DISCLAIMER: I do NOT own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, or any of the characters that DO belong to JK Rowling! Though I warn some that this Fan fiction follows as closely as possible to the plot of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, which also belongs to JK Rowling. BTW, for you who thinks this is from someone named Jo, I'm sorry to disappoint, but Jo was my partner for my other fanfic, this is my profile, and this is my story!
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Familiar music woke Hermione, and she didn't waste time in jumping up to get a spot in the bathroom in the girls' dorm. On her way to the door, she waved her wand, efficiently tuning her alarm clock to silent. Thank god no one's up yet, I'd never get in here, she thought wryly. She brushed her teeth and her hair after changing out from her pyjamas with her conjured uniform to keep her spot. Then, she looked into the mirror, ready for the daily ritual she'd finally perfected over the last four years at Hogwarts.
The first part was getting over the surprise she felt every time she saw how much she'd grown since her first year. She'd hit puberty two and a half years ago, and it blew her mind how, well, curvy she'd gotten in so short a time. Her breasts were probably the best shaped and perky of her year, and definitely not the smallest. Even some of the girls from Beauxbatons she'd caught looking at her jealously. Since her third year she'd fixed her little overbite problem, and finally managed to find a way to smooth her frizzy curls to look shiny and luxurious.
The next step was to remind herself that looks weren't important, and mentally rehearse the entire set of runes professor Babbling had taught them last week. She was sure there'd be a pop quiz on them this Monday, and had been even reading ahead two chapters in their textbook. There was also the five foot long essay on Baruffio's Brain Elixir for profesor Snape that she thought she ought to add another ten inches to her conclusion—never mind that Snape had only insisted on two feet of parchment. She knew she would get perfect on the test, but the assignment was another matter, one which brought her ritual to a close.
The final step was preparation. Through all the growing up and excelling in all subjects she came across, Hermione had been plotting revenge. Since her fist year at Hogwarts, meeting and automatically being hated by almost all Slytherins, she'd been quietly planning to show them all how "worthy" she really was. She was determined to prove that she had more magic in her little finger than they had in their whole "pureblood" bodies. By proving it to the arrogant Big-Head of House, she could show it to the lot of them. But there were two slytherins that had played a special part in the young witch's torture, and she had even more special plans for them.
Pansy Parkinson and Draco Malfoy had to be taken down. Humiliated and hurt, dragged to their knees, where they would beg for her forgiveness and permission to kiss her superior feet. She knew it, and revelled in the idea before allowing her emotions to faze back into their seemingly innocent state.
Having mentally prepared for the day and finished aplying such a small amount of makeup that it looked utterly natural—though flawless—Hermione slipped out of the bathroom just in time, barely avoiding the crush of girls stampeding for the bathroom, who all seemed to wake up at the exact same time, every day. They're still falling over themselves for those Durmstrang boys, especially Victor Krum, she thought, shaking her head. What was so great about a meatheaded Quidditch player anyways? She couldn't see anything special about him, not like Harry Potter, her hero and best friend of the past four years. Though it was obvious how much Ginny Weasley fancied him, how much Ronald Weasley—the redhead with the dirt on his face—fancied Hermione, and how much Harry himself fancied the Ravenclaw girl, Cho Chang, who was crushing on Cedric Diggory. It's just plain to say the whole thing was just a huge mess of teenage hormones and drama. The point was, she couldn't even get close to that complicated world, since a boyfriend was out of the question at this time in her life, anyways.
The classes she had passed quickly, and afterwards she was going to study in the library until dinner—"study" meaning trying to figure out a good way to bring Malfoy and in turn Parkinson down. Once she'd gotten there, it was a relief to escape the crazyness that had taken hold of the school the last two months, the hallways full of gossiping girls like chickens clucking about boys, boys, boys. The library was always a silent place to think, or else Madame Pince would have a coniption.
Hermione was deep in concentration, staring at a finished essay in pretense that she was atually doing work, when she jumped nearly a foot in the air. The scraping of a chair she'd barely noticed, even the person who'd at down next to her did so with such silent grace she couldn't even tell there was anyone there, until she felt a tap on her shoulder, and had to resist the urge to scream. Turning slowly, Hermione came face to face with the masculine, graceful, attractive, meat-headed Quidditch seeker Victor Krum. In the library. Less than a foot from her face.
"Um, can I do something for you?" She said after she moved her head back a bit, blinking. If it'd been Ron or Harry she probably would have pushed them away and told them to write their own essays or do their own assignments. The fact that Victor Krum, a Durmstrang and Triwizard champion on top of everything else, was trying to get her attention threw her off for a second. Is that why he's here? To ask for help with his homework? Well, I'm not about to help some thickheaded athlete maintain his grade point average, no matter how big his biceps are.
