Iron Maidens Chapter 1: Bowling Ball, a harry potter fanfic

A/N: Here's another song-fic. This one's another series, and I'm only rating it "T" for safety. I hope that you enjoy this as much as my "If I Die Young" series. Thanks for reading!

Maybe he'll change, maybe things'll get better
Maybe it would be nice, if he wouldn't always put you down
Maybe things'll work out, but maybe they'll never
And I think you've given him the benefit of the doubt

"I am glad to be seeing you, Hermy-own-ninny." Viktor greeted with a happy, gentle smile as she brushed the lingering ashes from the International Floo from her robes. "I vas being worried you vould not be making it."

"Oh no, Viktor, I've been looking forward to this for the last two weeks! After I finally convinced my parents to allow me to come, the Ports were all booked due to the increased travel following the Tournament. It was actually only because of a last-minutes cancellation that I was able to get here so early. If I hadn't already had my bags packed and ready, I might still be sitting in my living room!" Hermione was aware that she was rambling slightly, but she couldn't help it. She had a small crush on the Bulgarian seeker, and the thought of spending the summer with him in another country seemed to be quite the adventure to her – the non-dangerous kind, which were few and far in-between, for her.

"Hm. Come, Hermy-own-ninny, I have much of my country that I am wishing to show you." The excitement and anticipation that welled up at those words faded slightly upon his next sentence, "You should have been wearing more make-up and nicer clothing; you have not quite the splendor of one who is being expected on my arm."

Hermione flushed, feeling suddenly dirty, matted, plain. She resolved to do some shopping and visit a magical salon in hopes of taming her hair; even while she shoved the slightly callous and cruel, shallow words into the back of her mind.

Little did she know, such comments would become quite commonplace, over the next two months.

You need that boy like a bowling ball dropped on your head
Which means not at all
You have too much to give, to live to waste your time on him
You need that boy like a bowling ball dropped on your head
Which means not at all
You have too much to give, to live to waste your time on him

As the days progressed Hermione became more and more enchanted and fascinated by the country she was in, even as she was becoming more and more disenchanted by her guide.

Constantly she was surrounded by Viktor. His presence, his bodyguards, his opinions, his thoughts, his comments.

It was with a start that she realized she'd nearly spent all her savings on perfecting herself into the image that Viktor obviously wanted. She stared at the mirror, gazing at the reflection that she didn't know anymore.

She was wearing a long, smooth black dress with a slit that stretched up to her mid-thigh. The high heels that she was wearing threatened to snap her ankles; and she desperately missed her trainers and jeans.

Her hair was sleek and wavy, her untamable curly locks a thing of the past. Her lips were heavy with red, while a shameful amount of rouge colored her high cheeks. Her eyes were heavily framed by eyeliner and mascara as well as an indecent amount of blue and green eye shadow.

Green and Blue…

Green, like Harry's eyes. Harry, who was her best friend and closest confidant. A boy whose eyes, although only slightly younger than her, seemed to cry out for help and protection. A mere child like herself who, though he wanted nothing more than to receive love and sanctuary from the world around him, was forced to give it instead. A boy that she loved with her whole heart and would give her life to save; secure in the knowledge that he would do the same for her.

And Blue. Ice blue that darkened to an almost violet shade around the outside, just like Ron's eyes. Eyes that said so much more than his bumbling mouth ever could, and told of the true meaning behind his oft-thought untactful or insensitive words. Eyes that sparkled when he laughed, darkened when he was thinking or strategizing, paling to almost white when he was surprised or bit into a chocolate frog. Ron, who always seemed so strong, constantly trying to protect both her and Harry; with hardly a thought to his own safety.

She felt wetness on her cheeks and saw the woman in the mirror crying. Because, no matter how much she looked, she couldn't find herself – Hermione – in there.

And she missed it, she missed feeling loved and cherished and home; in worn jeans and a Coldplay t-shirt curled in front of the fire with a six-inch thick book and Crookshanks on her lap.

And it was with a start that Hermione realized that she hadn't opened a single book the entire time she'd been here.

