"Hermione?"
She cringed slightly and ducked into the nearest doorway. She felt bad for doing it, but she'd been followed for days and was desperate for a bit of solitude.
"Hermione?"
Hermione held her breath and stood as still as she possibly could until the figure passed the door. She thought she'd seen the slightest pause, as though her pursuer could sense her there, and heaved a huge sigh of relief when she saw the shadow moving down the corridor away from her.
"Have you seen Hermione?" farther off.
"No, not recently. Did you try the library?"
"Yeah, of course. I've just come from there. I could've sworn she was just in front of me."
"Sorry."
Hermione heard Ginny grumbling in frustration as she wandered off in search of her quarry. She reached out and snagged Ron's sleeve as he walked by.
"Bloody hell, Hermione, you scared me!"
"Sorry," she whispered.
"You know Ginny's looking for you?"
"Yes," she said through gritted teeth. "She's been looking for me for ages."
"So what's the problem?"
Hermione sighed. Ron could be so thick sometimes. Of course, it was good he didn't understand her frustration, since it meant he didn't know. And Ron's not knowing was one of the very few requirements she'd demanded of Ginny.
"I just need a little space to . . . do homework?" she said, hoping it didn't sound too suspicious. Ron grimaced.
"Merlin's beard, Hermione. You and homework." He shook his head. "Well, what should I tell Ginny? She's starting to bother me as much as she bothers you. You'd think she had no friends."
"Tell her . . . tell her you didn't see me. It's the simplest thing. I hate to make you lie, Ron, but . . ."
"Say no more. Secret's safe with me. So—what are you studying? I've finished all my homework. 'Course it's pointless to ask you, since you don't seem to understand that concept."
"Potions," Hermione said quickly. "Studying Potions. Still working on that Grindylow essay for Snape."
Ron rolled his eyes. "Bloody hell. Please tell me you figured out the antidote. All I managed to come up with is don't get bitten."
Hermione smiled. He was thick, but sometimes it suited him. "Flavia blossoms. And mallow root."
"Sounds like a ruddy love potion," he said. "Thanks." He grinned and punched her shoulder. "Oh," he said, turning to her. "Harry wants to know if you've made any headway on the Goblet."
"I'm not helping you get your name in there, Ron," she said, trying to hide her smile. Ron shrugged.
"Bloke can't be blamed for trying," he said and sauntered off.
Hermione leaned against the doorway and closed her eyes. How do I get Ginny to leave me alone? Short of giving her a draught of something, of course. She smacked her forehead. Had it really gotten so bad that she was thinking of poisoning her? No, of course not. She was overreacting. But still, a bit of Instant Enemy Serum couldn't hurt, just a drop in her pumpkin juice. Just to get Ginny to avoid her for one bloody day—
"There you are!"
Hermione sucked in a breath and almost choked. Ginny was standing in the corridor, hands on her hips, an exasperated look on her face. "I've been looking everywhere for you!"
"Oh?" Hermione said weakly. She fumbled with her books, and tried to make it look as though she had been interrupted deep in thought about Grindylow venom.
"Yes. I was just about to go down to the pitch, thought you might like to join me."
"Oh . . . umm . . ." Hermione stalled as best she could. The walk down to the Quidditch pitch had been one of their favorite things, back when Hermione had been interested in the many detours among the outcroppings of rock and secret pathways through the trees. Now, however, the idea made her wince.
"You all right? Nobody's seen you, not even Ron. And the way he follows you around . . ." Ginny giggled. "Honestly, you'd think he was the one snogging you." She leaned in to kiss Hermione, but Hermione dodged and spun into the corridor.
"Look, Ginny, I'm really busy with this essay. You know what Snape's like."
"Snape." Ginny waved her hand dismissively. "Your essay is probably fine. It's probably perfect, and anyway, you know he's not going to give you the marks you deserve on it. Come on, let's go!" She hooked her arm through Hermione's and dragged her down the hall.
Just a drop in her pumpkin juice.
"Oi! Parvati!" Ginny cried to the crowd of girls clustered in the hall. Parvati stopped and turned.
"Hi Ginny. Hermione," she said, looking the pair of them up and down with the appraising way Hermione hated.
"If you see Padma, will you ask her to ask Dean to ask Seamus to please stop putting owl nuts in my cereal? I mean, how immature can you get?"
Parvati sighed dramatically. "I know! Just the other day Dean was talking to Hannah who was telling Michael Corner that she saw Seamus trying to turn water into wine again and nearly blew up the common room!"
Ginny and Parvati rolled their eyes in unison. Hermione cringed inwardly. She found herself wishing for the days when Ginny had been too in awe of her and Harry to even speak in their presence. Long past, she thought ruefully. Never should've kissed her that day.
