A/N: I wrote this story as a challenge to basically avoid all mention of Slytherins... a difficulty given my inherent fascination with them. So here is Hermione with someone other than Blaise or Draco - I hope you enjoy it :)
In His Kiss?
There would be no reprieve from the giggling. She knew it now.
Hermione slid a glance in the direction of the figure seated at a desk across the open reading area in the library. He was the reason for the present disturbance. He was the reason she could scarcely concentrate on the large tome before her.
And he was, apparently, completely oblivious to the utter devastation he was causing.
She decided then and there that despite her comments to Ron, inter-school mingling was not a good idea. The school was being positively overrun with would-be celebrities, their wonky feints and half-Veela girls that were setting the hearts of Hogwarts' students so aflutter.
She rather thought that the boys would be considerably less enamoured of their new companions if they realised what lay beneath the shiny blonde hair. As for him, and she narrowed her eyes quite irritably as they landed on the older boy again, well she could not fathom what it was, other than his apparent fame, that excited the annoying girls.
The giggling girls.
Their high-pitched squawks haunted her in her sleep; such was her familiarity with the sound. The band of intellectually stunted fan-girls followed Viktor Krum, he of the Quidditch fame, around the entire school. She had wondered, on more than one occasion, with mild horror, what they did when he was sleeping. He ought to be grateful his bed was located in the dungeons.
The most infuriating aspect of the whole situation was the fact that they really did appear to follow him everywhere and, unfortunately for Hermione, he seemed to be everywhere she went. She did not think anything of it though. Instead she credited him (and hence them) with impeccable timing and an ability to irritate her that had only previously been associated with Ron.
Hermione released a long suffering sigh and snapped her book closed. She saw out of the corner of her eye that the Bulgarian boy had glanced sullenly in her direction, but she chose to continue in her miffed manner and ignored him entirely.
She chose instead to stalk away from the desk and around the book shelf which hid the not so innocuous gaggle of girls. It took only a few seconds before they felt the burning sensation of her hawk-like stare upon them. Two of the younger girls cowered under the glare, but Hermione was unimpressed when the elders merely rolled their eyes dismissively.
She was not a prefect, though she was quite certain that the following year she would be. However, she had reputation enough for frequenting Professor McGonagall's office that students took her glower seriously. When they wandered off in collective disgruntlement, Hermione glanced at the space between books through which they had peered. She looked through too for just a second and was shocked to see him staring back. Merlin, she thought, that was embarrassing.
She scurried away from the gap in the shelves and pressed her back gingerly against the case behind her. She did not dare relax all her weight, for causing such discomfort to the residing volumes would surely cause the querulous Madame Pince to come running.
Her heart had jumped in her chest and with her palm pressed against her skin she could still feel its erratic rhythm. Her cheeks were pink, she knew, and it irritated her beyond belief that the Viktor Krum might actually believe she liked him.
She was definitely no squealing fan-girl.
Once the embarrassment had subsided, realisation bourgeoned within her. He had known all along that those girls were watching. He must have been thriving on their delighted giggling. What other reason could there be for his watching that space?
Her former opinion of his obliviousness shifted and she decided then and there that she would not show her annoyance anymore. Clearly, he got some sort of kick out of it.
She had always known Durmstrang students were a shifty bunch.
She could hear them still, even over the rise and fall of talking voices and the clanging of forks on plates. The giggling never stopped, not even for lunch.
Hermione's shoulders hunched around her neck and she had to grit her teeth to stop herself from combusting. The promise to school her features from showing her irritation was now very much at risk of being broken.
She muttered under her breath and lifted her goblet of pumpkin juice to her lips, simply for something to do.
'Oy, look!'
At least she assumed that was what Ron had said. Over the past four years she had become quite fluent at understanding his speech when eating. It was rather like learning French.
She glanced up disinterestedly from her juice and raised a brow in question. Ron, now finished chewing, lowered his tone conspiratorially. Given Ron's general lack of finesse in most areas, Hermione was rather impressed at such a display of discretion.
