Hermione Granger
examined her reflection in the mirror critically. She grimaced
widely, running her tongue over her teeth and inspecting them. Her
mother had nearly had a fit when Hermione returned after her fourth
year, her normally bucktoothed grin having been conveniently altered
by Madame Pomfrey.
"Hermione! What did you do to your
mouth?" her mother had moaned.
"Sweetheart, we're
dentists," her father had grumbled, "You know we don't
want you mucking about your mouth with magic."
"Where's
my little chipmunk?" her mother had asked, sadly.
"Gone,"
Hermione thought to herself firmly, as she continued to peruse her
face in the mirror. Unfortunately, that was about all that had
improved, she was forced to admit. Her hair was still as unruly and
bushy as ever – she was certainly not going to waste time fussing
with it like she had for the Yule Ball...and her face remained as
plain and simple as ever. Nothing outrageously out of place, or
disproportionate, but nothing particularly remarkable about it
either. The girl next door. Invisible.
Hermione sighed, and
flopped across her neatly-made bed, pulling herself up with her
elbows. There were far more important things to worry about anyway.
She was not about to start spending hours in front of the mirror, or
reading Witch Weekly compulsively. Hermione saw them, even if Harry
didn't – the girls that lurked "coincidentally" in the
corridors between their classes, whispering behind their hands...or
following a few feet back, just to sigh at the back of his head.
If
being a girl meant leaving off studying to paint up her face, or fawn
over a magazine...If it meant sitting there at the Great Hall and
turning down perfectly good food, or yanking her hair straight for an
hour each day...if it meant dumbing herself down to seem less
threatening, or essentially, taking all of her self-respect,
gift-wrapping it, and handing it to some boy, well, count Hermione
Granger out.
Hermione had always prized her intellect above
all other graces, followed shortly by self-control. And now that Lord
Voldemort had returned to power, to spend time moping about what you
have, or don't have, or comparing yourself to certain French,
blonde tarts seemed a waste of time indeed.
What Hermione
couldn't admit to herself, is that's she'd gotten so accustomed
to prizing intellect above all her other qualities, she'd forgotten
she had any other qualities. In fact, when Ron had finally realized
that she was, in fact, "a girl," she'd been nearly as shocked
as he was. She'd been spending so much time with Ron and Harry,
that ironically, she'd nearly forgotten herself. She'd never
gotten along with Parvati or Lavender...Ginny was really her only
female friend at Hogwarts, and even that was more of an
acquaintanceship. For years, she'd been "one of the boys," or
at least some kind of androgynous go-between.
She briefly
flipped through the stack of mail that had arrived, and smiled to
herself. A letter from Harry.
"Dear Hermione,
What
on earth is going on? Why won't you write to me? I haven't heard
from Ron either.
Privet Drive is pretty much the same. I
can't decide whether it's worse, or whether I'd just forgotten
how bad it is. I'm really going mad here, Hermione, I haven't
heard anything about Voldemort, and I can't even get anything out
of the Muggle news.
Write something!
Love,
Harry"
Hermione
sighed guiltily. She'd had express orders from Dumbledore NOT to
tell Harry anything that might be going on with the Order, or with
Lord Voldemort. He seemed to think it was best for Harry's safety
that he remain as isolated as possible at Privet Drive, and more
importantly, there was always the concern that the owl might be
intercepted. But the fact that it was the logical thing to do didn't
make it easier for any of them, especially Harry. She made a mental
note to send him a carefully worded owl as soon as she'd finished
reading her mail.
The second letter was from Ron. Hermione
snorted mentally.
She knew by now that he had some sort of
feelings for her – the Yule Ball had made that obvious. But he
still couldn't even admit them to himself, let alone tell her how
he felt. And she wasn't about to spell it out for him. No, as far
as relationships went, Ronald Weasley was not the smart choice.
Definitely, a be-freckled, red-haired, awkwardly handsome, tall...bad
choice.
"Ah," she said, smiling as she tossed Ron's
unopened letter briskly to the side, and picked up the third. The
address read, "Hermonine Granger," and the envelope had a maroon
Quaffle in the top left corner, with a stylized Snitch darting past
it – Bulgarian Quidditch Team stationary.
"Hmmph," she
muttered aloud, raising a wry eyebrow, "'Hermonine,' is it?"
While a vast improvement from "Hermoninny," Hermione was
still annoyed that Viktor couldn't master her name, particularly
after they'd been corresponding on and off all summer. On the other
hand, she was hardly surprised – people did insist on pronouncing
it wrong. She smiled to herself, as she began to read Viktor's
letter, almost hearing his thick accent in her head:
"My
dearest Hermonine,
I haff been thinking of you all veek long.
Vy do you not come to Bulgaria, ven I ask you to? You say you are
busy, but I vonder if you miss me, Hermonine, as I haff missed you.
I hope your studying goes well. As for me, I am enjoying
Quidditch practice. It is not so much fun, ven you are not here. I am
make fun of on the team, because of how I always am writing a new
letter to you.
I am reading Hogwarts: A History, as you haff
recommended me to. Vat do you read?"
