Between the textbooks, teachers, classmates and assignments, there were a lot of lessons Hogwarts had taught Hermione Granger, some of them life-changing, a handful utterly devastating, most of them intriguing, but she knew that few could appreciate the role the Hogwarts library had played in her learning, the homely, wooden shelves acting almost like a parent whenever she found herself in doubt; most people didn't understand why reading textbooks was Hermione's refuge, her own wonderful way of avoiding problems which had no desirable solutions to be found when there were much more enjoyable pastimes to indulge in instead, like Quidditch for one.
But scattered between the hundred solid facts she read everyday were twice as many possibilities, the majority of them small and immaterial, others too momentous to imagine and think about rationally, so it was inevitable that among the possible answers Hermione would find, she would be irrationally lead to a question that the trusty tomes on the dark bookshelves had no appropriate reply to, all of them concerning the act of living and none being even remotely reasonable. It was at times like these that she found herself wondering if, perhaps, another hobby wouldn't hurt? Mmmm, maybe some other day.
Overcoming such emotional hurdles while focusing was, of course, daringly difficult but Hermione was a Gryffindor with traits that, when combined with her academic record, meant she ought to wade through it, even when the miserable mysteries of life managed to catch up with her avid research and thirst for knowledge.
So as the inhabitants of Hogwarts went about their magically mundane ways on a thoroughly unconventional Tuesday evening, Hermione was gladly toiling the time away by reading Elves: A Deeper Delve, only for one of those pesky questions to sneak up on her and cause her to sit up suddenly, mouth pursed. I just got to the part about modern elvish status. It was a terribly stupid question, she knew, one that no book could logically answer and no author could write about without having to personally inquire of her life story but it so happened that the Yule Ball was approaching and with it, Hermione realised, was Viktor Krum's fan club.
"Merlin, Emma, you'd think that by the effort I put in my hair this morning, he'd look up already?" a sixth-year girl whisper-whined behind her and Hermione cringed, wondering how in the heavens the student had found it in herself to spy on a celebrity with the weighty sixth-year Hogwarts syllabus hanging over her head, waiting to drop the second exams began and take away any leisure time she might have had had she revised beforehand.
"I know, Leigh, but what if he already has a date?" her bespectacled friend asked, biting away the remaining lip gloss from her now cracked lip.
"If he did, the whole school would know!" Leigh countered.
"Will you two shut up? He's going to the other aisle now!" They all went quiet as, sure enough, Krum deserted his seat from the aisle next to Hermione's and disappeared into the one after, a large book with a trailing silk bookmark swishing behind him like a snake. The harrumphed gaggle frowned and strategised their next move in a silent conversation Hermione could only dream to understand (despite having had many with Harry and Ron herself) and took turns moving an aisle closer to the one Krum was in, each of them inconspicuously checking a catalogue or fingering the spines of books before settling down, glancing in Hermione's direction briefly enough to miss her scowl.
"Ugh," she huffed quietly, the sound too buried in the thick pages and their papery dust whizzing in the air to be heard, thumping her forehead on the table. The day Krum would finally get a date and leave her to read in peace would be among the happiest of her life, Hermione swore.
"You know what? I'm asking him," one of the fan club's members resolutely declared after a moment, getting to her feet with a determined hair flip.
"Maya, no!"
"He rejected Mary yesterday! What if -"
"Ten Sickles on you getting turned down," a black girl with coily hair, June, Hermione supposed, courtesy of the frequency of the club's visits, said in a sing-song voice, already smiling mischievously at Maya's retreating back. Maya winked charismatically at her and, twirling a lock of chocolate-brown hair around her finger, ambled like a gazelle to where Krum sat with an unwavering smile pasted on her face.
"Hi," she said cheerily, seating herself in front of Krum. Hermione silently watched them from between Saturn's Widespread Halo and Neptune's Reaching Storms, holding her breath and hoping against hope that the beaming girl would annoy Krum enough to leave.
"Can I help you?" the Seeker's deep, uninterested voice reached her ears, dark eyes scrutinising Maya over his book. Hermione jumped as whispered Hindi cursing ensued from a book she had accidentally pressed her fingernail into as she had been watching the pair, recognising the words thanks to how often Parvati knocked her little toe against their school trunks, and tapped it with her wand to shush it up.
