Underage kissing. That's allowed isn't it? Plus, it's canon underage kissing. Well mostly. Should be canon. Practically is.
And I apologise for the Krum accent. That is also canon.

one: Viktor

For weeks since the Winter Ball, Hermione had been bombarded with sneaky enquiries, loaded suggestions, veiled accusations and vague warnings regarding her date, Viktor Krum. Not just from Ron, Harry and Ginny – It seemed that the majority of the female population of Hogwarts were just simply dying to know about the amorous liaison between the surprise coupling at the festive dance. The main question on everyone's lips was What was the kiss like?

Hermione wasn't sure if she was experiencing this reaction because he was an older boy from another school, a Triwizard Champion, an international superstar from the Quidditch World Cup final or perhaps all three.

She usually just smiled and shrugged, letting the enquirer draw their own conclusions but to her friends she confessed the truth – that they had not kissed at the Winter Ball, before that or after. Ron had pretended to be unconcerned about the whole affair but seemed hugely relieved at this piece of information. Harry was understandably preoccupied with the tournament and probably too emotionally stunted as a fourteen year old male to be engaging in any kind of discussion with Hermione regarding kissing. Ginny, on the other hand, was more helpful.

"You better kiss him."

"What?"

"You like him. He obviously likes you. And he's a celebrity, for Merlin's sake."

"I'm not kissing him because he's famous, Ginny."

"I didn't mean that. I just meant that if you like him you better get a move on and decide if you want him or not. Because half of Hogwarts and all of Beauxbatons are after him. Just decide and go for it. You'll regret it if you don't."

And here she was, in the library with Viktor, attempting to read the same passage she had been staring at for the past half hour. He was reading beside her, making notes in cramped hand writing in his notebook.

"'Er-my-ninny – something is wrong? You are not reading the vay you usually do," he asked, noticing her intense fidgeting and lack of concentration.

Hermione looked at him and into his bright, concerned eyes. There was so much of Viktor that the world didn't see. He was so much more than the Champion everyone presumed him to be. He could be incredibly sweet and shy – which is probably why he hadn't attempted to kiss her yet. Hermione would have to take matters into her own hands. She wasn't a person who usually waited; patience was not her virtue.

So she cupped his chin with her hands, leaned forward and placed a brief but pleasant first kiss on Viktor Krum's mouth.

It was over in a fraction of the time she had spent fretting about it and it wasn't anything much to be fearful of. It was nice enough and it seemed like he had enjoyed it. Hermione let her anxiety go and smiled at him.

"I vas hoping you may do zat," he grinned, taking her hand under the table. Hermione squeezed his hand, smiled again and returned to her reading.

two: Ginny

Hermione knew Ginny would be waiting up for her in their room in number twelve Grimmauld place, just as the Twins has predicted. She felt badly for Ginny – she was only a year younger than Harry, Ron and herself and she was being singled out. Her conscience told her than she should respect Mrs Weasley's wishes for her daughter not to be involved, but Hermione often found herself weak-willed in response Ginny's constant badgering.

Ginny was ready and waiting to thwart any hopes Hermione that had of being able to slink in unheard.

"So? What's going on?" Ginny demanded immediately, barely allowing Hermione over the threshold.

"Are you sure you want to know?" Hermione asked squeamish, turning her back to look for her pyjamas. "It's not really that interesting and maybe your mum's right…"

"Like bloody Hell she is!" Ginny responded vehemently. "C'mon. I can annoy you all night and you'll get no sleep. Or you could tell me."

"Ginny," Hermione sighed wearily, pulling on her nightdress and slipping underneath the sheets of their shared bed. Hermione wasn't usually a person comfortable with sharing beds, especially a single, but the other fold down bed was so dilapidated that several springs had poked threateningly through the upper echelons of the mattress.

Hermione switched off the lamp and rolled over on her side to face away from the red head. Ginny gave an audible groan of frustration and wriggled in their bed to unsettle Hermione.

"Ginny, cut it out," Hermione said, squeezing her eyes shut in hope for instant sleep.

"When have I ever stopped when you begged me?" Ginny asked in a lilting voice which told Hermione that she was grinning in the dark. An image of the Cheshire Cat flitted into Hermione's mind but she quickly dismissed it.

It wasn't long before she felt Ginny's cold fingers tickling her under her arms and at her hips. Hermione struggled not to giggle and pushed Ginny away gently, careful not to push her out of the bed. The last time Hermione had needed to mend a nasty gash on Ginny's forehead because she had fallen victim to their play fights.

