The library's become somewhat of a zoo. The Bulgarian Quidditch player, the one everyone's obsessing about, is in there all the time, and hordes of students have decided that they too need to be revising.

I really don't want to go, but I'm missing some information on the properties of dragon liver, and I need it to finish my Potions essay. It's due in a week, and I don't like to leave things to the last minute.

The Quidditch player stands and heads out of the Great Hall. He's immediately followed by a swarm of people. Grimacing, I down my drink and stand also. It looks like he might be heading outside; if I'm lucky, I can be in and out of the library in an hour and evade all of them.

"Where are you going?" Someone yanks on my arm.

I look down at Parvati. "To the library," I hiss. "I need to work on the Potions essay."

"Which essay? The one we were given just this afternoon?" She groans. "Hermione, no one else is in the mood to study right now."

That's not true. I'm in the mood.

"Speaking of moods, she's ruining the one here," Ron says unkindly. Beside him, Lavender chuckles. She chuckles at everything Ron says, so I don't take offence. Harry is playing with a snitch he likely stole and is looking wistfully in the direction the famous player has disappeared to.

"If I can just go to the library and become that good at Quidditch, I'd follow you right now," he says. He sits up straight as though he's just had a brainwave. "Wait a minute! D'you think that's why Krum's at the library all the time?"

"No!" I say hastily, alarmed by the look of dawning comprehension that's now spreading to Ron and to Neville beside him. The last thing I need is for the Gryffindor quidditch team to add themselves to the storm in the library. "No," I disclaim, "Definitely not. He's just looking up spells to help him in the tasks. I, er… saw him reading an inanimate transfiguration book on orbital theories yesterday."

I didn't, but I figure it'll turn them off to the idea of coming to the library with me, and it works: Their faces are drawn with identical looks of disgust. Parvati is hiding a laugh.

I wave and leave.

The library is quiet. I'd forgotten how much I miss the silence. With the addition of students from two visiting schools, the castle hasn't been this quiet since the beginning of the school year.

Some OWLs and NEWTs students are occupying the study tables in the heart of the Potions section and I stay a respectful distance from them, scouring the shelves as unobtrusively as I can. I'm looking for recently published books, ones that take into account Professor Dumbledore's discourse on the twelve uses of dragon blood.

Finding a promising title, I pull it out:

[Regulating Hormone Imbalance in Mid-Weight Dragons]

"Liver," I whisper into the spine, and the number '56' appears engraved into it for an instant before disappearing. 56 mentions of liver in this book. Promising indeed. I flip to the first glowing page.

"May I have a word with you?"

I jump, swear lightly, drop the book, and swear again. Then I turn around.

The famous Quidditch player has snuck up behind me. Alone, and looking as though he's just shed a disillusionment charm. He's still semi-transparent around the edges.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," he apologises. He has a very thick accent. I'm not even sure if I'm hearing everything he's saying correctly.

I glare at him suspiciously, looking over his shoulder for signs of his followers. There are none. He must have finally got sick of them and taken to walking around invisibly, and I don't blame him.

"How can I help you?" I whisper.

"I'm Viktor." He offers me his hand to shake.

I take it, still peering around him. "I'm Hermione. You're not supposed to be invisible in Hogwarts, you know."

I know he's not technically a student here, and while I do sympathise, it's forbidden for a reason, and no one should be exempt from the rules.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," he says again, and takes a step back. "I hope I'm not offending you by being so direct, but I'd like to know how you're hiding it."

This is a very strange conversation, and it's making me feel uncomfortable, but there is at least a dozen 5th and 7th year students nearby so I'm not too worried.

"Hiding what?" I ask, frowning up at him. He's frowning also. But then he always looks like he's frowning, so I'm unsure.

He gestures at me. "You know… What you are."

I jerk back, shocked. "If you mean hiding the fact that I'm a muggle-born," I snap, as quietly as I can, "you should know that we don't generally have a sign on our forehead declaring us as such. Now if you'll excuse me." I pick up the fallen book. It's stopped glowing.

He's still standing in front of me, now looking dumbstruck. Maybe it's the first time someone's stood up to him, but if he thinks he can do wonky faints and get away with being rude, it's time he was taught otherwise.

But his eyes widen, and he says with a dazed and wondering air, "You don't know…"

He looks at me for a few moments as I glare at him while debating whether to demand an apology or just walk away. Then, a secretive smile breaks out across his face, erasing his inbuilt frown.

"What I mean," he clarifies, "is that you're a beautiful girl. A very beautiful girl. I think you're very appealing. How are you hiding your… true beauty from others- that is what I was asking you."

I blush immediately, feel myself blushing, and blush some more. My eyes flit around. Is this a prank? Or is he really trying it on me?

"Hermione," he says, voice deepening, "I think you are the most beautiful girl here in Hogwarts."

Oh.

His voice makes something uncurl in my belly. He takes a step forward. I feel rooted to the spot.

"You'll go with me to the Yule Ball next week," he says, in an even deeper, lower voice. His eyes lock to mine. "Yes?"

I nod dumbly.

"Good." His voice returns to normal. He grins and winks at me. "See you soon, Hermione."

I stay standing in the same spot for a while after he leaves before remembering what I'm supposed to be doing.

"Liver."

The pages glow.

The Yule Ball is tomorrow.

