Hermione "Plain Jane" Granger, as she often referred to herself, examined her reflection in the mirror. Her mirror image stuck out her tongue and pulled a comical face.
"Yeah, yeah, I get it. You hate it when I style my hair this way." A strong affirmative nod and a cross look from the mirror image followed this statement. "Too bad." Hermione scowled back. "It's out of the way and less bothersome."
The Hermione in the mirror huffed in irritation, crossed her arms over her chest and pointedly turned her back. "Fine, be that way. But if you think that your miserable attitude is going to change my mind," Hermione wagged her finger at the back in the mirror, "think again!"
From this angle she could see that a thick, curly strand of hair had made its way out of the tightly twisted bun just above the nape of her neck. She clucked her tongue in frustration. Why was it, she wondered, that curly hair seemed so much harder to tame? She reached behind and ruthlessly stuck another bobby pin in her head, forcing the wayward hair in place.
A pained "ouch" from the mirror made Hermione smile. The woman in the mirror spun around, hands on hips, and hissed her anger, which only made Hermione's smile widen. She knew it was childish but she stuck out her own tongue and made a "nah, nah" sound. Hermione's image stomped her foot, aggravation written all over her unremarkable features.
The real Hermione gave a negligent shrug of her shoulder and turned away, much like her mirror image had done, and stated, "If you'd keep your opinions to yourself, I might lift the silencio spell on you. But I know you won't because you've always got an unwanted, unneeded, unasked for and totally unnecessary comment to make about my appearance; not to mention unflattering."
Hermione had actually modified the silencio spell so that while her image couldn't use her voice to its fullest extent, she could make sounds and utter single syllable words. A totally quiet mirror image had made her slightly uncomfortable. Maybe it was because, even though she was virtually talking to herself, at least it was someone to talk to. Although she desired and relished her privacy she could admit there were times when another voice, albeit her own, was welcome. A heartfelt "Shite" could be heard as Hermione made her way from the bedroom, which she ignored while thinking that another modification might be in order.
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Being made Head Girl had its advantages as far as accommodations went, Hermione admitted to herself as she stepped into her sitting room. The Gryffindor colors were spread hodgepodge throughout its interior. The soft golden glow from the wall sconces bounced off of the rich colors, creating a warm, intimate atmosphere that was quite inviting and welcoming, making Hermione feel that she truly belonged in these Head Girl quarters. Not that she actually doubted that she would someday be here. She was born to be Head Girl, everyone else thought so too. Harry had been particularly pleased, patting her on the shoulder and sporting a proud grin as he'd stated simply, "Well, of course they picked you. They'd be nutters not to."
In the middle of the room sat a comfy two-seater couch colored ruby red with overstuffed throw pillows of gold strewn haphazardly on top. A faded oriental carpet was spread out underneath the love seat, stretching under the oblong polished dark wood coffee table set in front of the couch. Though obviously well-worn, the carpet was lovely, decorated with an intricate combination of swirls and patterns in various shades of gold, red, and what looked to be midnight blue. Hermione even thought she detected slivers of silver and black in its color scheme on a much subtler level, barely-there in the stitching along the borders.
Two wing-back chairs with slightly frayed arm-rests were situated a little too close to the fire place, in Hermione's opinion. Eyeing them critically, she decided that she'd move them a bit before lighting a fire, switching them so that the ottomans with their hanging tassels were farther back from the grate. One must be safe while warming one's tootsies; no need to create a fire hazard her first days in residence.
In the far corner was a sturdy-looking oak table and Hermione assumed, since a chess set sat smack-dab in its center, that her predecessor had used it as a game table. Wrinkling her slightly up-tilted nose in distaste, she thought emphatically, "Well, not during Hermione Granger's tenure!" She quickly decided that it would be a fine place to stack her school books and ink well, with the added advantage of enough elbow room in which to be able to sit at to complete essays and homework assignments. Yes indeed, it would make a fine study area. The length and width of the table, Hermione noted with pleasure, was also substantial enough for all the prefects to sit around during meetings without anyone infringing on anyone else's personal space.