'Krum's signing Michael Corner's book bag. You think maybe-' He stopped at an indelicate snort from Hermione.
'Well,' she said, 'I'm sorry but I happen to think its ridiculous... all this excitement about him. He's only a student for goodness sake!'
Harry and Ron were slack jawed as they gazed back at her.
Well honestly, she thought, they could hardly be surprised at her having that opinion.
'What happened to inter-school co-operation, Hermione?' Ron asked, slightly amused now that he had regained control of his faculties.
'He's always in the library.' She muttered by way of explanation. She knew she sounded petulant. It was hardly her nature, but truth be told she was fed up with the entire situation.
'And that's a crime now?' Harry interrupted with raised brows. 'I'd have thought you'd be impressed by it...'
She sniffed disdainfully. 'Not when his support group have camped out there too. It's impossible to think over all the panting and giggling.'
The three students lapsed into thoughtful silence and, sure enough, over the lunchtime din could be heard the aforementioned sounds of exuberant and hormonal girls.
They conceded her point.
'They're certainly dedicated.' Ron muttered.
Hermione bit back a scathing remark to the effect that if it were not for the fact that Ron would never live down such behaviour, he would be right there along with them.
She held her tongue though, knowing that it would do no good to start up another sniping session. What with the Yule Ball coming so soon, she harboured quiet hopes (hopes she tried not to acknowledge to herself) that Ron might ask her to the ball with him.
But since Ron was Ron, she thought it best not to hold her breath.
Hermione felt certain that the giggling today was more in the family of squawking than actual laughter of any sort. It was, she reflected, a truly heinous sound: the sound of desperation.
Only this time she could not locate the culprits.
The giggling girls were smarter than she had previously credited them as being. Hermione had spent a good 20 minutes prowling the library shelves which surrounded his desk. Still, she could not find them.
In fact she had begun to believe that the noise was merely an echo ringing in her mind: an imprint from having heard the sound so many times before.
Such was the distraction of her thoughts that she almost bowled right into him, the cause of all the giggling.
He was perusing the shelves and, to save explanation, she instantly did the same. She had just made to reach for a book on a higher shelf, determined to ignore him, when his stilted voice interrupted her thoughts.
'This is the von you are vonting, yes?'
She spun back to find the awkward boy standing, much taller than she had initially guessed, unexpectedly close to her as he reached above her head for the unknown book.
'Er... right. Yes. Thank you.' She eyed him as he extracted the volume and noted the way his eyebrows shot up to his hairline.
'You are certain?' He asked, the slightly incredulous tone should have told her something.
'Of course.' She snapped a little, though in retrospect she rather thought she should have seen the title first.
Outlining one's need for Volume III: Amortentia for Animals would be difficult to explain. Not simply because of the absurd content it undoubtedly held, but because of the embarrassing implication that she had read volumes one and two.
He eyed her wearily and yet she was almost certain that amusement lingered in his gaze. She had honestly not perceived him to be exceptionally bright, and certainly not in possession of a sense of humour.
Hermione straightened her spine and jutted her chin out in her most defiant manner before thanking him curtly for the assistance and flouncing off before he could see the embarrassing flush that crept along her neck.
The strange giggle-inducing, awkward-looking, wonky-feinting boy now clearly thought her to be a sexual deviant.
There were, she reflected dismally, no words apt enough to describe her particular feelings of mortification.
She had avoided the library for several days since her bizarre encounter with Viktor Krum in the love spells section of the library. Distance had not been a salve to the embarrassing scald, though. But she tried very much not to think about the strange boy and chose to focus on the very present issues at hand.
First and foremost, though she would never admit it, was the hype surrounding the impending Yule Ball to which she still had no partner. Time was running out and very few of the boys she knew had asked anyone yet. She did not mind about the other boys though. It was Harry and Ron who had her so peevish. Harry because he had asked neither Cho nor Ginny, the two girls most inclined towards him; and Ron because he was, frankly, an ignorant fool.
