It was still pitch dark out when Molly Weasley stuck her head through the door and told Hermione and Ginny that it was time to get up. Hermione was certain she'd only just fallen back asleep after Harry's revelation about his dream and opening her eyes was an enormous struggle. A glance at her watch told her it was 3:45 in the morning. What a horrid time to be awake.
"You've got ten minutes to get downstairs if you want breakfast before you leave."
Ginny waited until her mother had shut the door again before flopping dramatically back onto the mattress.
"Is it even breakfast if it's at four AM?"
"No idea. I suppose we should get up before the boys eat everything." Sitting up seemed to take a monumental effort, and her head felt like it was stuffed full of cotton. No matter how hard she blinked her eyes, she couldn't quite seem to get them to focus.
"Well, come on then. After all, it's the World Cup! I still can't believe Dad got tickets." The idea of the World Cup—spoken with such reverence that it was obviously capitalized—seemed to spur Ginny into motion. With more energy than Hermione could ever imagine summoning at this hour, she jumped from the bed and began throwing on her clothes: a pair of Muggle jeans she'd asked Hermione to buy her and a replica quidditch jersey from a team Hermione had never heard of.
"You know, I thought you were being a bit, you know, you when you insisted we pack last night. But I'm really glad I don't have to pack this morning. Maybe we'll beat the boys downstairs and get first pick of breakfast." She paused for a minute, turning around with a hesitant expression on her face. "Do you think I look ok?"
"You look very pretty. If he has any sense, Harry won't be able to take his eyes off you."
Ginny sighed, obviously doubting every word she'd said. Not that she blamed her. It was true: Harry would stare if he'd had any sense. Ginny had always been pretty, but she'd grown several inches over the summer and her face had lost some of the childishness in it. As a result, it was clear Ginny was rapidly turning into an absolute stunner. And the quidditch jersey fit her very well, emphasizing broad shoulders and nicely setting off the dark copper of her hair. She looked effortlessly sporty.
But Harry had no sense. And they both knew it.
"He'll see someday. And regardless, I'm sure there are plenty others who will see today. Those jeans look very good on you." Hermione said as she pulled on her own jeans and a plain grey shirt.
"Are you sure you want to wear that?"
"What? What's wrong with it? Does it have a stain?" Hermione looked down at her shirt, convinced she must have missed something when she'd washed and packed.
"No. But, well, what about that pink one you showed me?" Ginny said, beginning to dig through Hermione's trunk with nary a 'by your leave.' "It's just, that shirt's all well and good for hanging out with my brother, but it's not exactly fashionable. Or flattering."
"And what about me has ever been fashionable? Besides, it's just a quidditch match."
"Only you would describe top box seats at the World Cup as just a quidditch match. Who knows who we'll meet at the game? Aha!" She pulled out a shirt that Hermione's mum had gotten her that summer that had been shoved into the bottom of her trunk.
"Ginny, it doesn't fit very well. Besides, I really don't see any problem with what I'm wearing now."
"Just put it on. For me?"
"Fine." Hermione stripped off her shirt and stared down at the pink monstrosity in her hands. She wasn't a pink girl. She much preferred grey and black. Maybe some nice navy now and again. Things that let her blend into the background when she wanted to. Heaving a sigh, she pulled the shirt on over her head, slouching a bit under Ginny's gaze, her shoulders drawing in to try and disguise her discomfort.
"It's really very lovely on you. Come on, borrow my earrings and bring a pair of flats instead of those ratty old shoes and you're going to turn heads."
Hermione begrudgingly did as she was told. She'd long ago found that it was best to just go along with whatever Ginny wanted. At least at first. Anyway, she could always nip back upstairs and change before they left.
"There. Happy?"
Ginny beamed at her. "Yes. Just look in the mirror." With a sigh, Hermione turned around to look.
The shirt was less aggressively pink than her mind had made it out to now that she had put it on. The short sleeves flared out slightly and the gentle pleats at the shoulders draped the shirt gracefully and drew attention to a v-neck that was much lower than Hermione had ever dared to wear before. Not that that was saying much. All in all, it was…less awful than she'd anticipated. And the large gold hoop earrings Ginny had insisted she wear did give her the appearance of being almost sophisticated and put together.
"I don't know, Ginny. It's all a bit…Muggle." Hermione bit her lip, a frown of worry pulling her eyebrows down and wrinkling her brow.