"Um - " from the sliver of the aisle her eyes could access, she saw Maya's smile shake and nearby, June winced despite it meaning that she would likely have ten Sickles clinking in her pocket later. Krum raised a thick eyebrow at her fading grin.
"I - I was wondering if you would like to - to go to the ball with me?" the girl stuttered, quivering slightly under Krum's gaze but not moving away.
There was a short silence, heavy as the unanswerable question itching in Hermione's head and the chance that Maya would fail in her quest before -
"No, I already haff a date."
The girls near Hermione groaned audibly and shook their heads, June slapping a hand on her forehead and begrudgingly taking the money she had earned at her friend's expense.
"C'mon, lets go," Leigh murmured dejectedly and the huddle of girls complained all the way to the corridor outside, leaving behind only June and a dejected Maya, who slumped defeatedly into a chair not far from Hermione's. She exhaled in relief at the exchange, mentally sending eloquent blessings to whoever Krum's date was.
"Guess what I cashed in?" June grimaced and held out the silver coins to her saddened friend, who shrugged in response. Hermione found herself almost sympathising for them, wondering how Krum managed to be so closed off and unwelcoming all the time before realising that Harry wasn't so different either these days, both of them being incredibly famous and clearly not liking the attention very much. The thought made her reflect on how different handling fame in the wizarding world was as compared to the Muggle one, temporarily overshadowing the irksome query in her mind. Did most celebrities consciously choose to be appear intimidating or was it something that happened gradually, taking its time until it was the second thing people noticed about them after their fame?
Truthfully, she had almost failed to notice Harry's change in attitude when they were in public until they had met Amos Diggory before the Quidditch World Cup, when the way he had flattened his fringe over his scar and the shift of his expression to reserved and unreadable had struck her like a Bludger, Cedric Diggory's charming smile doing little to cushion the blow of the realisation.
"Well, the seventh years are selling things in the Courtyard today so - "
"I'll be there in a few minutes," Maya mumbled, waving a now frowning June away. There was a slight pause in which Hermione surveyed the duo, berating herself for not paying attention to the elf history that usually so fascinated her but also blatantly ignoring it in favour of observing the two friends.
"I'll give you twenty but if you don't turn up, I'm dragging you there," June finally decided and left Hermione to rejoice at the silence now reigning the library once more and try to continue reading, still doing her best to ignore the unreasonable question dancing in the back of her mind. The seconds clicked on her wristwatch and she felt herself slipping into the realm of wizarding politics and elvish traditions, an almost comforting aura radiating from the quiet and resourceful books around her. Soon enough, she was wishing for a cup of hot chocolate and a scarf to combat the faint chill settling over the place, almost overlooking the nervous face peering at them from behind a nearby drawer.
As if shocked by an electric wire, she sat up, slapping the book down. Before she could say anything, the person marched out, a determination in his footsteps that rendered the nervousness nonexistent. He was a Ravenclaw Prefect if the badge on his shirt meant anything, with black hair and thin-framed, rectangular glasses that glinted bronze in the orange sun.
Clutched in his hands, Hermione saw, was a pure white tulip, the stalk an ugly shade of puce from how long he must have held it. Her heart stuttered.
"Will you go to the ball with me?" the boy blurted and it took Hermione a moment to register who he was talking to.
"She's asleep," she told him, struggling to keep her voice casual as she nodded toward Maya, who was snoring lowly with her head on her palm. The open book in front of the dozing girl must have given the illusion of wakefulness.
"Oh," the boy's face fell, "could you er - wake her up?" He looked at her pleadingly.
Hermione nodded, secretly thinking that this ball was much more trouble than it was worth while also criticising herself for assuming that the flower had been for her; she didn't even know the boy and yet, she had thought for a fleeting second that he'd been asking her out.
"Thanks, I'll wait outside. Tell her Flitwick sent for her," he grinned and hurried away, giving her a thumbs-up before vanishing behind the doorway.
Having dried her well of patience long ago, Hermione had to restrain herself from simply Rennervate-ing Maya awake and shook her lightly instead, impatiently telling her that Flitwick wanted to see her.