Their mutual obliviousness was altogether astounding.
She tried not to reflect too much on this fact as she sat on her small bench in the bitter chill of the wind outside. Despite the typical early winter weather, she was quite comfortable. Hermione was well rugged up in gloves and a scarf and many layers of clothing. Furthermore, in prime position on her lap sat a sizable jar of bright blue flames. The warmth that emanated was all she needed to keep the chill at bay.
Hermione liked to venture outside into the cool air at times when she sought clarity. Instead she usually came close to getting frostbite, but then it rather had the same effect, she thought.
She was just contemplating leaving the freezing environs despite having enjoyed the silence, a giggle free sound not known to her for quite some time, when she saw a figure heading toward her. She muttered under her breath. It was him.
Instinctively, she glanced beyond him in search of something surreptitious moving. A pot-plant, perhaps; anything that might conceal his ever present troop of adoring fans.
She could not see anything out of the ordinary, but her firm belief in their ability to stick to the boy like glue held strong. As he came closer she noted that he seemed quite puffed out, as though he were returning from a lengthy jog, or a dip in the Great Lake to wrestle the Giant Squid as was apparently his custom. In all likelihood he had instead evaded the legion of girls and if this was the case, she felt an immediate and unwanted increase in her respect for him.
With a shake of her head to dislodge all errant thoughts, Hermione focused her gaze once more on her new companion and the awkward conversation which would inevitably ensue.
He coughed and shifted from one foot to the other. She almost felt sorry for the boy, such was his clear discomfort. She was just about to make a pathetic attempt at conversation by mentioning the weather but was saved by his own effort.
'It is good, the book?'
She looked at him, perturbed. Hermione had not the slightest clue as to what he was talking about and was ready to say so when she saw him pull a heavy volume from his book bag. Volume I: Amortentia for Animals.
A burble of laughter, which sounded scarily like a giggle, erupted from her lips. She clamped down quickly though, as she eyed him with speculation.
He had actually read the book. Good grief!
Hermione glance back at him once more, his brow was furrowed in confusion at her behaviour and she felt a little bit guilty.
'You - er - you enjoyed it?' She asked the question rather helplessly. He nodded and a crooked sort of smile graced his normally sullen features.
She found she quite liked it.
And so she shifted over on her bench and settled into conversation with the strange boy about an even stranger book, which, ironically, she had never read.
He sat with her some days, when she was in the library and her friends were not. Surprisingly, Hermione found that, in spite of the inevitably squealing prepubescent girls who lingered near him, she rather enjoyed the company.
He was shy, she had gathered with much surprise. It seemed an unexpected trait in an International Quidditch player. But, she supposed, at the heart of it he was just a 17 year old boy. He was not remotely conceited or pretentious as she had variously believed him to be.
In fact, he never once spoke of Quidditch or the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Instead he talked of Bulgaria, of his school and of his family.
And they talked about books, all kinds of books. The weird, the wonderful and, thank Merlin, the normal. Viktor, as it turned out, could read English perfectly even though his speech left something to be desired. She often found herself amused at the sometimes strange phrases that left his mouth.
It worked out well for her though. Hermione had always enjoyed an eager pupil.
Yet even in spite of their unexpected companionship, she was utterly surprised when the boy asked her to the Yule Ball. She had never considered that he might do so, which in retrospect might have been a touch silly given that he did not seem to talk to any other girls.
She had hesitated at first, a thought spared for the fading hope that Ron might actually ask her. She said yes in the end though, pride dictated that she must. Besides, the felt sure she would enjoy the evening with Viktor for company.
And seeing Ron's face would certainly be an additional prospect to look forward to.
It had been everything she had expected. Ron's face before her said it all.
'Fraternising with the enemy?' She exclaimed, 'Weren't you the one wanting his autograph?'
His face turned a very accurate shade of puce before he stalked off, leaving his thoroughly annoyed date in his wake.
She tried not to be upset by the disagreement; after all, she had expected it when she agreed to come here with Viktor. It was just the type of thing to push Ron's buttons. Regardless of his attitude, she would not let it ruin her lovely night.