Speaking of which, Hermione pulled an envelope from the pocket of her robes, broke open the seal and hurriedly scanned the parchment. A few of the names looked familiar, she thought, mentally trying to place faces with the names of the prefects who would be working under her.
No need to strain her brain where Gryffindor was concerned – Romilda Vane and Colin Creevey. She wasn't familiar with either of the Hufflepuff students – Keven Whitbby and Laura Madley. Luna Lovegood, who she did know, and Stewart Ackerley would be representing Ravenclaw. Stewart Ackerley? Tapping the list against the corner of her mouth, a picture of a slightly dumpy boy with straw colored hair came to mind. If she wasn't mistaken, he had been the boy who'd trailed after Luna last year; quiet and shy but seemingly enthralled and awed by the Ravenclaw girl. Two more unknowns – Matilda Baddock and Graham Pritchard – from the Slytherin house rounded out the numbers.
She sincerely hoped that the Slytherin prefects wouldn't be a problem. They had no liking for Gryffindors, Hermione in particular, and held no regard for Hufflepuffs whatsoever, and as Wayne Hopkins had been named Head Boy and they were both Muggles into the bargain…. Well, it looked as if an interesting year lay ahead.
Heaving a sigh, she plopped down in one of the many low-back chairs. Just once, once… Hermione would like to endure a dull existence! One where she didn't constantly have to watch her back or carry her wand at the ready, nor to always be on guard, following Moody's dictates of "constant vigilance!" With absolutely no snot-nosed ogres, no basilisks with freezing stares, no detestable, dishonorable wizard masquerading as a family pet, no getting pummeled while teaching advanced spells to a clueless Harry, no menacing Death Eaters lying in wait and no – absolutely no – horcruxes! This was her final year at Hogwarts and she wanted it to be her best, but more than that, what Hermione craved with all her heart was an uneventful year. Was that too much to ask? Hadn't she put in her time? Hadn't she done her best for the wizarding community? Hadn't she?!
Of course she had. And then some.
Another benefit was that her rooms were still in Gryffindor Tower, although set apart so as to distinguish her from the rest of student body. Yet, still close enough where she could keep an eye on any wayward and lost-looking first years and any mischievous Marauders-in-the-making from the remaining students.
Letting her head fall back against the plush upholstery, she sighed another tired sigh. She could only hope that there were definitely, absolutely no Marauders in the making! Listening to Sirius brag about his youthful shenanigans had made her wince not only in disappointment in them but at her own reaction as well. She would never, never admit it to anyone, but she had been just as enthralled by his tales as the boys had been. Oh, she'd put on a disapproving mask, frowning and tsking in all the appropriate, or rather, inappropriate places. The boys had shushed her with pointed glares and snorts that stated all too clearly that Hermione, being a stodgy female, had absolutely no ability to appreciate the clever workings of the superior wizards mind. Then there was that other part, the sane part of her that absolutely abhorred the fashion in which Sirius and the others blatantly disregarded every rule in the book.
What a trial they must have been to Professor McGonagall! Hermione had no intentions whatsoever of finding herself chasing around hooligans hell-bent on making her life miserable while being Head Girl. She'd squash those who were leaning in that direction quickly, efficiently and effectively; pretty much like she handled just about everything else that had managed to crop up. Hermione tended to be methodical; life was much simpler that way.
Then, there was her internship at the Ministry. Technically, the internship program didn't go into effect until after she graduated, but a special dispensation had been made in her case. Hermione wasn't sure if her role in ridding the wizarding world of Voldemort had anything to do with it or not, but she wasn't about to throw such a grand opportunity away. Not even if other witches and wizards sneered at her special treatment, as they were bound to do; not everyone was as appreciative of the sacrifices she'd made, the loss of her parents being the most prominent.