He looked at her intesely, staring almost rudely. Then, as if he'd made some sort of decision, grunted and said in a rough russian accent, "nothing, forget it."
Hermione expected him to leave after that, but he didn't. He just sat there, and she couldn't tell if he was still watching or not, because she'd turned back to her essay, which she decided wasn't good enough and scrapped to start anew. His presense was still there, as distracting as it was, and she couldn't let him just sit there watching her—if he was watching her—without a reason why. She turned to him sharply, expecting him to jump a bit at being caught, which of course he didn't. Victor Krum was good at doing what she didn't expect of him.
"Seriously, what are you doing in here? Don't you have a group of girls to impress, a bludger to catch, or something?" Hermione was getting annoyed.
Victor sighed, "I'm sorry if I bother you. I will go." He stood and bowed to her—a real bow, at the waist—and walked out the door, as quiet and graceful as a large cat.
What the hell was that about?Shaking her head, the witch collected her books to leave, completely unable to concentrate now, and grumbled at herself for the wasted time. Not only did she still have no idea how to bring Malfoy to his knees, but she'd just torn up a two foot essay that she'd have to stay up all night redoing from scratch. She entered the Gryfindor Common Room grumpy and in no mood to talk to either Ron or Harry, the only two other occupants, who'd been waiting up for her. Dinner'd been over for hours now, not that she'd even noticed, but she did notice how hungry she was, and that made her mood worse. Plunking down into a big chair in front of the fireplace, Hermione opened up a Daily Prophet and buried herself in it, until she read the headline in front of her face, and crumpled the paper up, throwing it into the fire. It was a Rita Skeeter article on Victor Krum and his accomplishments, and the latest gossip on his "dream girl." Whatever, she instead pulled her potions textbook from her bag and flipped through to the chapter on various cures for pus-filled boils.
"D'you think she's ok?" She heard Ron's voice from behind her.
She really couldn't care less that they were about to have a conversation about her while she sat right there, at the momant, they could tapdance on her head, and they wouldn't get a response. Beetle's eyes and hare's fur was what she was thinking about, not boys or anything else.
"What do you think? Does she look ok? What do you think happened?" Harry hissed.
"I don't know, she was studying in the library again, maybe Malfoy caught her on her way out? Or they didn't have the book she wanted?"
"Those are pretty great guesses, Ron. I'm sorry, I can't lie, the first is decent, except we both know Malfoy's up in the astronomy tower with Pansy Parkinson tonight."
"Then what about the book thing?" There was a soft thud. "Ow! What was that for?"
"You really are stupid, aren't you?" It was Ginny's voice. "What's the only reason any girl would stomp in a room and completely ignore her best friends? It's boy trouble, I'd bet money on it."
Hermione dropped her book to the floor. That was seriously the last straw. Standing slowly, feeling the tension rise behind her, she whipped around the chair and stared at Ginny and the boys maliciously.
"Boys!" She snapped harshly. "Is that all anyone can think about is boys? I'm so sick of hearing about everyone's romance problems, and them just assuming that I'd even have the time to have a boyfriend, let alone have boy troubles!!"
She stomped up to the girls' dorm, leaving her books behind—something she'd never done before—and collapsed into bed, exhausted. She noticed she'd even left her homework unfinished about ten seconds before sleep overtook her, and with it, the worst kind of dreams.
They were everywhere, big, hazel, catlike eyes that stared at her from every angle, sometimes she'd see a pair of blue, and she'd feel like killing someone, other times a pair of green, and she thought she'd never been happier. A ballroom orchestra started, and there were suddenly figures dancing all around her, in her flannel pyjamas, and then, in nothing at all.
She woke up screaming!
It was still dark outside her window when she finally opened her eyes, and most of the other girls were still sleeping, except one bed that was empty. Lavender Brown's bed was empty, she had snuck off again with that Durmstrang boy she'd met two weeks ago. Hermione was terrified to go back to sleep, and suddenly remembered her essay and bookbag downstairs. Sitting up on her bed, she managed to slip down to the Common Room and finish her essay four hours later. By that time, everyone was getting up and heading out to classes, and she had yet to change into a fresh uniform. Hermione ran upstairs in a panic, grateful that the bathroom was practically empty since almost everyone had left, and rushed through her daily ritual.
She was late for History of Magic, and missed half of a very important lecture. By lunchtime she'd been so hungry from not eating for nearly twenty-four hours, hermione almost passed out in the Great Hall before even reaching her table. Harry glanced at Ron worriedly, but didn't say anything. After dinner, Hermione decided to take some time in the library again, to try and clear her head of the awful dream. But when she got to her usual table, she found a surprise waiting for her.
Victor Krum stood in front of the table. He was holding a single white rose.