A/N: So. My new hero happens to be sycoticatalyst. Thank you for those wwonderfull words of wisdom:) I guess I did get a little...okay, a lot...too greedy. But Lex made it alll better because the review was amazing.

All right; so now that I've recognized my current favorite person in the world, let's get on with it, shall we?

Chapter 4

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Oh, kiss me; beneath the milky twilight
Lead me; out on the moonlit floor
Lift your open hand
Strike up the band and make the fireflies dance
Silver moon's sparkling
So kiss me

-Kiss Me-

.Sixpence None the Richer.

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Hermione lay back on her plastic chair by the pool, feeling uncomfortable behind her Gucci sunglasses, a present from her mother.

It wasn't just the beads of sweat trickling down her body—it was the bikini, white with pink hibiscuses outlined in black, which her mother had bought and made her wear, rather than her normal, one-piece Nike suit.

The pool did look tempting—although taking off her cover-up meant baring all of herself, except a tiny, barely sufficient cloth on her top and bottom. It was identical to parading around in her underwear; and she refused to sink to that level.

The sun was shining in a pale blue sky that looked like it had been painted from watercolors over Maui, Hawaii, where Hermione was staying at the Embassy Suites with her parents; they had decided to bring her on vacation to a totally Muggle place.

"Herms!" Hermione heard her mother call. "Come on sweet, we have to go." Hermione got up; they were planning on going out to dinner.

She took a quick shower back at the room and slid into a somewhat conservative, yet slightly sparkly spaghetti strap black dress, also compliments of her mother. She began to blow dry her hair, and didn't even bother to smooth it when it poofed like normal.

Her mother came out of the bathroom in a bathrobe and groaned. "Hermione!" She scolded. "We've got to do something about this."

Mrs. Granger plugged in what looked suspicious like…a hair straightener! She backed away from the vanity as her mom also put in a hair curler. "No way," she pronounced. "No, Mum!"

Somehow, after a battle had ensued, Mrs. Granger came out victorious, which was how Hermione found herself with her face towards the wall and her mother fiddling with her hair.

About 45 minutes, and plenty of yelling from Mr. Granger, later, the older woman had managed to silken out Hermione's thick, unruly hair, and put a few natural-looking curls at the bottom, which almost matched her usual curls but much less messy. "Now that's more like it!" The proud lady exclaimed.

Hermione slowly turned, and stopped dead when her eyes hit the mirror. "That's not…." She breathed, speechless.

Mrs. Granger smiled widely and put an affectionate arm around her daughter. "You're all grown up, baby!"

Hermione stared at her reflection. This wasn't…this couldn't…but…she twirled once, and her usually heavy hair felt light as a feather. A slow smile spread across her rosy lips. "I like it."

Her now sleek hair nicely framed her face, now showing her face and the layers that actually were there. It shimmered in the dim light given off by the table lamp.

After Mr. Granger had properly fussed over his daughter, and how she looked too old, and was she really his, they left for a restaurant called La Bonita, one of the nicest restaurants in the area. It was upscale, dim, prettily decorated, and filled with the undercurrent of people murmuring and china and wine glasses clinking.

Feeling slightly insecure and self-conscious, Hermione kept her head bent down until her mother tapped her to bring it up. "Be proud," The older woman whispered.

Hermione tried to walk confidently, then, though it felt like a lie, so contradictory to her true feelings. Still, it felt nice that maybe she didn't blend in as much as normal, that maybe peoples' gazes didn't skitter over her and land somewhere else more attractive, but maybe stay on her for a second, or a minute, or any time at all.

With those thoughts, Hermione brought her head upwards as they took their seat. She glanced around the room, which was partitioned in some places to give the customers a little more privacy. They had gotten a table in the middle of the floor, and not one of the cozier booths along the perimeter.

She sat down daintily, loving the smooth feel of her hair as it grazed her back when she turned her head.

And then she saw him—he looked Muggle, with short brown hair that was spiked in front and gorgeous blue eyes. He looked about her age, maybe a little older, and he was dressed in black dress pants and a black dress shirt tucked in with a belt. She kept her gaze trained on him, and blushed furiously when he turned, drawn by the power of her stare. Why did she act without thinking like that? Just like what had happened with blowing on Malfoy's ear, she couldn't control her blush or her disbelief that she had actually done something like that—even in this town where she was a stranger, and he probably was one too, and after this she would never see him again….

The rest of his table was hidden by a partition, which was probably why Hermione suddenly got the courage she had no idea she possessed at all.

While the boy was still looking, she winked. She then proceeded to turn beet red, and prayed to the dim lights to conceal it. She quickly looked the other way, her heart pounding.

"So, Hermione," Mrs. Granger began, snapping her daughter out of her dream-like daze. "You plan on picking the classes next year that will help you—"

"Mother!" Hermione cried. Didn't she know that they couldn't publicly discuss it?

Mrs. Granger smiled apologetically and a little sheepishly. "Sorry, baby. I just—I'm not used to it. Forgive me?"

Hermione nodded slightly, and looked over to where the boy had been. He caught her gaze, and then got up and didn't break his stare until he had to turn around to keep walking.

Now or never, she thought. Her stomach gurgled at what she was about to do. It wasn't like she would see him again if she screwed up or had misinterpreted him, but still, she was Hermione Granger, and she didn't exactly embrace the unknown. She liked to be armed—why wasn't there a book called What To Do About Cute Boys in Restaurants?

After a two-minute internal war, Hermione put down her napkin. She was hazily aware that her parents were talking and she was supposed to join the conversation, but she had already set her priorities and couldn't change them now. "Excuse me." She got up and headed outside the way she had seen the boy go.

"Hey," someone said softly as she stepped out into the garden behind the restaurant—she hadn't known there was one. It took up an acre, with stone paths, inscribed benches, arches, and beautiful flowers.

Hermione turned slowly. It was him. He had been sitting on a bench a little bit up the path. She shyly went over. "Hey."

"I'm Ben. What's your name?"

"Hermione." It took every last bit of her courage to fight through her rampaging butterflies and sit down next to him. If Harry and Ron could see me now….she thought, and laughed a little at it. "My parents wanted to be different." She rolled her eyes.

He chuckled. "No, no. That's a pretty name. Hermione."

She blushed. Her name sounded so good when he said it.

That night, Hermione got her very first kiss.

After rendezvousing with Ben, Hermione rejoined her parents, telling them she had gotten a letter and had to find somewhere private to receive it from her owl.

They bought it, and the rest of dinner passed smoothly. Hermione kept touching her purse, which held the napkin Ben had written his number on—turned out he was from Britain, too. She smiled at him as he and his family left, and he smiled back and even waved. She prayed her parents wouldn't notice—and they didn't.

Hermione and her parents were just walking out of the restaurant when Hermione was practically accosted by something moving very fast. The some—one?—skidded sharply to a stop in from of her.

Ron.