After the War, she'd gone back to check on them, not to restore their memories as her friends had thought. She couldn't do it because she feared for their sanity if she tampered with their minds once more. She'd known the risks, known there was no going back, but she'd done it anyway. Lying to everyone upon her return, she'd put on a brave front as she quietly informed them that her parents had chosen to stay in their new life and had no room for her in it because of her treachery.
Her friends had been outraged. Mrs. Weasley had declared herself and her family as Hermione's own while ripping her parents' morals to shreds and damning them for what they'd done to Hermione. Hermione had appreciated Mrs. Weasley's need to pull Hermione into her family fold, but Hermione knew that no one, no one could replace her parents.
Ron had taken her hand and squeezed it, speaking awkward words of comfort. Poor Ron, he hadn't been sure what to say. Both twins had offered up proposals of marriage to make her legally part of the family. Hermione had laughed, as had been their intent. George and Fred would have been horrified if she had accepted one of them. Molly thought it grand idea but Angelina and Susan had made it clear that if the twins weren't going to propose marriage to them then they weren't going to propose it to Hermione either.
And Harry? He had looked at her with an unfathomable sorrow in those lovely deep green eyes; it was the sorrow of one who understood what it was like to lose a family. And then dear, sweet, undemonstrative Harry had pushed past the Wesley's and taken her in his arms and hugged her tight; hugged her as if he'd wanted to meld them together, to make them one in their loss and pain. He hadn't made any promises or declarations, he hadn't condemned or verbally scorned her parents, he hadn't spoken at all and Hermione had been grateful. She'd almost broken then, almost. Instead, she'd buried her face in the crook of Harry's neck and had held him just as tightly. They hadn't needed words.
Shaking herself free of depressing thoughts from the past, Hermione turned her focus once more to the future. Her future. A future where, if she had any say in the matter, she'd make a difference in the lives of creatures considered less than worthy by some people in the wizarding world—people like that toad Umbridge—creatures who were denied living fulfilling lives with rights and freedoms all their own. Hermione knew all about prejudice, did she ever.
Her own existence at Howarts had been made unbearable by the likes of Draco Malfoy and his Nazi-impersonator thugs. His family, and others of the same ilk, who had been determined to keep the blood and sacred ancient lineage of witches and wizards pure by purging their world of the perceived taint of Muggle blood. They, whose own blue blood ran rampant with enough lethal poison to have killed any heart they might have been born with and she wasn't even going to go into how it had despoiled their brains. Not that there had been much in that area to begin with, what with all that inter-breeding going on amongst the "prominent" wizarding families.
&&&&&&
Her internship time with Amos Diggory in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had been invaluable. When she'd first met him she had been less than impressed; the fact that he'd crowed on and on about how his son had beat the Harry Potter to the snitch hadn't helped his cause. But having worked with him steadily these past few months before her last year at Hogwarts, she discovered that there was indeed something more to him than a scraggily beard and an overblown sense of pride in his only son.
Cedric. Hermione sighed for the third time. Not a tired sigh as those before it, but an exasperated sigh. She might have been one of the few who barely acknowledged his existence while he was still at school; she'd been far to busy to indulge in those sort of hopeless crushes. Helping Harry had been her main focus; that and her studies. Besides, at that time, she'd been hankering after a certain gangly, ginger-haired, clueless boy. She snorted. What a joke that had ended up being.
Crushes might not have been her thing once upon a time, but she was more than making up for that particular failing in the here and now. Now she had plenty of free time to ogle and salivate after a tall, extremely gorgeous wizard who was in possession of a pair of beautiful, intelligent grey eyes; a more than lethal combination in Hermione's unabridged book. Yes, as embarrassing as it was, Hermione Granger was crushing in a big way.
The first time he'd shown up at his dad's office, Hermione had been holed up in a corner nose deep in scrolls and parchments. Once immersed in any type of self-education, she tended to be oblivious to her surroundings. Due to that fact, she barely noticed the creaking of Mister Diggory's office door being opened. Their voices were nothing but a dim buzzing in her ears, hardly worth noticing. It wasn't until she felt, actually felt a presence at her side that she looked up…and up and up!