"HERMY-OWN-NINNY! Come, we are going to favorite restaurant now! Remember, you must be looking nicely or fans will be ashamed!"

Oh yes, Hermione was definitely becoming disenchanted with Viktor Krum.

Maybe he'll change, if you could be better
But maybe it's not your fault, he's checking out the waitress now
But someday you'll change, one day you're stronger
And you will have changed enough that it's time to get out

Hermione sighed as she took in the opulent furnishings around her. The Krim Restaurant in Sofia, Bulgaria was elegant, lavish, and expensive. The architecture was exquisite, and the décor and scenery alluring and captivating.

Much more so than herself, apparently.

Hermione sighed again as she watched Viktor Krum shamelessly flirt with yet another pretty waitress. What, did he seem to think that just because he was using another language she wouldn't be able to interpret the twinkle in his eyes, the oh-so-familiar smirk on his lips, or – hello, Mr. Obvious! – the errant hand that caressed the blond tart's arm?

Or maybe, even for all her work, he just didn't care.

Hermione suddenly realized that, if there was one thing that she'd observed and learned about Viktor Krum during her summer-long visit to Bulgaria following the hectic events at the end of her fourth year at Hogwarts, was that Viktor Krum was something of a playboy. A never-satisfied playboy.

Apparently his wide, sloping shoulders, duck-feet, and kind smile lured in more than just bushy-haired, know-it-all Gryffindors. Because these tramps were Muggles, and thus didn't know a whit about Krum's famous Quidditch player status! How could she have not seen it before?

It was infuriating! It was disgusting, insulting!

…it was heart-breaking.

Abruptly, Hermione realized that It hurt that the first person to see her as a woman – heck, as a stinking girl! – was so frivolous and immoral. She wondered if he really ever liked her, or was just hoping to add her as another one of his conquests. Apparently, she was taking longer to capitulate than he'd first thought, if he was already setting up his next pretty bird right in front of her.

Hermione would have thrown down her napkin and stormed out of the restaurant that second, if she hadn't remembered that she was in another country. As it was, she could only speak shoddy Bulgarian (the spell she'd found faded, and could only be recast once a week. She was on day six, and could only interpret the occasional word here and there), and didn't have any money for a cab. If she had, she would have left straight for the Bulgarian Embassy and the International Floo-room, regardless that her trunk was still at the hotel (she'd asked him why they were staying in a hotel at first, rather than the Manor he'd told her about, but he just said it was because he thought she'd enjoy the experience).

As it was, she was forced to sit through an entire evening of flirting and occasional forced conversation (although Krum didn't seem to notice her increasingly cold demeanor) while she mentally berated and cursed herself for being so stupid; before – at last! – he was ready to leave. She set down her fork next to her still-full plate, accepted her coat from the doorman with a nod of thanks, and exited the restaurant into the brisk Bulgarian air with nary a word.

She realized, as they rode the limo to the hotel, that he'd only ever seen her for her latent beauty and brains. And, while that might be enough for most girls; it most certainly wasn't for Hermione. She wanted to be loved for her personality, her sense of humor, her nagging and caring and cleverness and bravery. She wanted to wanted; for what made her her, not what would make the most valuable trophy.

Like Ron and Harry did.

And, suddenly, Hermione wanted nothing more than to go home.

"WHAT?" Hermione's voice and shock combined with her magic to completely destroy everything class in the hotel room. "YOU WHAT?"

"I vould be liking you to be marrying me, Hermy-own-ninny." Viktor repeated the horrible question again, still kneeling on the floor, where he had dropped to as soon as they'd stepped through the door after the miserable dinner affair (literally).

"That's what I thought you said…" She breathed, staring blankly and uncomprehendingly at the, apparently, insane Bulgarian seeker.

"Yes." He reiterated. "I haff decided that you are vorthy of being my fourth vife."

This time, Hermione understood perfectly the first time; her voice was now a low, dangerous whisper. "What…?"