Hermione thought back to the end of the previous year, when she had been so overwhelmed with worry and schoolwork and had just needed a break, had only needed someone who didn't care about intrigues, about grades, about any of it. And Ginny had been so quiet, so sweet to her that it seemed a tremendous relief that she had been able to disappear with her for hours, talking about nothing, not talking at all. And then Hermione had kissed her behind the rocks leading to the Quidditch pitch, which she imagined was part of the reason it had become Ginny's favorite stroll. Hermione had never pegged Ginny as sentimental, but appearances had proved deceiving.
"Laters, Gin," Parvati called after them. "Hermione."
"Ginny," Hermione huffed as the other girl pulled her out into the courtyard. "Ginny, stop." Hermione planted her feet and Ginny came to a halt with a jerk.
"What?"
"I really am busy," she said. "I really need to finish this. I'm sorry--" shouldn't say you're sorry—"but I've got to go." She wrestled her arm out of Ginny's and turned without letting Ginny speak. She strode quickly back to the castle and thought she heard Ginny calling after her but didn't turn back.
She was walking fast, head down, making her way for the library when she ran straight into something. Someone, by the sound of it.
"What ees this? Watch where you are going, silly leetle girl!"
She looked up and was struck momentarily dumb by the sight of Fleur Delacour, who stood in front of her rubbing her arm and scowling. Even scowling she's beautiful. She took a breath. It's because she's part veela, Hermione reminded herself. But it shouldn't have any effect on me, I'm not a boy.
That idea didn't seem to make a difference, as Hermione stood unable to move or speak in front of Fleur. Someone bumped her arm as they passed and knocked her out of her stupor.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I wasn't looking."
"I can see zat," Fleur said coldly. The group of Beauxbatons students flocking around her tittered. Hermione glanced at them, noticing their uniform long blond hair and perfect noses. Her eyes flicked back to Fleur, who was looking her over in the same way that Parvati did. Not the same way, Hermione thought. It felt like Fleur was taking her measurements differently, somehow. Like she was an examination. Hermione wondered briefly if she had passed as Fleur and her friends stalked away. One of them glanced back at her and whispered something to the girl next to her, both of them giggling behind their hands.
Hermione watched them walk away, still shaking off the dazed feeling Fleur had cast over her. It shouldn't have any effect on me, she thought again. She couldn't help but wonder about it as she stared at the back of Fleur's head. She hadn't encountered any of the Beauxbatons students directly since their arrival, which she supposed was just as well. She'd already gotten tired of Ron's simpering over Fleur, despite repeated reminders of why exactly that was. If I have to hear one more time about how pretty her hair is . . .
But her hair certainly was quite pretty. Hermione tried to pretend she hadn't noticed it herself at the welcoming feast, tried to pretend she wasn't mentally agreeing with Ron's insipid commentary. It must be Ginny's fault, she thought suddenly. Though how could that be? Ginny doesn't have anything to do with the tournament, she hasn't even met any of them. Still, Hermione had the distinct impression that Fleur Delacour wouldn't have been such a distraction if Ginny hadn't primed her for it. Ginny's primed me for all sorts of distraction. Merlin's sakes, she's got me wondering how I can slip a potion into her drink.
Hermione shook her head and straightened her books. She considered going to the library to work on her essay, but the thought of studying antidotes made her feel sleepy.
"There you are!" a voice cried from farther down the corridor. Hermione groaned. She'd never been so popular in all her life as she was today. She looked up. Harry was running toward her.
"What, Harry?" she said, realizing it must have sounded harder than she meant it to. "What's going on?"
"Ginny's been looking for you."
Hermione clapped her hand over her eyes. "Bloody hell."
"What?" Harry looked confused.
"I know," she moaned. "She found me."
"Oh," Harry said evenly, doing a fine job of disguising his befuddlement. "Well, I take it you've got it sorted."
"Indeed," Hermione said. "Look, Harry, I'm really busy right now, I've got loads of homework--"
"Any ideas on this Grindylow antidote? I didn't even know they were venomous."
"Flavia blossoms. Mallow root."
He grinned. "You're the best."
"So they tell me," she said as he ran off. She sighed heavily and decided to take the longest, least-traveled route to anywhere there weren't likely to be people. Which, she realized, was probably the library. She ducked around a column and made her way for the far side of the castle.
Madame Pince looked over her spectacles as Hermione huffed into the library. The longest way was quite long, and Hermione was winded by the time she reached her destination. Pince frowned disapprovingly and Hermione tried to catch her breath more quietly. She ducked down one of the narrow aisles and found an empty table. It wasn't difficult; as she'd suspected the library was nearly deserted.