Next, Ginny tried breathing on Hermione's neck and ear, whispering her name in an eerie sort of way. This used to make Hermione immensely annoyed and uncomfortable, but not tonight. Tonight, Hermione felt a sharp something, deep inside her. It gnawed on her and felt like a warning sign. It wasn't a feeling she had experienced much before, but she knew what it meant.

Now Hermione really tried to concentrate on shutting down and going to sleep. She would ignore Ginny, and this throbbing. She would ignore Ginny tickling behind her ear. She would ignore the warm breath on her skin. She could simply ignore all of that and fall into a deep slumber.

"Hermione, please?" Ginny whined softly into her ear.

For a heated moment, Hermione forgot that she was referring to the Order of the Phoenix's meeting earlier and thought it was something else.

"Just tell me?"

In the dark, Hermione shuffled around which cause the weight that Ginny had pressed upon her to be shifted. From the moonlight glinting in Ginny's eyes, she could see a soft outline of the younger girls' features.

"I just want to know," Ginny whispered. "Then I'll let you sleep. Promise."

"Gin—"

"If you want to whisper it in case the Twins are listening, then that's OK," Ginny suggested, moving her face closer to Hermione's to offer her willing ear. Hermione could see every greyed feature of Ginny's in the dark and felt her heart thunder in her chest. She wondered if Ginny could feel it. There was so little space afforded to two people in a single bed and it was so mysteriously quiet in the dead of night, in the middle of London.

Concealed as a mistake and with full-hearted hope, Hermione moved swiftly forward and clumsily pressed her lips to Ginny's. She stayed perfectly still and absolutely silent for several moments, now expecting Ginny to shove her off the bed. Instead, she felt Ginny slide an arm around her body and pull herself into Hermione.

From then on, the kiss became even more imperfect than it had begun. It was clumsy but fevered; achingly inexperienced but somehow supremely, intensely passionate. Hermione suddenly understood what kissing was supposed to feel like and was overwhelmed with joy. Her embraces with Viktor had been so stark and so real. She could hear, smell and, often, see everything vividly around her. She sometimes opened her eyes while they were kissing, mostly when she became bored at the increasingly repetitive and mechanical nature of the act. She had always been concentrating on what she should have been doing and making sure that he wasn't doing what he shouldn't be doing and then there was the logistics of their comparative height and size to consider.

Lying here kissing Ginny felt so surreal and so dreamlike. It was blurred and nothing else existed in the moment. They could have been kissing in the middle of the coming Wizarding war and Hermione would have been none the wiser. Hermione could compare it to the feelings inspired in her by abstract paintings she had seen – it didn't make sense, but it didn't need to, because it was innately wonderful.

As she grew hotter and Ginny's hands strayed further north, Hermione's nagging conscience resurfaced.

Ginny was barely fourteen. She was just about to start fourth year and Hermione would be sixteen in September when she returned to Hogwarts for her fifth consecutive year. Something about these facts almost caused Hermione to stop clawing at her bedfellow. Almost. She craved this sensation too much to stop without thinking it through.

Hermione reasoned carefully that she was in fourth year when Viktor kissed her. She was just as young as Ginny. And she knew this wasn't Ginny's first kiss. Ginny was far too indiscreet to let Hermione suffer that illusion.

A wave of strength and apathy caused Hermione to push these thoughts from her mind completely and continue lavishing Ginny with more affection.

Their clinch had reached fever pitch; and approached the crossroads of 'How far does this go?' The combined unspoken decision was taken to stop and they quickly pulled back to look at each other in the black. Both were breathing heavily. Hands were still in places that they perhaps should not be. The air between them was rife with, surprisingly, not questions but a gentle, soothing sense of wonder and amazement. Ginny trusted Hermione would no doubt shatter this peaceful, idyllic moment.

"Voldemort has a weapon."

three: Ron

Overwhelmed by his compassion and consideration for the house elves, coupled with the possibility that this may be their last chance under threat of impending death, Hermione had thrown herself into Ron's arms, allowing the basilisk fangs they had so arduously collected to be scattered to the floor.

Ron was a very good kisser - his technique was no doubt due to the months he spent in Lavender's company. Neat and whole-hearted, Ron put all of his feelings and all the things he could not say to her in this kiss and Hermione could feel it. He held her tightly and she felt at ease in a way she had not for months.

This comfort felt so familiar that it transcended their seven year friendship but didn't quite reach the heady heights of passion. For a moment Hermione theorised that this could be what kissing a brother must be like and then she was almost too horrified to continue. But Ron would not relent and Hermione's mind began to wander again.