"So? You're a Muggleborn. Why shouldn't you wear Muggle clothes?" Ginny said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. But she'd never been relentlessly teased for her blood status. Never had insults flung at her any time someone felt like bringing her down a peg. Reminding her that there were some things—things she could never change—that would define her as less than for the rest of her life.
Hermione grasped the bottom of the shirt, ready to strip it back off and put on the comfortable, baggy grey one.
"You know. I think you're really pretty. You look like a very pretty witch. Who knows? Maybe you'll catch the gaze of some foreign wizard who thinks you look exotic and exciting!" Hermione scoffed at her. "Come on, it'll be fun. If you want, I could put on something more Muggle too. We can go out and smile at boys. First one to get a kiss wins!"
"Ginny!"
"I'll take that as your agreement. Now come on, I can already hear mum coming up the stairs. Time to go!"
A knock on the door and Ginny was shooting her a look that clearly said 'I told you so.'
"Come one girls, you're late!" Another loud series of knocks. "We've barely got time. You'll have to make do with toast on the way." They could both hear Mrs. Weasley muttering to herself on her way back down the stairs.
The girls shrugged, and Hermione decided to stop trying to fight this battle. With a glance back at the mirror, she straightened up her shoulders and gave herself a little nod. She really did look better than she'd expected. Besides, she was headed out into a huge crowd of people who didn't know she was not-so-secretly an incurable swot. Just for today, she could be whoever she wanted.
=/=/=
Hermione huffed and puffed her way up the impossibly tall hill, at the top of which was the portkey that would take them to the campground for the World Cup. As she wheezed through the last remaining part of the climb, noticing that the entire Weasley clan and Harry had already made it to the top with far less fanfare, she let her simmering resentment fuel her the rest of the way to the top. Not a single member of the household that morning had noticed, let alone commented, on the obvious effort she'd put into her outfit that morning. She may as well have been invisible. As always.
Harry glanced over to her as she topped the hill, giving her a little smile and a thumbs up. If she didn't know him so well, she'd think he was purposefully mocking her. Instead, she knew he was nearly as socially inept as she was. It was probably part of the reason they got on so well. She gave him a weak smile as she tried not to audibly pant.
And of course, there was Cedric Diggory at the top to really rub her nose in the humiliation of it all. Perfect, pretty, Cedric Diggory. Whose father was doing absolutely everything he could to embarrass his own son. Point one to Hermione for not being the only red-faced person at the top of Stoatshead Hill that morning.
Ginny waggled her eyebrows and glanced over at Cedric. Hermione rolled her eyes and pretended she couldn't see her friend eyeing the tall Hufflepuff while mouthing "first kiss wins."
"Gather round, gather round!" shouted Mr. Weasley, motioning them all over to the soggy boot Mr. Diggory was holding outstretched in his hand. Mr. Weasley glanced at his watch again. "Just reach out and touch the Portkey. No need to grab a handful, just touching with a finger is good enough."
He glanced down at his watch as everyone reached forward. Hermione knew how portkeys worked, at least in theory, but a little part of her didn't quite trust the idea that just a tiny fraction of contact would work and she surreptitiously grabbed the end of one of the laces. Mr. Weasley's mouth was muttering a countdown as he stared at his watch. As he mouthed the word "one," Hermione felt like she'd been snagged on the end of an invisible fishing line and yanked violently through time and space.
Next thing she knew, she was flat on her bum on a grassy patch of ground. An incredibly bored and exhausted looking team of wizards checked their group off a piece of parchment while ushering them as quickly as possible away from the landing site. Hermione just scrambled away in time to avoid getting trampled by a contingent of foreign wizards. If their dark skin and colorfully patterned robes were any indication, they'd portkeyed all the way from Africa. One of them smiled down at her and nodded as she finally got her feet back under her.
"All right there, Hermione?"
"Fine Mr. Weasley. Just a bit uncoordinated this morning."
Ron muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "bit like every morning." Prat. Nevertheless, when Harry gave her a significant look and started trailing further behind the rest of the Weasley siblings, Hermione fell into step with him and Ron.
"She's real," Harry said without preamble.
"Really?"
"And she's missing."
"Hasn't been seen in nearly a month," added Ron.
"Oh my gosh. How'd you find out? What else do you know?"
"We asked my Dad. He wanted to know where we'd heard about her."