She sighed and opened her book without looking at the page. After a few moments of blank staring she closed it again and stood up, examining the shelves. The Habits and Habitats of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack and Other Fantastical Creatures. Thirty-Seven Uses for Newt Skin. Witches and Wizards of the Far East. A History of Notable Wizards and their Pets. She leaned forward and rested her head on the shelf. Very sleepy. Perhaps she could crawl into a dark corner and—
Suddenly the spine of a book caught her eye. It had elaborate gilding and was bound in soft, velvety pale leather. The Lure of the Veela.
Hermione glanced around her, feeling slightly ridiculous. Who would care that she was interested in veela? She could always say it was to better understand the Triwizard guests. After all, nearly everybody had figured out what Fleur was, seeing as how most of the male students spent most of their free time trying to get near her. She bit her lip and slid the book off the shelf. By Niobe Athenaïs.
She flipped through the book, which seemed to have a disproportionate number of illustrations, displaying various veela in various shimmering settings. They all seemed to have flowing blonde hair and long, languid bodies, and Hermione halfway felt their pull through the pages. But why? Certainly they were very beautiful, since that appeared to be their entire purpose for existing. Indeed, she discovered as she flipped the pages, it was only relatively recently that anyone had figured out that veela were capable of doing the same things as perfectly ordinary witches. Since most researchers are men it's not surprising it took so long, she thought, half-amused. Still, she couldn't understand why Fleur's charms were affecting her.
The lure of the veela is nearly impossible for any man to resist. Their charms stem from a deep magic traced back to the far Mediterranean, and are thought to originate from two particular locations: a small peninsula in what is now southern France, and a set of islands in modern-day Greece. Many veela still reside in or around these areas, and as a result their most highly-concentrated populations are to be found in Continental Europe.
Which explains why I've never encountered one before.
She flipped through the pages, skimming over the broader outlines of veela history, before finding a short chapter near the back. Rare Effects of Veela Magic on Non-Male Persons. She stopped flipping through the book and began to read intently.
In certain very rare situations, the charms of the veela can be detected by witches and female Muggles. While this is extraordinarily uncommon, it is thought to be a result of the veela's own intention. Researchers believe this rarity is being eradicated from the race, since the veela's charms are passed from mother to daughter and therefore is not carried on by non-reproductive specimens.
Hermione felt a twist of disgust in her belly. "Specimens." Because a veela fancied girls, girls would fancy her. She supposed it made sense. But still, the way this Niobe Athenaïs talked about it you'd think such women were monsters. And who was she to imply it was a disease of some kind?
"Thank Merlin it's not contagious," she muttered. There was a soft cough from behind her and she jumped, slamming the book closed. She heard Madame Pince's reproving tut from across the library and smoothed the cover gently.
"I am sorry," a deep voice said. "I was just noticing that you was here and I thought maybe I would come and make hellos."
She turned slowly and saw one of the Durmstrang students standing awkwardly behind her. Viktor Krum. She remembered Ron's awe and excitement as Krum had come thundering through the Great Hall. Some sort of Quidditch player.
"Hello," she said without inflection. Bollocks. Can't even be left alone in the library.
"What is it you are reading?" Krum asked. Hermione flushed and coughed slightly.
"Just a book," she muttered. He nodded.
"Yes, a book." He didn't seem to care much beyond that.
"Well . . . hello," she said again.
"I am Viktor."
"Yes."
"And your name is what, please?"
"Oh . . . Hermione," she said quickly. "It's very nice to meet you, Viktor, but I'm--"
"Is very nice to be meeting you as well, Hermy-own."
Hermione swallowed hard. Clearly Krum had no intention of leaving her in peace.
"Yes . . . well," she said.
"I am noticing you since our boat arrives at Hogwarts," he said, still standing behind her. "But I am seeing you always with the red-haired girl and boy and I think it is better that I do not talk to you."
"No—it's fine," she said. "They're just—friends."
"Ah," he said, never taking his eyes from her face. She felt herself redden and realized she ought to make some sort of effort.
"Would you like to sit?" she asked, indicating the seat across from her.
"Thank you," Krum said, sitting down beside her. He didn't look at the books or the papers, but continued to study her face. Never so popular . . . she thought. But then another thought occurred to her. Krum clearly didn't want to know the secrets of Grindylow antidote. Perhaps she could—
But it felt wrong to even think of using someone else's affection for her. Even if it would most likely have the benefit of chasing Ginny away. Hopefully. Hermione didn't want to think about what would happen if Ginny thought she and Krum were an item. Didn't want to imagine the tears. Still, it was better than Instant Enemy Serum. Her fingertips grazed the book in front of her. And if she was spending time with one of the visiting students, maybe she'd have the opportunity to spend more time around Fleur at one of the many Triwizard functions. After all, if she was swayed by the veela's charms, it could only mean . . .
I should feel bad about this.
Hermione took a deep breath and traced the gilt lettering on the cover of the book.
"So Viktor," she said. "I hear you play Quidditch."