That couldn't be what this feeling was – a familial love. It had simmered and been anticipated far too long for there to not be a spark. Lazily, Hermione supposed that if Ron was somehow a brother-figure then that would cause Ginny to be her sister – and that was a thought which alarmed her more than the coming hordes of Death Eaters, giants and other horrific enemies.

This simply could not be. It had to be there between her and Ron. She just had to find it.

When finally separated by Harry's protests, Hermione was quietly relieved and cautiously wiped her mouth. She attempted to focus on the battle at hand. However, she couldn't help but wonder how much of that kiss was about Ron and how much was out of fear.

four: Ginny

When Hermione returned to Hogwarts for her final year without Ron or Harry, she found herself spending the majority of her hours with Ginny Weasley. Although Hermione did not make good friends easily, Ginny was not just the easy option.

On a particularly crisp winter evening, Hermione walked Ginny back from Quidditch practice. They didn't spend much time apart so it just seemed natural that Hermione would study in the stands, wrapped in a thick blanket with a book and a hot flask of tea while Ginny danced against the backdrop of stars, controlling her broom with all the grace and finesse of an artist wielding their brush.

As they walked back to Hogwarts, they separated from Ginny's Gryffindor team-mates and strolled at leisure by the lake. Ginny hadn't seemed to notice the biting cold while she was in the air but now warmed down from activity, she began to feel it creeping over her. Hermione generously invited Ginny to share her over-sized blanket as they continued.

Ginny slung her arm low around Hermione's waist to avoid awkwardness while they walked as one. Hermione noticed that it wasn't long before Ginny rested her head on Hermione's shoulder.

Staring at the reflection of moonlight on the water, Ginny asked if she remembered that night at number twelve Grimmauld Place.

Hermione stammered and blushed furiously. She knew the night Ginny was referring to but couldn't get the words out to affirm this. Ginny knew from Hermione's reaction what she was about to do would not be greeted with physical violence or a strong lecture.

Ginny faced Hermione and pulled the blanket tighter around them. They were so close that separate breathing space seemed like an idea from the distant past. With a smile and touch, Ginny leaned into Hermione, letting her lips naturally find the older girls.

Not as sloppy as their first unforgotten kiss but all the more nerve racking. At first, it seemed to hang on a fine string, delicate and deftly poised. But it wasn't before long that everything imploded. They laid waste to caution and relived just how passionate and intense their first romantic encounter had been.

After a long, blissful time in which they had ceased to be two separate people, Ginny reluctantly pulled back for air. She smiled softly, stroking Hermione's hair and uttered in a tone of deep reverence: "This is beautiful."

five

As Hermione stood beside the happy couple on their happiest of days, only one thought was on her mind: That could have been me.

She looked at Ron across from her in his best robes, dutifully holding the rings with which Harry and Ginny would be married and wondered what he was thinking. Was he thinking perhaps about their wedding in the autumn? Or was he, too, thinking about all the regrets that he would never get the chance to mend before they took to the altar?

Hermione doubted it. From knowing Ron inside and out, she knew that he didn't like to look back much and despised having regrets.

Hermione was not so fortunate.

If only she hadn't been so frightened, so hesitant, so worried, then perhaps this day would have worked out very differently. If only she'd allowed herself to be loved consummately like she believed that she didn't deserve, then maybe she would have had a chance. If only she had been able to say the words when she needed to say them, then she might have saved them both.

Every time today that Hermione had repeated her silent mantra It could have been me she certainly wasn't referring to Ginny's position at the altar: It was Harry's. It was his place, across from the woman that they both loved, that Hermione was fiercely and desperately envious of.

Rings were exchanged, vows were taken and their union had been made official. There was only one remaining ritual left – this would be the part that Hermione hated most of all.

As Harry swooped to kiss his divine bride, Hermione compelled herself to look away. But it was impossible. It was what her father referred to as a 'car crash.' Horrid and painful to look at but you couldn't tear yourself away if you tried.

Moments passed and still they continued. Hermione had to stop herself from rolling her eyes and was sure that this was crossing from the realms of publicly decent behaviour. As if to affirm his love for his new wife, Harry spun and dipped Ginny. A small, triumphant smile crossed Hermione's lips as she knew how Ginny hated being toyed with.

For a brief, shining moment as the newly weds still kissed, Hermione swore that Ginny opened her eyes to peer back at her. Hermione nearly choked from surprise and was stung by a pathetic pang of elation.

Then it was over and the congregation were on their feet, applauding and cheering the husband and wife.

As Hermione watched them parade down the aisle, she uttered with the hiss of the woman who let her greatest chance pass her by: "It should have been me."