"I panicked and said we'd overheard her name somewhere." Harry scratched the back of his neck in embarrassment. "I still can't believe he bought that."
"It was four AM, Harry. Anyone would believe anything at this bloody hour. Anyway, Dad said that she works for the Ministry. She was working on the World Cup and a couple other important events. Apparently she works for Ludo Bagman, the head of Magical Games and Sports. She went on holiday to Albania of all places. Can't imagine why. And then she just never came back."
"So they're looking for her, then. That's good." Hermione tried to squash the little piece of her that was annoyed that the mystery would likely be cleared up without their help.
"Nope."
"What do you mean? You just said she's been missing for a month? How can no one be looking for her?"
"As far as Dad can tell, no one really minds that she's gone. Not a very nice person to work with. And she's super forgetful, he said. She's been shuffled from department to department. Can't even remember what she had for breakfast…"
"Or if she had it," Harry added with something close to a laugh.
"So everyone just kind of expects she's lost track of time or gotten really lost. And that she'll show back up eventually."
"But we know better," Hermione reminded them.
Harry's face sobered quickly. "Yeah. We do. So, what do we do now? It's not like we can go to Albania and try to track her down."
Hermione hadn't really thought that far ahead, but her brain began whirring again.
"We should go to the library," she said after thinking hard for a few moments.
"You owe me a galleon, Harry. I told you that would be her answer!"
"What I mean," Hermione pushed on, determined to pretend like Ron hadn't interrupted, "is that we should find out more about Bertha Jorkins. Someone must be missing her. Or have an idea of where in Albania she was going. And if she's a British witch who works at the Ministry, she almost certainly went to Hogwarts."
Harry seemed to catch on to her train of thought. "So maybe we can track down someone who knew her really well at school, someone she might still be friends with."
"Exactly!"
"But how will we do that?" Ron asked, leaning towards them to prevent their conversation from being overheard by the Muggle caretaker that was directing Mr. Weasley towards their campsite. "It's not like there's some book that records who people's friends are."
"No, there isn't. But there are pictures of all the graduating seventh years. I went looking for Tom Riddle after, well, you know. I had to go all the way back to 1945. But there he was. It was spooky. I bet we could track down what year Bertha Jorkins graduated. See who else was in her class."
The trio were interrupted by their arrival at what Mr. Weasley happily announced was their campsite. The small plot of land looked hardly big enough for the lot of them, but that was a problem for later tonight, she supposed.
Mr. Weasley haphazardly dumped the entirety of two tents onto the ground and proceeded to happily sit on the grass and shove pieces together to see if they fit. Harry glanced over at Hermione. After a shared eye roll on her part and a bemused shrug on his, they stepped forward and offered their help. Mr. Weasley, obviously excited to watch "two camping pros" put together what looked like two Muggle tents, happily ceded his spot. The rest of the Weasleys had mysteriously vanished to find…something or other. Knowing Fred and George, they'd decided to find trouble instead of sticking around to help. Another shrug from each of the teenagers and they set to work.
It took them only half an hour to set up the tents. Some of the stakes were put in rather wonky—Mr. Weasley was entranced by but unskilled in the use of the mallet—and the smaller of the two tents leaned quite obviously to the left, but they were as good as they were going to get. Dusting off their hands, Hermione glanced over at Harry and happily bumped her shoulder into his. Harry grinned back at her. It had been fun to do something so very Muggle together. To feel useful and needed.
Although, now that the tents were up, it was even more obvious that there had been a gross miscalculation somewhere. They were barely big enough for two people each, and they certainly weren't going to fit all the Weasley boys into one of those tents.
Watching Mr. Weasley bend down at the waist to enter the larger tent, Harry and Hermione shared another look that clearly said they were on the same page. Somewhere, someone had made a mistake. But once they gathered the courage to file in with the rest of Weasleys, who had somehow appeared moments after the tents were up, they discovered another very wonderful and practical use of magic.
"Hey Hermione. It's bigger on the inside." Harry grinned.
"Our very own Tardis."
"What's that then?" asked Ron, appearing at Harry's elbow.
"Muggle thing. Too hard to explain."
"Whatever. Want to go check out the souvenirs stand? We all grabbed some water and firewood while you were building the tents. Saw it on the way over. Fred and George placed all their money on a bet with Ludo Bagman of all people, so they're not buying anything anyways. But Ginny and I didn't want to go get souvenirs without you. I've got my eye on some of the Irish regalia."