"Hey, Granger. It is Granger, right?"
Hermione blinked. Was he being funny? There wasn't a witch or wizard around who didn't recognize Ron, Harry, or her on sight. He had to be kidding. She'd play along with Mister Diggory's handsome bozo of a son.
"That's right," she stated concisely. "And, you are?"
Cedric grinned at her snotty sounding attitude. Taking him back to his third year strolling down the aisle of the Hogwarts Express, listening to her spout those very words, in that very same tone, to a small red-haired Weasley with a spot of dirt on his nose.
"Cedric Diggory, of course," he laughingly informed her, knowing full well she knew who he was just as he was well aware of her identity.
"Of course," she mockingly replied. "How do you do?"
Crossing his arms over the wide expanse of his chest, he stared down at her, his lips twitching. "Very well, thank-you, and yourself?"
Hermione's own lips ached to break out into a smile at the absurdity of their banter. "Oh, tip-top and in fine form."
"You certainly are," he agreed cheekily, eyeing her lush figure from head to toe.
Hermione fought down a furious blush and failed miserably. With the rosy hue suffusing her pretty face and her ink-splattered fingers clutching at her well-worn quill, Cedric thought her enchanting.
"Yes, well…thank-you," she mumbled, nervously licking her lips.
Cedric's eyes followed the trail of her tongue, fascinated by the wet shine it left in its wake. Her lips were not at all as he remembered. Back at Hogwarts when he had noticed her, it had been for her remarkable mind. If memory served him well, and it did, those lips, more often than not, had been stretched into a straight, stern line; probably had to be to keep Potter and Weasley in check. But now? Now that very same mouth was as red as a strawberry in season with its flesh full, ripe and looking more than ready for the plucking. He certainly wouldn't mind sampling that sweet-looking mouth.
A sharp clap on the shoulder brought Cedric to his senses. "Well, Hermione, I see you've met my boy."
Cedric grimaced as his father waxed on and on about his accomplishments, real and imagined, while Granger nodded and oohed and ahhed, clearly enjoying Cedric's immense embarrassment.
"Really?" she breathed in apparent awe, but Cedric knew she was just humoring his father and poking fun at him. The little minx!
Clearing her throat, Hermione managed to slip in a word. "This is all very interesting, Mister Diggory, and I so wish I had the time to hear more about your son's remarkable deeds." Cedric cringed. "But unfortunately I have to get these books and scrolls back to their proper places."
"Of course, of course." Mister Diggory smiled in a genial manner. "Mustn't overwork the best assistant I ever had."
Hermione's answering smile, had he been walking, would have stopped Cedric in his tracks. Had he thought her merely pretty? What an understatement, she was beautiful!
He reached over the back of her chair, pulling her robes free from their resting place. Shaking out the folds he held it up at her back, taking the opportunity to spare her bottom a more than passing glance. To his pleasure, it appeared to be as full and as delicious looking as her mouth had been. No skinny ass here. Fine with him. His idea of good time wasn't worrying over whether or not he was going to crush a hip or pelvic bone made brittle due to self-induced starvation. Thin was not in, as far as he was concerned.
&&&&&&&&
Glancing quickly over her shoulder, Hermione couldn't help but wonder if Cedric Diggory had been checking out her bum! He most certainly was, Hermione noted with astonishment. She wasn't generally the type that men gave the once-over, and here was Cedric Diggory doing that very thing twice within a half hour span of time. Remarkable. And Hermione had to admit, more than a bit flattering. Cedric was every witch's walking wet dream and more than a few wizards' too, she was sure. An image of Seamus flashed across her mind. She bit her lip to keep the giggles at bay. She had no difficulty remembering the late night discussions between her roommates on the issue of Seamus' sexuality. Poor Parvati. She had been hopelessly infatuated with the Irish wizard, who had only had eyes for the one carefully settling her robes over her shoulders.