"Oh," she nodded downheartedly, getting up. "Right, thanks." She brushed a hand through her hair and, tired and upset, left the library.
Sure enough, a delighted laugh sounded outside not long after and Hermione watched longingly as Maya, her face now lit up enough to resemble a star, tackled the Prefect's hand in hers and the two ran down a staircase, probably leaving for Clocktower Courtyard where they would have a joint shopping session under the setting sun.
As she'd expected, the question re-emerged from the pile of important dates and events in elf history dominating her thoughts and Hermione shut the book, resting her head in her arms.
Why am I so unnoticeable?
Her mind brought up hundreds of possible explanations, ranging from blunt ones like you're plain-looking, you've got terrible hair, you're too uptight to others such as don't think like that, stop being so unkind to yourself, and get over it.
Sighing, she picked up the paperback and placed it in her bag, hands stopping uselessly midway through zipping it. What was the point? It wasn't as if anyone cared whether she closed the zipper all the way or not. Even the zipper itself wasn't sentient enough to do so.
As she had trained herself (and Ginny not long ago) to do, Hermione glared at nothing in particular and shut those thoughts down; she was a girl and she could take care of herself, other people weren't the right way to measure her self-worth. Forcing her bag shut, she slung it over her shoulder and stood, jaw set, to leave for bed, admittedly sick of the road the day had taken.
CRASH!
She swerved around, jumping back a moment too late as an avalanche of books cascaded down from a pair of red-sleeved arms and a thick, green hardback slammed on her big toe, the edge breaking the nail in the process.
"Ouch!"
"Sorry! Sorry!" Viktor Krum's baritone rolled in the air, his nimble hands floundering with the fallen books as Hermione stumbled backward into a chair and clutched her foot, eyes watering in pain. She could feel a warm wetness spreading over her toe as well as a sharp nail edge needling into her skin, wincing while she gently pulled the shoe off.
"I am so sorry," Krum's accent was even thicker than before as he knelt next to her, placing his stack of books carefully on the table. His face was redder than she had ever seen it and she found her eyes tracing the rosy blush on his cheeks, his profuse apologies still pouring into the air.
"It's fine," she mumbled, forgiveness being one of the first lessons her parents had taught her, flinching at the blood staining her sock.
"No, no, it is not. I vill fix it," Krum said insistently and before Hermione could protest, he waved his wand over her toe and she felt the pain dissolve, the blood following it with another flick of Krum's wand. An alarming click sounded which she assumed was her nail moulding back together when the spellwork was done.
"Thank you," Hermione said, impressed, staring at her now clean sock and before she could stop herself, added, "I guess Lockhart had left more of an impression than I'd realised."
"You haff met Lockhart?" Krum asked, settling down in the chair next to her.
"Yes, he taught DADA here in my second year," she said, the image of Harry's limp, elongated arm wafting unpleasantly in her thoughts.
"My grandmuzzer used to love him," Krum mused aloud, frowning like he couldn't possibly understand why she would. "She lived in England for a while, you know." Hermione nodded, checking the time on her watch; she still wanted to sleep and didn't know at all where this was going, something she couldn't quite put her finger on compelling her to stay in her seat. Vaguely noting that Krum's a's were often pronounced with an 'ay' sound, she eyed the books he had taken from the shelves and found that a few titles were in Bulgarian and one in - she sat up straighter, was that Arabic?
"You speak Arabic?" she asked, picking it up. The cover was deep blue with gold lettering and a braided bookmark poking out from the pages. It was a relatively thin volume compared to the other ones, particularly the massive green one (which she discovered was an in-depth guide on Transfiguration) that had crushed her toenail.
"Oh, yes," Krum nodded. "We lived for five years in Yemen before I got in Durmstrang, but ve vould come to Bulgaria offen."
"Oh."
"My father vanted me to teach there ven I got older, see," he went on, prying the book from her hands and flicking through it as he spoke. "He said the magic vas fassinating and the people more so."
"Was he right?"
Krum nodded the affirmative. Hermione pondered the idea of lean, intimidating Viktor Krum as a professor, with notes and quills in his hands instead of a broomstick and found the look strangely fitting, at least when it came to appearance and vibe.