I know, because I've been counting down the days in nervous anticipation. Along with everyone else. Ron finally asked Lavender to go with him, but seeing as he only asked her last night, after rumours that he had been publicly rejected by the Beauxbatons Champion, she really shouldn't be as happy as she currently is.

Nobody has asked me if I have a date, and I haven't told anyone. Sometimes it feels like a dream, or a big joke, but every time I think about it, Viktor's voice resounds in my head – You'll go with me to the Yule Ball next week, yes? – and that voice silences all doubts.

So, I bought a dress; a very expensive dress, because I had to have it custom-made at the last minute. My parents didn't mind at all. It's a dark pink and reminds me of flower petals. I think it's my favourite colour.

There's a tapping on the window. An owl looks balefully in at us, feathers white against the sky.

One of the boys go to open it. Neville. He takes the letter.

"It's for Hermione," he says, walking over to hand it to me.

Everyone stares. "Who's sent you a letter? At night?" asks Lavender, sitting up with interest.

I shrug and put down my quill. "Thanks, Neville." I rip the envelope open. Parvati reads aloud over my shoulder. "Wear your hair up tomorrow," she squeaks breathlessly. "Who's V?"

I'm blushing again. That just makes it worse. Lavender leans over and snatches the slip of paper from my hands. She shrieks excitedly, "Who's V, Hermione?"

The boys are rolling their eyes and going back to their Quidditch talk. Harry looks at me for a moment like he's seeing something that concerns him.

I'm so proud, I think. Walking into the Great Hall on the arm of the most famous Quidditch player in the world, with everyone looking. I'm busy trying not to trip, and smiling nervously at no one and nothing in particular, but I can see them goggling at us out of the corners of my eyes.

Viktor's prouder, smugger, and acting like he's the one showing me off. Like he's seen something in me no one else has. And I want to believe that, that finally someone sees that under all my struggle to belong to this world, I am still a girl, a proper girl, but he has this mischievous grin on his face like he had seen something in me, and he was showing it off- not me, but the fact that he had found me.

We descend the stairs.

"I like your hair," he says to me. It's piled up on the top of my head in smooth curls that took hours to achieve. There are some permanent measures I can take to make it stay smooth and straight, but I kind of like my hair the way it is.

"Thanks," I say. I look at him. He's in burgundy and has a fur cape draped around one shoulder. I wouldn't have thought him my type, but he asked me, and here we are. He's really very handsome, I think, in a rugged kind of way. "I- er, I like your cape."

We walk past a rank of silent students. Some of them look terribly displeased, his fan club, especially, and Venusa Lockhart's face is thunderous. I'd heard a rumour that Viktor had asked her to be his partner and then suddenly rescinded his invite, and that doesn't sound very nice of him, so I hope it's not true.

I'm about to ask Viktor about it when he says, "You should wear your hair up all the time. Shows off your lovely neck." He brushes my neck with a finger.

I hear an intake of breath and a whisper from one of the students I've just passed, and turn to see who it is, but everyone's whispering. Some crane their necks. Some are even standing on tip toes and leaning over their friends to look at us. They all look floored, like they'd seen something they once thought mythical. They can't believe their famous Quidditch keeper has me, the resident swot, for a date. Can't really blame them seeing as I can hardly believe it myself.

Viktor steers me towards the other champions all already waiting in the middle of the Great Hall, right in front of the row of dressed-up professors and ministry officials. None of them look very happy. Professor Karkaroff is placating the Minister of Magic. He gestures slowly with open hands. "I can assure you there is no malicious intent…" I hear him say, before the music begins and we are swept into the first waltz.

"What's happening there, you think?" I ask Viktor, as we go through the motions.

Viktor laughs a full-throated laugh and spins me. "They're not very happy with me," he says happily.

"What did you do?" I ask. He'd probably been caught prowling around invisible. I did warn him. But then, even that wouldn't have involved the Minister of Magic. Whatever he did had to have been really out of line.

He appears to think for a moment, and then says, "They think I stole something."

I'm flabbergasted, and falter through the next few steps. I spot Lavender and Ron amongst the blur of staring faces. Lavender is whispering in his ear.

"That would be a serious accusation!"

He laughs again, and spins me again, and when we come together again, my hand resting on his arm, I giggle a little; his laughter is contagious. "Don't joke about such things," I scold. "You didn't actually steal anything, did you?"

"Finders keepers," he says cryptically, wearing a wide smile. He looks a lot less moody when he smiles.

"Ha ha. Very funny. I know you play Keeper and all, but I highly doubt that sort of childish excuse will hold up in court."

It's his turn to look flabbergasted. "I'm a seeker, Hermione."

"Seeker, finder, stealer, however you want to call it…"

"No. What? No! I play Seeker. In Quidditch."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I apologise sincerely. I may not care for the game, but I'm sure it's important to him, and I'm embarrassed to have got it wrong. I've been accused many times of showing more interest in books than in people, and maybe it's true. I should have put in a little more effort and done some research into his likes, his dislikes, things like that after I'd agreed to come to the ball with him.

The tempo of the waltz is slowing, and we follow suit. "Well, what do they think you stole?" I ask, trying to sound enthusiastically interested.

The song ends. We separate and bow to each other, and as the first smatterings of applause begins, he puts his thumb in his mouth, sucks on it, and then reaching out, rubs it quickly along my collarbone.

"You," he says.