Better People

Hermione didn't know what was more aggravating: The sound of giggling in her library, or the fact that she was getting used to it.

Pausing in the middle of the sentence she was writing in her Transfiguration essay, she closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. If she could ignore the jeers of spiteful Slytherins, she could certainly ignore the inanity of the Krum Klub. Just to be sure, she internally counted resolutely to three, mouthing the words to make the voice in her head louder than their whispered gossip.

But when one of them let a particularly loud laugh, quickly stifled, escape, she flinched. And then one of them said quietly, "I bet he likes smart girls."

"No," another disagreed derisively. Lowering her voice to a whisper, which was still perfectly audible as it trembled with suppressed giggles, she added, "If he did, he'd be all over Granger."

Hermione's eyes snapped open angrily as the girls were all overcome with laughter at this ludicrous notion. She slammed her book shut and began to quickly pack up her things, hands shaking slightly with sheer frustration. The library was her place, and they were ruining it with their ridiculous, vapid shallowness.

When she stood up sharply, they fell instantly silent, perhaps realized that she had heard them; at any rate, they were anxiously watching her from between the books on the shelf that stood between her and them. She didn't meet any of their eyes, but kept her attention on her bag as she shoved things into it.

"You are leafing?"

Startled, she looked up. It was Viktor Krum.

For a moment, she gaped at him stupidly. Although she didn't care about Quidditch, or at least not as much as Harry and Ron and Ginny, it was still somehow impressive to be this close to such a celebrity. The fact that he was actually looking at her and speaking broke the fourth wall that seemed to exist between him and the real world, as completely as if he had just stepped out of a television.

When she noticed what she was doing, she told him, "I finished my homework."

An awkward silence fell. He nodded slowly as she continued to stare.

Wanted to fill it, she went on, "So…I thought I'd go back to the common room. Gryffindor common room. I'm a Gryffindor."

She stopped talking, because she knew that all the things she was thinking of saying next sounded completely stupid: Of course I'm a Gryffindor. I have a red and gold tie, like a lion. The colours, not the tie. Lions don't wear ties. They're not really red, either. Only kind of gold.

"Oh," he said, nodding again.

He probably didn't have any idea was Gryffindor was, she realized, but she didn't want to start babbling again, so she didn't elaborate.

"Yes," she said instead. "So…erm…bye, then… And good luck. With the Tournament."

"Thank you," he said. "Maybe—before you are going—you can help me finding where this book goes back?"

He held up the volume in his hands, a thick one about Transfiguration.

"Okay," she agreed. "I was just in that section, actually, it was a Transfiguration essay I was writing."

"Yes, I saw you ver looking there."

She didn't know how to respond to this, and so she slung her bag onto her back and said with a vague gesture, "It's over here…"

He followed her between the rows of books, which she was looking at interestedly to avoid staring at him, but she thought he seemed to be looking at her closely. She self-consciously wondered why.

When they reached the right place, she stopped and pointed to a gap between to other books, saying, "Here it is."

"Ah—thank you," he said again," slipping the book back into its place.

"You're welcome," she answered. "I guess I'll go, then."

"I am leafing also," he volunteered. "Perhaps I vill valk vith you?"

Something inside her stomach tightened. "Okay…"

He smiled, looking oddly relieved, and the two of them began to walk back the way they had come. She felt she ought to say something, but didn't know what. When she hitched her bag up on her shoulders, however, he did.

"Your books are heafy. I can help you carry them for you."

"Oh—You don't—" she began to refuse politely, but thinking that it would be rude, she changed her response. "Thank you. That's very nice of you."

He helped her remove the backpack, and put it on himself, once again looking satisfied, and apparently feeling comfortable enough to risk speaking again.

"You are vonting to leaf because of the other girls."

She felt herself blush, and stammered. "Well, I don't really know them…"

"I am vonting to leaf because of them also," he told her. "Alvays talking and laughing at nothing."

She smiled slightly. "Yeah. I don't know why they come to the library if they don't want to read."

As soon as she had spoken, she realized that the statement was a mistake, because of course he knew as well as she did why they were really there.

"Vell," he said slowly, "everyone who is coming to the library is not vonting to read alvays."

She frowned slightly, trying to determine what he was suggesting. When she couldn't, she looked at him and asked, "What do you mean?"

He hesitated, then stopped where he stood. She stopped as well, facing him curiously, watching as he opened his mouth and stood perfectly still for a few moments before he managed to speak.

"Do you like to go to the ball vith me?"

She blinked. Viktor Krum was asking her out. One of the three most sought-after dates for the Yule Ball. Ron's hero. Her heart seemed to have forgotten what it was supposed to be doing.

"What?" she blurted.

"I am asking—For Christmas, if you vont—"

"I understand," she assured him quickly. "I just didn't…"

An expression of doubt was beginning to spread over his face. He thought she was trying to find a way to delicately turn him down.

"Yes," she said quickly. "Yes, I'll go with you."

His face immediately brightened into a smile, and she copied him.

"I am happy," he said, as they continued to walk again. "I haf been vonting to ask you…I haf been coming here to vont to talk to you, even before the ball…"

"Really?" she asked, looking at him in surprise.

"Yes," he said. "Not to read. I am sorry."

She laughed. "That's okay. I don't mind."

As she passed the table of other girls on her way into the hall with Viktor, Hermione saw out of the corner of her eye the way they all watched, either glaring at her murderously or gaping in open disbelief. She couldn't help smiling to herself a little, knowing what they were thinking: After all the time and effort they had put into catching his attention, the girl he noticed was the one who didn't notice him.

"I thought you ver seeming like a very nice girl," he went on, "because you ver not pretending to like Quidditch, and you ver alvays verking on homeverk very hard. I am not liking people who are not trying best at things they are doing."

"Me, neither," Hermione agreed. "I'm sure people don't realize how hard you work at Quidditch, they just see you at the World Cup and think that you can do it without even trying."

He nodded. "Yes, that is true."

"But the effort and the practice are what makes it feel so good when you win, aren't they?"

"Yes," he said, smiling. "Anyvone can do things that are easy, but ven people try to do things that are hard, they are stronger, smarter, better people."

"Is that why you wanted to do the Tournament?" Hermione asked. "To make yourself stronger, smarter, better?"

He nodded. "That is vhy I do everything."

Hermione smiled.

They continued to talk as they made their way through the halls, and Hermione gradually stopped being surprised and just how easily he did talk; she had thought that he was quite sullen and taciturn. In fact, when they reached the Fat Lady, she had to interrupt him to say, "Sorry—This the tower, here."

"Ah," he said, looking in surprise at the portrait. "Vell, here are your things."

He removed her backpack and handed it to her; she thanked him and added, "I'll see you. At the ball, at least."

"Yes," he agreed, smiling again at her words. "I vill see you."

She waved goodbye as he turned to make his way back to his ship, and then beamed at the Fat Lady, who was smirking at her.

"Fairy lights," Hermione said, "and shut up!"

But she was smiling, too, and so the Fat Lady only chuckled as she swung open and Hermione fairly skipped into the common room. She had a date—for the first time in her life, she really felt like a normal teenage girl.