Was it her imagination, or had Cedric's fingers brushed the exposed skin at the nape of her neck as he pulled his hands back from their completed task? She shivered and when she turned to thank him she knew she hadn't been mistaken. He had a look on his face of a man who knew exactly how to touch a woman and get the reaction he'd just gotten from her. That sort of cockiness irritated her to no end.
Taking a step away, she drew herself up to her less than impressive 5'3" before giving him a sneer that would have rivaled a Malfoy's. "Quite the little gent, aren't you?"
Cedric didn't know it was possible for someone so tiny to look down their nose at someone of his height, but she'd certainly proven him wrong. And the aristocratic sneer was a nice touch.
"No one could accuse my Cedric of being anything less than a gentleman," Mister Diggory enthused. "His mother and I taught our boy to treat witches with respect."
Pulling her cloak tighter around her throat, Hermione smiled at Mister Diggory while looking at Cedric with no trace of humor and no sincerity to speak of and replied, "Your son does you credit."
Phew, thought Cedric. She certainly wasn't pulling any punches. Quite the little firecracker, in fact, and wasn't it just a perfect coincidence that Cedric was more than a little fond of firecrackers. They could be deceptively plain and unassuming on the outside, until a flame placed against the wick catches, sending a dismissive-looking spark to travel to its destination and then…stand back! Whistles and horns with an explosive blast of a myriad of colors and lights zinging about in all sorts of directions! To Cedric's mind, Hermione Granger was a firecracker in the making and he had no trouble whatsoever in seeing himself in the role of the much-needed flame.
"Thank-you, Mister Diggory for allowing me to sit in on your meetings," she said, offering him her hand. "You've been tremendously helpful. I'll just drop these off on my way out, shall I? Save you the trouble."
Taking her hand, Mister Diggory gave it a good shake, keeping in mind not to squeeze too heartily. "Hermione, you've been an apt and attentive assistant and I sincerely hope this won't be the end of our association."
"Hardly," she assured him. Hermione pulled her hand from his grasp, saying, "I'll be starting my last year at Hogwarts but I'll have plenty of free time until then. A good month or so."
"Shouldn't you be studying for your NEWTS?" Cedric enquired. "If I recall, you were a great one for studying in advance. Almost paranoid, one might say."
Cedric just had to get a dig in, had to. And by the look on her face, he'd succeeded admirably. He hadn't had this much fun with a witch that didn't require him getting naked and sweaty in ages.
In her best high-falooten, you-are-a mere-flobber-worm-on my-radar voice, Hermione pronounced, "I'm secure enough in my intellectual capabilities, as my OWLS can attest to, that I find myself eager to learn knowledge firsthand from your father. He's been an inspiration."
"Oh, I know," Cedric agreed, leaning forward into Hermione's personal space. She had to struggle not to step back. He was far too close for comfort. And great Merlin's whiskers, he smelled good! "Any progress on your little spew project?"
Hermione's eyes glittered. How dare he make fun of one of her life's ambitions? Crossing her arms in what Cedric noted was a protective gesture, Hermione stated through stiff lips, "For your information it's S.P.E.W., not 'spew.' And I suppose to the unenlightened eye it would appear that very little progress has been made. I have faith that those of the Wizarding world will make every effort to broaden their minds on this subject." Really getting into one of her dearest hopes, Hermione plowed right on. "House elves have been brain-washed into thinking that they have no rights of their own."
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Cedric let her rattle on for a bit. Her enthusiasm was impressive, even if some of her notions were a tad dotty. It was clear that she had put her heart and soul into this venture and Cedric admired her for it. Sadly, she was more than likely doomed to disappointment. The elves themselves did not believe they were enslaved, so it was pointless to start a revolution where no one involved felt there was an injustice taking place.
"They've been subjugated for long enough. Now is the time to make a move. Now is the time…."
"You can get down now," Cedric interrupted her zealous tirade.