Though she had to admit, she was a little stung by his apparent ignorance of how she looked. She had worked tirelessly all afternoon to tame her hair to its present, sleek style. She was pleased with the result though, and in fact thought she looked rather pretty. Certainly it was only a one time transformation for her, the effort required was inordinate and certainly not for everyday use.
Even though Ron did not appear to notice, she took comfort in the fact that Viktor clearly had.
Hermione felt a small bubble of warmth and pride when she recalled his appreciative gaze. It felt nice, she thought, to be appreciated for more than her brains just this once. She almost felt like a different person, as though she were at a masquerade ball in someone else's costume. It was fun.
'Herm-Own-Ninny?'
She cringed slightly at the earthly reminder. Hermione turned a smiling gaze upon him and took Viktor's proffered hand. They had spent much of the night dancing and chatting, enjoying one another's company. She found herself quite pleased that she had come with him.
The tall boy ducked his head rather awkwardly before leading her through the many couples toward the exit and into the grounds beyond. The surrounding area was quiet and sparse. Tell-tale butterflies tickled her stomach as she realised the cause for his embarrassment.
Hermione did not have any experience with boys in this way, though she had always assumed that her first kiss would be with Ron. The how and the when had never quite occurred to her.
But she had to concede that this moment, standing in the darkened garden lit only by the moonlight and the glitter of fairies from within the surrounding trees, did seem rather ideal.
Viktor was looking at her with an 'I-want-to-kiss-you' expression on his face. At least that was what she thought it was, in truth he might have simply been reflecting upon how much he had enjoyed his treacle tart at supper. She was hardly an expert on these things.
He whispered her name (or at least his version of it) and she felt a momentary resentment at her parents for naming her after an unpronounceable Shakespearean character. Even Viktor would have managed with Hero or Juliet or Viola. And it rather ruined the romance of the moment to have her name so dreadfully mispronounced.
Dispelling her thoughts, she lifted her gaze to meet his before his mouth descended. It was, as they say, the moment of truth and she had not the slightest idea of what to do.
Perhaps she should have consulted a book or two about this sort of thing. Hermione had always assumed it would happen and that when it did, she would know exactly what to do. Apparently this was not to be the case.
She was anxious and wished quite fervently that she was apprised of all the necessary techniques or tricks to kissing well. Would he expect tricks? He was older after all, even if his behaviour did not suggest as much. Horror filled her momentarily at her complete lack of preparation.
Then she felt his mouth on hers. His lips were soft, if a little wet, but she tried not to think about that. She also tried not to reflect upon the woeful absence of fireworks and popping colours, of the toe-curling giddiness she had heard about.
In fact, in her opinion, the whole business was rather messy.
She tried to match Viktor's enthusiasm for the activity but found herself completely put off when his tongue moved in her mouth. She pushed him back slightly and smiled in spite of her disconcertion at the lingering taste of his pumpkin juice from dinner which was still in her mouth.
She was a bit dismayed by the whole incident and completely at a loss as to what all the fuss was about. It did not seem right to her that so many people had exaggerated the experience.
She spared a glance for her companion, whose pleased expression told her their thoughts on the kiss were not altogether shared.
Surely there was nothing wrong with her? No, she was certain there was not. That would be ridiculous.
She heaved a sigh as they entered the Great Hall, not unaware of the proprietary way Viktor rested his hand on her lower back. She was not entirely sure what she would have to do about poor Viktor. Friendship would be wonderful, if at all possible. She would somehow have to discourage him, which was a shame given how easy it could all have been.
Hermione was deep in reflection when she saw the mutinous expression on Ron's face as he looked her way.
Somehow in all her previous imaginings, she had never thought that a first kiss with Ron would go the way the one with Viktor had. Even though he did not have hordes of adoring fans hanging on his every word, and despite the fact that he infuriated her on a daily basis; Hermione rather thought she would like kissing Ron some day.
Not that she would ever tell him that.