Hermione
interrupted the letter to glance at the stack of books next to her
bed – the required reading for sixth year, plus several
prep-and-review books for the NEWTS (you could never start too
early...plus, it would definitely help her with her upcoming OWLS),
plus a book about bloodlines in werewolves and vampires that she was
doing some background research in.
"I know you are
reading very much. I like to remember you studying at the library.
Your face is very beautiful ven you are concentrating at the window.
I am sad, though, that you are so far avay. I vant to show you my
beautiful country, and introduce you to my family. Please say you
vill come to Bulgaria before you go to school.
I vait for
your letter, and think of your beautiful face, hiding in a
book.
Love,
Viktor"
Hermione sighed, and put
the letter down, covered in Viktor's tiny, irregular scrawl. Viktor
was the smart choice. Despite his perpetual frown, he was quite
romantic at heart – he'd been courteous to her during their
entire stay at Hogwarts...He was a passable dancer, held her chair
for her, took long walks with her, and enjoyed discussing the books
they'd read, and practicing his English. On the other hand, he
could be a bit surly, or petulant – especially when he didn't get
his way.
"Hermoninny," he'd asked, utterly serious,
"May I haff a kiss?"
The racket from the Yule Ball had
spilled out into the garden area, where the silvery moonlight
highlighted Viktor's strong features with bluish shadows. Hermione
felt a sudden surge of panic. She'd been a bit suspicious when he'd
asked to take her for a walk...after all, Viktor hadn't exactly
made his feelings for her a secret...and "taking a walk" at a
function like this, well...It had been a perfectly lovely
evening...
And why not? Why shouldn't she just be a girl for
once? Why couldn't she just relax and kiss Viktor and have fun, and
hang Ron Weasley.
"Err..." she'd muttered, stalling for
time.
But Viktor was already moving closer, his lashes dark,
his hand strong, a bit too strong on her arm. At the last moment, she
turned her head slightly, so that they ended up kissing each other on
the cheek, sort just to the right of their mouths.
Viktor
looked at her, his brow furrowed into a bewildered scowl. Hermione
couldn't help but laugh.
"You are laffing at me," Viktor
said, his scowl darkening even more. Hermione noticed he still hadn't
released her forearm.
"No, Viktor," she'd said softly,
"I'm just...I don't want to spoil it. Dance with me?"
Viktor's
scowl loosened slightly, and he put one strong hand around her waist,
took her hand in the other, and began to guide her lightly about the
courtyard, in his own charming, duck-footed way. He tried again to
steal a kiss when the song was over, and this time she permitted it.
But he was a bit too insistent, clearly trying to prise her mouth
open with his. Hermione was aware that there was nothing specifically
wrong with her appearance – she'd been very careful getting
prepared for the Ball that night. But she'd never before seen
herself as an object of desire. The very idea seemed ridiculous and
exciting and terrible at the same time. Was that his tongue?
She broke away, overwhelmed, unprepared. Viktor stared into her eyes, and bit his lip unconsciously, his hand still closed rather too firmly on her upper arm. Hermione had kissed a boy before, of course – although perhaps being five years old, it didn't really count. But she'd never felt anything like this. Viktor's strong grip, his insistence reminded her how very weak she was compared to him, yet at the same time, she felt a heady rush of power at the hungry, predatory look in his eyes. A second later, she felt terrified. It was too much, too soon.
She politely suggested that they get back to the Ball.
Hermione sighed aloud.
Viktor was the smart choice, yes. But he was asking for more than she
could give. She certainly wasn't about to go flitting off to
Bulgaria and "meet the family," not when Harry needed her, not
when Voldemort was just coming back to...
"But what if Harry
didn't need you?" she asked herself, "And forget about
Voldemort for a minute."
"The whole thing is ridiculous,"
Hermione said aloud, and neatly folded Viktor's letter, putting it
back in the envelope.
Why should she have to make any kind of
"choice" at all? Everyone dashed about Hogwarts trying to pair up
like it was Noah's Ark. Who says anyone is supposed to have a
boyfriend at this age? Who even wants one, with all the studying that
has to be done!
"And especially now that Harry needs me, and
Voldemort is—" started up the old refrain.
But Hermione
couldn't shake a slight, anxious feeling of guilt. She knew why she
wasn't going to Bulgaria. The truth was, she'd been putting off
writing back to Viktor for about two weeks now. He had been her first
"real" kiss. And rather than make her happy, she was surprised to
find the thought actually made her a little bit wistful.
However "smart" a
choice he was, he just wasn't what she wanted...She wasn't in
love with Viktor, and never would be. How long was she going to keep
putting off her own life? How long was she going to bury herself in
her studies, and Harry, and the fight against Voldemort?
How
long was she going to let that stubborn red-head dance around the
issue before she wrote him off?
The letter he'd written her
lay unopened and face down on her bed. With a sigh, Hermione reached
over, and brought it in front of her. It was simply addressed,
"Mione," in sloppy print. She rolled her eyes, and opened up the
letter.
"Mione,
Hey! Listen, we're going to
Snuffles' place, because Harry's getting picked up by..."
Here
a bunch of words were studiously blacked out by a Magick Marker.