While Hermione could not care less about quidditch jerseys and other such sundries, the glee on Harry's face quickly answered Ron's question for them. At least she'd be able to people watch on the way over to the stand. And maybe there would be something of interest when they got there? She doubted it, but reminded herself to keep an open mind. It was incredibly kind of the Weasleys to invite her. Indeed, Mrs. Weasley wasn't even going and Hermione wondered if she'd have gone if Hermione hadn't. She tried not to feel too terribly guilty about it.
The walk over to the souvenirs stand took a little over ten minutes and brought them past some spectacular tents. Live peacocks, fountains, blinking shamrocks. There was a little bit of everything. And obviously not many of the attendants shared Mr. Weasley's insistence that they not draw the attention of any nearby Muggles. At least, the weenie roast over bright violet flames certainly didn't look like it was meant to be inconspicuous.
When they reached a knot of Bulgarian supporters, Hermione was surprised to find the same poster absolutely everywhere. A young man with a large crooked nose, dark brows, and shoulders too broad for his thin frame huffily crossed his arms and scowled out of the poster. The huff and scowl repeated over and over as they walked past, like some sort of strange wave. Taking a closer look, she couldn't understand why everyone wanted that poster on their tent.
Turning to Ginny, she pointed to one of the posters. "Who is that?"
"That," interrupted Ron, "is only the best seeker in the entire world. Viktor. Krum."
"Be careful brother, you look like you're about to swoon. Although he is very handsome. Isn't he Hermione?"
Hermione took another, longer look at the poster. There was certainly something—intense—about the gaze of Viktor Krum. But he didn't exactly look like a barrel of laughs. "He looks rather grumpy."
"GRUMPY?!" Ron shouted. "The best seeker. In the entire. World. And all you can say is he looks grumpy." Several people glanced over at Ron's outburst, but shrugged and went about their business when it became obvious he was defending their favorite player.
"Well, he can scowl at me any day." Ginny waggled her eyebrows and playfully bit her lip, making Harry blush and Ron turn away from them in horror. "I wonder if we'd get to meet him since we'll be in the top box. Wouldn't that be a treat, Hermione?" Ginny made a show of linking her arm around Hermione's.
It took a moment (a long moment if she was being honest), but it finally dawned on her that Ginny was equal parts serious and having fun. In fact, she was absolutely reveling in her brother's discomfort, and Hermione discovered that she found it quite funny. After all, Ron had stubbornly avoided any sort of romantic entanglement with her and bemoaned her personality and her looks at nearly every opportunity. Perhaps he deserved to feel as awkward as she often did.
"You know, now that you mention it, there is something enticing about his eyes. And that nose. Very distinguished. Rather like a young, handsome version of Professor Snape, I suppose."
"EWW. Mione. Don't say things like that." Ron shook his head back and forth like he was trying to shake the mental image right out of his head. Harry glanced back at her and laughed when he saw her mischievous giggle. Catching on to the joke, he threw her a quick wink.
"She's right, Ron. Look at that nose. Obviously he's related to the Snapes. No doubt about it."
"Right you are, Harry. Right you are."
They kept up their teasing banter of Ron the rest of the way to the souvenirs stand. The whole stand was covered in red and green knick-knacks of all kinds and sorts: scarves, gloves, shirts, fake snitches, giant buttons, even miniature figurines. The boys helped her pick out a scarf, which everyone claimed she'd need up in the stands. Despite the hot weather, Ron insisted that she couldn't go to the World Cup and not come back with a scarf. Although his enthusiasm waned when she chose a dark red and black Bulgarian one on a whim. It would go nicely with her winter coat.
When Ron picked up a tiny Viktor Krum that proceeded to stalk across the palm of his hand only to cross its tiny arms and glare harshly up at him, Hermione let out a peal of laughter that surprised even her.
"Really, Ronald?"
"Oi. I've saved up all year for this. The charms are supposed to last years."
"But I thought you supported Ireland?" Harry asked as he passed over the money for several sets of omnioculars, which he proceeded to pass out amongst them. Ginny was so besotted and surprised by the gift that all she could do was turn bright red and choke out the word "thanks!"