"Down?" she asked, confused.
"From your high horse, from your soap box, from your pulpit and from your righteous indignation," Cedric suggested softly.
Amos cleared his throat loudly. Personally he disagreed entirely with Hermione's assessment of house elves, but he remained silent on the subject. Other than that tiny anomaly, Hermione Granger was one of the finest witches he'd had the privilege of working with. He certainly wasn't going to brand her as an upstart because of it. Although he wished she'd manage to keep her views to herself, as others in the Ministry weren't so inclined to see past her silly notion. A hero of the War she might be, but that status wouldn't protect her from the more powerful members who wouldn't hesitate to squash her into the ground should she become a public nuisance.
Narrowing her eyes, Hermione huffed, "I see you're one of those who will need to be yanked into the more enlightened age."
"Yanking implies force, Granger, and you can't force people into doing or believing in anything they don't want to. Forcing can only lead to disaster. You'd be no better than those pure blood arses determined for no good reason to ostracize and eradicate you and all other Muggle-born witches and wizards from magic and the like."
Taking a step closer, she spat out angrily, "Don't you dare lump me in with those heinous, malignant murderers!"
Bending so that they were virtually nose to nose, Cedric warned, "Then don't yank me in that direction."
Seething, Hermione turned to stomp away when her arm was grabbed and she was spun around to face Cedric once more. "Don't get me wrong, Granger, I admire your passion and the fact that you want to elevate those you consider to be down-trodden, it's quite commendable." Hermione's ire was somewhat appeased by his words. "But use that stupendous noggin situated above your shoulders. I'd really hate for anything unfortunate to happen to someone so lovely inside and out."
Hermione's mouth dropped open. Cedric Diggory thought she was lovely? It was like riding a rollercoaster. On one sharp turn he made her want to slap him silly and the next, to kiss him silly. Kiss? Oh, Gods. Where had that thought come from? Merlin, she was losing her mind!
Cedric released her slowly, reluctantly. She really was something, he thought, and definitely someone he'd like to get to know better. Her dark eyes reminded him of a type of flower his mother was particularly fond of, the black-eyed Susan. And this close up he could tell she smelled just as sweet as one too.
Clearing his throat again, Amos cut through the building, tension between his son and Hermione. "You'd best be on your way, Hermione. Here you go," he said, gathering up and handing her several large tomes and parchments.
She accepted them with a small grunt at their weight. "Yes, I have a million things to do. I thought I'd visit Diagon Alley early," she rushed on, flustered by the intensity of Cedric's gaze. "Books, quills and the like." She was babbling like an idiot but couldn't seem to stop. "I…I received an owl yesterday; I made Head Girl." Hermione closed her eyes in despair. Now she sounded like she was bragging.
"That's wonderful, Granger. I remember how excited I was when the owl arrived with the news that I'd made Head Boy."
He was smiling, which was a good sign, making her feel better. Perhaps he didn't think she was a horrible braggart after all. It annoyed her at how relieved she felt at the thought. Why should she care whether or not gloriously good-looking Cedric Diggory thought she thought she was self-important? She didn't know, but she did.
"Well, off you go then," Amos said, ushering Hermione to the door. "Will you be by tomorrow, Hermione? I have access to several books written by Newt Scamander which you might find interesting."
Hermione's eyes sparkled, her hands literally itched at the thought of touching the books as she breathed, "I'd love that, Mister Diggory."
Patting her on the back, Amos was smiled indulgently before saying, "Cedric, be a good lad and take a few of these parchments from Hermione."
"Oh, no…," Hermione protested.
"Don't be silly, Granger. I was already planning on walking you back to the Ministry's library. My father simply preceded my initial intentions."
Reaching into the cradle of her arms, Cedric scooped out several items. It wasn't intentional, he certainly hadn't set out to cop a feel, but in his quest he'd managed to brush one of her breasts with the back of his hand. If the quick indrawn breath was anything to go by, it hadn't gone unnoticed by her, either. Their eyes locked.