It was becoming quickly apparent that, not only was Viktor Krum insane, but he was also glaringly idiotic as well. A classic dunderhead, as Professor Snape would say, Hermione thought scathingly. Krum continued, oblivious to how close he was to being obliterated. "Yes. In magical Bulgaria ve are often following practice of polygamy. Every Krum has been having von vife for every day of ze veek. So, are you liking Vednesday, or Zaturday? I already haff Zunday, Monday, and Toozday." Hermione suddenly realized why they really weren't staying at Krum Manor. He hadn't wanted her to run into his other wife - wives! - before he was ready. She was not pleased.

Hermione didn't even move her wand, didn't even twitch, just stared at Viktor Krum with eyes filled with fire and brimstone. And, without her saying a word, he froze completely and fell over sideways as Hermione's magic cast a powerful Petrificus Totalus upon the bloated fool.

She walked past him without a word, purposefully stepping (stomping) upon the gaudy, garish ring that had fallen to the floor. With a silent flick of her wand all of her things were packed away in her trunk. Or, rather, all of Hermione's things; as everything belonging to the 'Hermy-own-ninny', Stranger of Bulgaria – the dresses, makeup, and jewelry – held no place in Hermione, Lioness of Gryffindor's, heart.

She transfigured her trunk into a backpack and spelled it weightless, turned her horrid high-heels into trainers – oh, thank MERLIN! Blessed relief… - and, in a rare moment of rebelliousness and recklessness, tore the bottom off her dress until it was knee-length, so that she could run.

And she knew she would have to run. But, thankfully, you can't live life beside Harry and Ron without learning how to run.

Without further delay, Hermione opened the door and bolted for her life. The two bodyguards on either side of the door stared in shock after her before looking through the open door. Hermione knew that she had very little time to escape as soon as they saw the petrified form of their celebrity; and therefore put on an extra burst of speed.

She burst through the front doors and outside of the anti-apparation wards of the hotel just as four more bodyguards in black Muggle suits apparated in front of her.

With a cheeky grin and a jaunty wave, and with the sound of the unspelled Viktor Krum screaming "HERMY-OWN-NINNY!" ringing down the street, Hermione laughed and popped away; glad that she had mastered Apparation early.

After all, as Rubeus Hagrid had once so eloquently put it, there weren't a spell invented that Hermione couldn't do.

Perhaps someone should have told Viktor Krum that.

You have too much to give, to live to waste your time on him

Hermione popped into a side-alley right next to the Bulgarian Embassy. Hermione quickly cast a Disillusionment and Notice-Me-Not charm upon herself before sneaking into the building. She legally wasn't supposed to be leaving for another week, but Hermione refused to stick around another minute.

After taking the elevator to the invisible bottom level of the Embassy, Hermione confounded the Floo Agent, before slipping herself a small satchel of the International Floo powder.

Thankfully, traffic leaving Bulgaria was significantly slower than the traffic to get to the Merlin-forsaken country.

All Hermione had to do was cast a wide-spread, powerful tripping hex at all the occupants of the room. Then, while everyone dealt with the confusion and mayhem, she slipped to the front of the line marked 'Ministry of Magic, London' and cast he powder.

And, as she disappeared in a rush of bright blue flames – like Ron – she anticipated and relished the looks that would be on Ron and Harry's faces when she told them of her solo adventure.

She briefly wondered, as she stepped into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic and paid a knut to use the local floo, if it was normal for her entire life – nay, her existence – to seem to revolve solely around two pairs of emerald and sapphire eyes.

'Well, even if it isn't,' Hermione thought as she yelled out "THE BURROW" and vanished in a flash of green flames – like Harry – 'it's not like anything in our lives is 'normal'.'

She didn't need to travel, or have adventures, or Viktor Krum. She just needed Ron and Harry, and everything would be right in her life.

Although jeans, trainers, and a book wouldn't be remiss.

You have too much to give, to live to waste your time on him

A/N: I hope that you guys enjoyed this chapter. I'm doing a short – about six chapters – fic about various girl students at Hogwarts. A little back story, an appropriate song, and a (hopefully) happy conclusion. I fell – and hope you agree – that this was a good start. The next one will be out soon, and will be considerably longer. And you might be surprised about who the subject is…

A/N2: By the way, the song is called "Bowling Ball" and it's by Superchick.