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Chapter 1: A moment of courage
Hermione Granger had her face buried in her book, as she so often did. She had always been able to lose herself in words, but it was becoming nearly impossible as of late, with the tournament going on and all. She was unsurprisingly in the library, which was usually a quiet and safe home away from home of sorts for her, but whispers from all around the room were rattling through her ears, making the library just about unbearable. She'd had just about enough of it. Among the quiet gossip she heard "I'm surprised he hasn't gotten himself killed yet." Hermione winced a little at words, especially because whoever had spoken them was most likely talking about Harry. Nobody had expected him to excel at the first task, but he had. And he had become a superstar all over again.
It seemed that everyone was talking about him, some people to his face with words of encouragement, others behind his back with words that were far from encouraging. As if on cue with Hermione's thoughts, a pretty blonde Slytherin girl jeered "I must say, I'm a little disappointed that nobody has died yet or even been injured. It would be far more entertaining for the audience and it would be nice if we could be rid of that stupid Harry Potter." Hermione felt her face flush, anger blooming in her chest. Before she realized what exactly she was doing, she slammed her book shut with a definitive THUD, and stormed over to the Slytherin girl. "Excuse me? Are you saying that you hope that Harry Potter, the boy who lived, gets killed? Purely for your own entertainment?" The girl gaped at Hermione, clearly not expecting the verbal attack, but quickly recomposed herself and taunted back, slowly drawing out each word "Well, I suppose it wouldn't have to be Potter in particular, I'm sure we could do without that pathetic Delacour half breed, and nobody would morn if that ogre of a Russian…" Hermione cut her off, her voice rising significantly, "How dare you! You… you… Dimwitted cockroach!" Hermione turned before the girl could respond, incredulous at what she had just done. She decided to give the girl one last piece of her mind while there was a little bit of bravely left in her . She threw the girl on icy glare from over her shoulder, "Viktor Krum is Bulgarian, by the way. If you had even half a brain you'd know that." Her eyes lingered on the girl for a second longer, taking in that glorious, stunned expression before returning to her seat. All of her courage had dissipated and she buried her face in her book once more, this time more the hide her embarrassment than anything else.
She tried to let the words sweep her away into a world where she didn't hear the whispers and hisses, where nobody was trying to kill her best friends and most definitely where she hadn't done what she just did. How stupid of her! She was so mortified, the burn in her cheeks hadn't gone away since she sat down and she felt like she had to leave, but that her legs may very well betray her if she tried to stand. After a few minutes of internal debate, she decided to hastily throw her books in her bag and half walk, half run out the door before she absolutely died of humiliation. She clumsily bumped into the doorway on her way out, and her slow shuffle quickly turned into a mad dash. Unbeknownst to her, the vicious Slytherin girl was not the only one who watched her on her way out. A young Bulgarian man with an intense stare watched the clumsy witch, completely absorbed in her every move.
This is the first story I've ever written, so please leave reviews, let me know what you think and if I should continue on. Thank you!