"Of course I support Ireland. And they're obviously going to win. Much better team than the Bulgarians. But it's Krum. He's a living legend. And he's only like eighteen or something, I heard. Who knows how good he'll be next year." Ron was on a roll. "Actually, I heard he'll be signing onto a new team in a year. Wonder if he'd come play for the Cannons?"
"As if the Cannons could afford a player like Krum." Ginny seemed to have gotten past her discomfort at Harry's lavish gift to all of them.
"You never know!"
The two of them good-naturedly fought all the way back to the tent.
=/=/=
As evening approached, the Weasley clan kitted up in their green scarves and prepared to leave for the stadium. The twins, their faces painted in white and green stripes, whooped and hollered to get the rest of them moving. The anticipation in the air was palpable, and even Hermione could admit to herself that she was beginning to feel excited. While she didn't particularly like sports, quidditch included, the crowd's festive mood was contagious and she found herself happily donning her new scarf and straightening Harry's gigantic red and black striped hat with a grin plastered on her face.
"Ready?" Harry gave her a gallant bow and smiled broadly, holding his arm out as if he were a hero in a Jane Austen novel.
Hermione gamely hooked her arm through his and pronounced "yes, yes I am Sir Potter. Shall we go?" in her best impression of British royalty.
Harry laughed and took off with an exaggerated swagger that made her giggle. If only she could feel the way about Harry that she did about Ron. But he was like her brother. A fantastic brother who she loved fiercely, but still a brother. Her smile dimmed for a moment before she purposefully widened it so Harry wouldn't notice. This was a night for fun, not for wishing that someone, especially someone named Ronald, liked her as a girl.
Dropping Harry's arm at the bottom of the most massive, yet somehow rickety staircase she'd ever seen, Hermione heaved a sigh. Her legs were already sore from that morning's hike, and apparently she wasn't even done. Why oh why couldn't wizards get with the times and install elevators?
When she finally reached the top, she happily collapsing into a chair and tried to surreptitiously catch her breath. The box included Draco Malfoy and his family, as well as a somewhat large group of people speaking what she assumed was Bulgarian. She watched in fascination as she got to observe the Bulgarian minister and Minister Fudge, who seemed anxious and wholeheartedly ready for the night to be over already.
The pre-game spectacle was astonishing. She got to learn all about Veela, while simultaneously grabbing Harry bodily about the middle so he didn't fling himself off the balcony to go meet them. Ginny had to do the same for Ron, whose entire face had gone slack and appeared to be actually drooling.
Boys.
Fred and George happily stuffed every single gold coin they could find from the leprechauns. She wondered if she should mention that, at least according to Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, the gold probably wasn't real. The exuberant looks on their faces made a good case for telling them, but an equally good case for just letting them have fun and think themselves rich. Before she could decide, the teams were announced and any chance to talk to the twins was gone.
While Hermione was absolutely terrified of flying and was horrendous on a broom, she could appreciate the ease with which the teams flew into the stadium. The last player announced was Krum, who flew at breakneck speed only to do a handstand over 50 feet in the air. And made it look easy.
"He's a maniac!"
"Like I said, Mione: best seeker in the world!"
=/=/=
The match seemed to pass in a blur of exhilaration. She'd never experienced the adrenaline high of a sports game before, and while she didn't think she'd ever become a rabid quidditch fan, she was beginning to understand why her friends liked it so much. Cheering loudly for both teams—mostly because everything happened so fast she could barely keep track—she smiled widely and knew she'd be hoarse from screaming in the morning. It was delightful. Absolutely delightful. Much more exciting than the Hogwarts matches. Maybe she could see herself doing this again someday, even if she really didn't understand the rules that governed what was happening.
The Wonsky…wonky…the something feint had left her absolutely terrified. It was painful to watch the Irish seeker smack into the ground, a look of almost comic surprise on his face. Krum's face was a study of intense concentration, his teeth bared in a savage grin of success. She wasn't certain whether she was impressed or horrified at his ruthlessness.
But when the Bulgarian seeker was smacked straight in the face by a bludger, she cringed along with everyone else, booing the Irish beater and shouting "give him a yellow card!" which only Harry understood. He elbowed her in the side and gave her a half grin.
"Think he'll be ok?" he leaned in and asked.
"I don't know, Harry." She put the omnioculars back up to her face to get a better look. "Oh! Harry! Look!" She pointed to Krum, who had whipped into a dive in pursuit of the other seeker, blood streaming behind him from an obviously broken nose.
