say. Conversation is like chess. But less fair.

This, though, is just the kind of place Hermione likes. It is secluded, hidden from the rest of the grounds by a fringe of trees. There is a little crescent-moon shore of pebbles, and closer to the trees, a flat smooth rock where she now sits, cross-legged, a book in her lap. She knows she can't stay much longer- the cold is beginning to seep through her robes into the backs of her legs, and the air has crossed some invisible line and begun to bite, just slightly, at her bones. She resolves to leave now, before it gets cold enough that the beauty of it all is ruined for her. She takes a moment to look out across the glassy water, gunmetal and black breathing like an icy, living skin, and snaps her book decisively shut. In the stillness, it seems to her that the sound reverberates across the lake like a gunshot. She stands, brushes her hands over her robes. For some reason, she takes a deep breath.

'Hermy-own-ninny?'

Hermione starts. She turns to see Viktor standing by the trees, straight-backed in his furs. He comes towards her. The way he is looking at her takes her by surprise. His gaze is fixed on her face; she feels her cheeks tingle against the cold air. She isn't sure what to do. Stare back? But it's… flattering. He comes to a halt in front of her, his feet planted squarely in the gravel. He looks as if he's about to propose, she thinks, wildly. What am I meant to do?

'You are cold?'

The way he says it, it could be the most serious, important thing ever spoken. It's the way he says everything. Hermione takes a breath of chilly air, finds she can't think of anything to say, exhales. Shakes her head. It doesn't seem to have made any difference; Viktor is removing his thick fur coat and draping it over her shoulders. It is even heavier than it looks, and she staggers slightly. Viktor puts a hand on her arm to steady her, and she can feel the solid pressure of it even through the layers of deep, matted fur. Her heart gives a silly little skip. It is oddly thrilling, being wrapped in a coat like this, a coat that smells of pine and dusty animal. And Viktor is still gazing at her in that strange forceful way.

'You come here. Alone.'

Hermione doesn't have the first idea what kind of a response he expects to this. She was there alone, he saw her there alone, and besides, it didn't sound like a question. Eventually, she nods, and then, because some sort of explanation seems to be needed, says 'It's… peaceful. I come to read.'

Viktor's expression doesn't change, but his gaze becomes somehow even more intense. She knows she ought to be uncomfortable, but somehow she isn't. She smiles. Viktor seems to come to some sort of resolution. He places a firm hand on her shoulder and bends down and Hermione has no idea what he's doing, something she will feel unbelievably stupid about much later when she lies staring at the ceiling of her bed, both hands pressed over her nose and mouth. As soon as his lips touch hers, though, her stomach flip-flops and she thinks, in a dazed, disjointed way, He's kissing me. This is my first kiss. I've kissed someone. His lips are as firm as his hand, and after a few seconds she works up the courage to press tentatively back, just a little. His hand moves from her shoulder to the side of her face, holding her steady, which is a relief because she is beginning to feel dizzy. His palm is cool and dry. She is surprised by how nice it is. The kiss, as well as the palm. She had always worried she'd hate it. Not so much lately, though she doesn't really know why. She supposes she's distracted by all the bickering she and Ron seem to be doing. That's a much bigger worry.

Viktor pulls away, very gently. He smiles down at her- the first real smile she's seen on him. His eyes look, suddenly, much warmer. She makes a ridiculous, breathless little sound between a gasp and a laugh, and smiles back. He holds out his arm, like she always imagined Cinderella's Prince would when she gets into his carriage at the end.

'I may walk you to the castle?'

Bizarre. He does look quite a lot like the Prince always did, in her head. More muscular than her Prince, perhaps. Darker hair.