An apology would have been in order but it wasn't forthcoming because in all honesty, he wasn't sorry. The contact, though fleeting, was enough for him to tell how firm but soft her breast had been against his knuckles.
"Let's go, Granger," Cedric ordered, his voice hoarse. Yes, let's go before I do something really stupid. Like, push all those annoying obstacles that stand between us aside so that I can cup your breast in my hand, the way I really want to. Not momentarily, not briefly and not fleetingly but completely, totally and without reserve; so that I can test the weight of your flesh as it overflows in my palms. And it would, Cedric knew that it would.
Sweet Merlin! He'd never been more thankful for the thick folds of his robes. It was positively mortifying the degree of arousal he was experiencing by just thinking about touching Granger! He'd better put a halt to all this fantasizing or he'd be walking doubled over to that damned library.
Swallowing past the large lump in her throat, Hermione nodded dumbly, incapable of speech. She carefully avoided any further contact with Cedric, slipping by him in the doorway. She probably looked ridiculous, scurrying sideways like a blast-ended skrewt, but she was beyond caring. She just wanted to get out, get away, and not just away from Cedric the person but away from Cedric the man. The man who with a single, solitary barely-there stroke, had her knees shaking and shimmying as if she were on the Hogwarts Express when it had mysteriously gone out of control.
They'd made their way to the Ministry Library without saying another word, which suited Hermione just fine, considering she was just discovering how difficult it was to speak with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth and your mind whirling a mile a minute. Cedric hadn't seemed all that troubled by the silence either. Perhaps he was just as uncomfortable as she was. He'd certainly looked uncomfortably flushed.
They'd uttered awkward good-byes outside the library door after dispatching their load onto the desk of a librarian who bore an alarming resemblance to a male version of Miss Pince. Cedric, who had been heading to the elevator, stopped so suddenly that several inter-office memos flying behind him got caught in his hair and under the collar of his robes. Disgruntled employees forcibly pushed him out of the way, muttering and glaring their displeasure.
Hermione thought he'd looked like an exceptionally good-looking Easter Bunny with the airplane shaped memos sticking out of head at such odd angles. Giggling, she plucked them from his hair, which, she noted, was as silky as it looked. By the time she had finished de-memoing him, they were both laughing at the silliness of the whole thing, dispelling the uneasy silence and tension that had grown between them on their journey to the library.
"Thanks, Granger," Cedric said, trying to put his hair back into place.
"Here, bend down again," she ordered, slapping his hands away. "You're just messing it up more."
Amused, Cedric did as she bade him and let her rake her fingers through his mussed hair until it looked relatively neat and close to how it had looked before he'd been ambushed by airborne memos.
"There, that's better," she stated, taking a step back and looking pleased with herself and her handiwork.
"I should thank you properly," Cedric replied, sounding stiff and formal but the light in his eyes belied the tone. "It'd be the gentlemanly thing to do."
"Oh, yes," Hermione agreed, sounding prim and proper. "One should always utilize one's upbringing to its full potential. Your parents would certainly want you to be the honorable gentleman they brought you up to be, don't you think?"
Where Hermione had gotten the nerve to play along with Cedric, she wasn't certain. But here she was flirting with him as if she'd flirted with hundreds of boys before. During her previous school years, flirting, in Hermione's eyes, had been a stupid ploy that only silly little bints like Lavender Brown used to garner attention from the equally silly boys who fell for it lock, stock and barrel.
She never quite got the concept of acting coy, seeing it as a total waste of time when things could move along much more quickly if you'd just state clearly, simply and concisely whatever it was you wanted to say. But then, that advice had been geared into the avenue of her studies and keeping her own two silly boys out of trouble; not in the romantic sense at all. Hermione, in the midst of a flirtation now, could appreciate the difference.
"So, then…how about lunch?" Cedric suggested.
Smiling, Hermione replied, "Lunch sounds lovely."
And it had been. Very.