Hermione rolled her eyes yet again.
"...by a bunch of
people, you know when. Should we pick you up? Or do you want to meet
there?
-Ron
(PS – what'd you get him for his
birthday? I can't think of anything good.)"
Hermione
sighed irritatedly, and folded up the letter. Leave it to Ron Weasley
– no "Dear Hermione." Not even, "Love, Ron," or "Yours
truly, Ron," or at the very least, "Your friend, Ron." Not even
a simple "How are you doing?" He hadn't even really asked if
she was coming – just, "When should I pick you up?" Even Harry,
who had been raised by just about the rudest people Hermione had ever
heard of, knew how to write a proper letter.
She softened a
bit, though, at Ron's postscript – however inept he was at
expressing himself, she knew why he'd been having trouble thinking
of a birthday present for Harry. She'd had the same problem
herself.
She knew that Cedric's death and Voldemort's
horrific return to power had scarred Harry far more deeply than the
lightening-bolt on his forehead. Every time she'd thought of a gift
for him, it seemed insignificant...almost insensitive. Like it would
be rude to offer Harry something pleasant, or fun when clearly, his
mind was elsewhere.
She grabbed her quill from its place on
her nightstand, flipped Ron's letter over, and began to write on
the back.
"Dear Ron," she wrote stubbornly,
"I'll manage myself, but thanks anyway. Looking forward to
seeing everyone in a few days. Say hello to Ginny for me, and if you
happen to talk to Snuffles, thank him for inviting me."
She
thought about this for a moment. It was good – it made it sound as
though whoever Snuffles was, they were just going there for a casual
visit. She toyed briefly with adding a bit more.
"Have
you finished your summer reading yet?" she wrote, and
instinctively reached for her wand to erase it. Ron never did any
summer reading. Besides, he'd probably just think she was nagging
him. She reflected, a bit defensively, that he needed nagging
at times, but let it drop. She'd almost cast the spell before she
remembered she wasn't allowed to do magic at home.
She realized with an odd feeling that she'd only been at Hogwarts for four complete years, but in that short time, magic had become so integrated into her life that reaching for her wand came more naturally than reaching for her eraser. What had once seemed impossible and foreign was now second nature. She took out a fresh sheet of parchment from her nightstand drawer, and rewrote her letter to the point where she had left off.
"About Harry..." she started to write, then stopped herself. She honestly couldn't think of anything to say, at least not that Ron would feel comfortable talking about."I had a hard time shopping for him too, this year," she wrote, "He's quite mad at us...I'm really starting to—"
She sighed, and crumpled up the parchment. It was pointless – There was no reason for her to point out that Harry was upset. Even Ron couldn't be so daft as to miss that. And both of them were worried about Harry, obviously.
She lay on her stomach with another fresh sheet of parchment, chewing on the end of her quill thoughtfully, and was suddenly seized by an aching feeling – she really hadn't seen either of them in so long.
"I've been missing you," she wrote, and immediately discarded it. She began to recopy the letter yet again, and paused after she'd reached the part about thanking "Snuffles," deciding what else, if anything, to add. She glanced over at the mirror in the corner of her room, and sighed at her straggly, bushy hair, her plain, boring face, and her stocky frame, remembering Ron ogling Fleur like a slack-jawed...
"See you soon,
Love, Hermione," she concluded, and folded it up. She wrote
"Ron" on the outside, and resolved to send it that night, as soon
as she'd finished letters to Harry and Viktor – no sense in tying
up the owl for just one letter. She smirked as she imagined Ron
finding her letter to Viktor tied to Ajax's leg...
But she
sighed, and realized it wouldn't be fair to send Ajax to Ron's
house, Harry's, and then all the way to Bulgaria. She'd have to
send it via regular owl post.
"What does he see in Fleur,
anyway?" she thought, and the same lonely ache visited her chest.
She knew exactly what he saw in Fleur – everything she wasn't.
She quickly pushed it away however, reaching for her heavy
copy of "Acing the NEWTS: Toppling Transfiguration!" She had
studying to do, and it didn't matter anyway, as she'd be seeing
both of them in just a few days.
Before she returned to her
studies, though, she allowed herself to remember Ron's face when
he'd spotted her at the Yule Ball...he'd been pretty slack-jawed
then, come to think of it...She smiled, remembering those awful
maroon dress robes, frayed at the cuffs, and much too short for him...
She thought back to that first day in Hogsmeade that they'd
spent together...it was the first time they'd ever really spent
time together without Harry.
"Mione! Look!"
Ron
was pointing out everything to her as though her eyes were
voice-activated – this time it was the sunny, yellow exterior of
Honeydukes. They could see row upon row of brightly colored sweets in
their cellophane wrappers decking the walls of the cozy little shop.
Ron's freckled cheeks and nose were rosy from the cold, and
his breath hung in the air for a moment. His blue eyes were sparkling
joyfully.
"Well come on," he'd said gleefully, and
grabbed her by the hand as though it were the most obvious thing in
the world to do, dashing off to the sweet shop with a breathless
Hermione in tow.
Smiling to herself, Hermione opened a book,
and once again, hid her beautiful face behind it.