A tense few moments later, Krum pulled out of his dive with the snitch firmly in grasp. A look at the scoreboard and the whole stadium finally realized that Krum, the player of the day, had just lost his team the match.
The Irish crowd went wild.
"I don't understand. Why would he do that?"
Harry turned back to her and set his omnioculars back in his lap. "Ireland scored 100 points in the last 15 minutes alone. And Bulgaria has only scored once the whole game. They weren't going to come back from that and it was only going to get worse. If Ireland caught the snitch, Bulgaria would have lost with just 10 points on the board. For the entire game. At least this way, Bulgaria almost won. On Krum's terms. You know, before it became a bit humiliating."
"I guess that makes sense."
Ron began to vibrate in his seat. "Guys. Guys!" he shouted to get their attention. "I just heard them say the teams are coming up here. To the top box. Can you believe it? Both teams, right here. Think I can get his autograph? Do either of you have a quill?" He began to rummage through his pockets.
Hermione didn't need to ask who Ron meant.
A few minutes later, the Bulgarian team entered the top box one by one as Ludo Bagman announced their names. Each member was met with polite applause from the Irish and hearty, if disappointed, applause from the Bulgarians. All except Krum, who seemed to get a standing ovation from the entire stadium. Which didn't seem to make him look any happier than he had in his posters. If anything, he looked even grumpier. His eyes were both rapidly turning a dark purple and blood was still sluggishly making its way down his face. The front of his jersey was damp with it. Still clutching the snitch, he nodded to Ludo Bagman and the ministers in sullen silence.
Hermione turned around when she felt Ginny elbow her out of the way so she could get a better view.
"Isn't he handsome?" Ginny whispered loudly.
"He's just a quidditch player." Hermione retorted, forgetting to monitor her volume.
The movement and noise seemed to catch Krum's attention, for he glanced over at the two of them, his head still facing directly ahead. For a moment, Hermione's eyes met his and she thought in better lighting and without blood smeared on his face, Ginny might very well be right. Although even then, he wouldn't be conventionally handsome by any means. His features were far too strong and he was rather ungainly and a bit awkward on the ground. When he maintained eye contact for a moment longer, Hermione felt herself blush red hot with embarrassment before turning back towards Ginny. Merlin, she hoped he hadn't heard her.
"First kiss wins" Ginny mouthed, winking at the same time that Ron loudly proclaimed "He looked at me. Did you see that? I should get his autograph. I'm going to ask for his autograph."
Hermione blushed even harder at Ginny's audacity and glanced back over, only to find that Krum had focused back on Ludo Bagman as he announced the first of the Irish team. He looked about ready to fall over and gingerly pinched the bridge of his nose, his eyes watering slightly from the pain.
Derailed by the arrival of one of his favorite teams, Ron momentarily forgot all about his favorite player and whooped loudly as they were given the World Cup trophy. Before Ron could decide which of the players he should accost first, the two teams began to file out of the box. The Bulgarians each gave a small bow to their minister upon their exit, and for one brief moment Hermione thought she'd caught Viktor Krum looking in her direction again. But as quickly as the thought crossed her mind, he straightened from his bow and left.
=/=/=
"See? Aren't you glad I told you to wear that shirt?" Ginny giggled as they entered their tent at the end of the night. "And Ron thought Krum was looking at him. Idiot. After all, he doesn't fill out his shirt nearly as well as you do."
"Ginny!" Hermione giggled, pulling off said shirt as she changed into her night clothes. "Don't be silly. He was not."
"Yes. Yes he was." At Hermione's insistent head shake, she continued. "I mean, if he wanted to look at a pretty girl to ease his troubled mind, it was you or Mrs. Malfoy. And her face makes her look like she's got shite on her shoe."
"Do you really think so?"
"Of course. You're young and you're gorgeous. Why wouldn't he look at you?"
Hermione let out a tired huff. It was nice of Ginny to lie to her like that, but Hermione knew she wasn't exactly a catch. She could almost feel her body begin to curl in upon itself, the self-recrimination and anxiety over her looks—or lack thereof—taking her brain down well-worn paths. She felt Ginny give her a hug from behind, the taller girl leaning forward to rest her chin on Hermione's shoulder.
"You are. Just because my idiot brother can't see it doesn't mean no one else can."