"Did you want to teach?" she said, thereby starting a conversation that would go on long after Madame Pince's accepted limits, her ushering them out at least ten minutes past the library lockdown time (with little mercy towards Krum).
The pair strolled down the mostly empty corridors, chatting and taking the less-used routes to the ground floor that Hermione knew Krum would appreciate knowing, him seeming oddly at ease as they walked past portraits whose subjects snored lightly with eye masks on, finally coming to stand near a wall-length landscape painting by the oak front doors, stars winking like jewels above the brushed wetland.
"I almost forgot," Hermione began, the events that had led them here returning to the forefront of her mind, "who are you taking to the Ball?" she asked, tracing the dark, rippling waters in the oil painting.
Krum grimaced, rubbing the back of his head.
"I haven't asked anyone."
She looked up, surprised.
"I did not vant to go vith that Maya girl," he explained, "because there is someone else I've been trying to ask for veeks."
"Who?" There was a beat of silence during which Hermione's thoughts too whiled away to a certain person she had been hoping would ask her ever since the Ball had been announced, the misery she had been feeling earlier returning slightly.
The fingers not going over the tranquil waters in the painting felt warm, calloused skin wrap around them, a reassuring shiver travelling up her arm from the touch. She averted her focus from the painting, eyes finding Krum's and staring into them, the hand holding hers a lot bigger with fingers like an artisan's and clipped nails, heavy brows adding to the intensity of his gaze.
"You," he said and Hermione felt her breath hitch, almost drawing her hand away from his clutch only for her other to soon be enclosed in it as well, the gentleness of the gesture seeming to soften everything around her; moonlight dappled like silk on the floor, the oak doors became cinnamon brown, the Bulgarian red of Durmstrang robes suddenly reminded her of Gryffindor, and the second hand on her wristwatch seemed to slow down.
The Seeker's face appeared to glow in the moon's shine, his frown less pronounced and his dark eyes glimmering like obsidians.
"But why?" she whispered, not caring, for once, about how small she sounded.
Krum raised his eyebrows, looking mildly surprised as he searched her face, a lukewarm blush creeping up on Hermione's cheeks as the act of being studied, rather like a potion, prolonged more than she was used to.
"Why not?" he finally said. "You are pretty, intelligent and don't treat me like I am from Yu- Jupiter." Her face warmed even more, noticing the way 'pretty' became 'preetee' in his accent, eye-line shifting to his lips as he talked. "It is very hard to find people who see me as more than 'the Seeker Krum' and you did it, for me and your friend, Harry too."
Hermione nodded, her own hands curving around his as she continued to peer at him, wondering if this was the same day she had been moping in the library about how lonely and plain she was. The clock of curfew ticked closer and closer in the back of her head but she remained rooted to the spot, unable to tear away from Viktor Krum.
"So, vil you go vith me?" he asked, releasing her pink hands from his.
Was that even a question anymore, that she, Hermione Granger, would go with the person who had been so easy to talk to, so soft-spoken and appreciating in the way he looked at and treated her?
"Yes," she replied, pulse quickening but feeling more elated than ever. "I - I'll go."
Viktor beamed and Hermione found herself smiling as well, her heart thumping loudly in her chest like a marching victory band.
"I'll see you tomorrow then," she said and, in a bold move so unlike herself, planted a kiss on his cheek.
She had just enough time to glimpse him touching the place her lips had with a light grin on his face, an adorable mixture of surprise and satisfaction on it that didn't leave her mind for one second while she practically skipped to Gryffindor Tower, not quite caring that just half a minute was left until curfew.
The corridors were lit by a lone gibbous moon and conveniently deserted, light flakes of snow streaming by the stained glass windows that didn't aid Hermione's desire to leap into the air and sing her joy one bit. She was smiling broadly at every passing portrait, statue and polished suit of armour, the Silver Lady eyeing her curiously as they both went their separate ways. Even Mrs. Norris seemed to be slower that day - the cat had stared after her for thirty whole seconds before going to fetch Filch, by which time Hermione had already sprinted another floor closer to Gryffindor Tower.
A single tear of bliss rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away, glowing with contentment.
Indeed, the day Viktor Krum got a date for the Yule Ball was one of the happiest of Hermione Granger's life - because that was the day she realised she could be herself and still feel loved.