A/N: I know this one took a little longer to post, sorry. I just started school again, so it's been busy busy busy. Fourth year is here, and we all know what that entails…
Fourth Year
How could he?
How dare he?
I am so mad; I hardly know where to begin! You want to know what I'm thinking as I pull off this stupid dress, the one that I thought would catch his attention most, these shoes, which are really not made for dancing, as I remove all the make-up and hair products from myself? I'm thinking, How can I have even considered Ron at all?!
I didn't realize until McGonagall even mentioned the Yule Ball that I could possibly even like Ron. I mean, I always considered him to be one of my closest friends, maybe even closer that Harry. But when I heard about the Yule Ball, this image suddenly popped into my head. I was in this ridiculously frilly dress with my hair all done up, and I actually looked pretty nice, apart from the fact that I looked absolutely nothing like me. I'm ugly, remember?
Anyway, I wasn't just standing there at the dance all dolled up by myself, obviously, although considering how I never seem to attract anybody, that was definitely a possibility for me. I had a…escort, you could call it, but that just seems incredibly old-fashioned. For the sake of sounding my age, I had a date. I didn't picture myself with Dean or Seamus, for as I've already told you before, neither of them holds much interest for me. Neville would seem like a well-suited date for me, considering that I know him well and have helped him out God knows how many times, but I see Neville as nothing but a sweet friend. Harry—absolutely not. There is no attraction to him there. He's one of my best friends, definitely not the person I could see myself with, even for a school dance. No, I pictured Ron.
As shocked as I was myself to have even imagined Ron with me, it sort of felt…right. It made me kind of uneasy at first, because Ron was my friend. And I couldn't imagine a less compatible couple than Ron and me. We were constantly fighting and bickering about the littlest insignificant things that were hardly worth arguing about. It kind of unsettled me that I imagined myself with Ron that way, because what if that feeling didn't go away, and he didn't like me back. Or worse, what if he did like me back, and we started dating, and then we broke up? Which I could completely see happening, considering all the fighting we do.
But as I said, it did kind of feel right, because I couldn't really imagine anyone else that I would want to hold me in his arms and sway across a dance floor to posh classical music conducted by a midget. After that first image was planted in my head, I couldn't get it out, and I couldn't ignore it. The fantasies extended to Ron holding my hand the whole night and getting me butterbeer, and dancing with me for four hours straight. And as the night drew to a close in my mind, I couldn't help but imagine that he would walk me to the bottom of the staircase and lean in for a goodnight kiss…
Whoa, whoa, wait! I am not supposed to be thinking this way. I'm supposed to be extremely angry with this prat, not fantasizing about him! Okay, let me continue my story.
So the days passed after McGonagall's announcement, and I was waiting anxiously for some signs of life from Ron, but he remained as stoic and in his not-asking-Hermione-to-the-ball mode as ever. I was becoming pretty impatient, as you can imagine.
One day I pretty much gave up all hope that Ron was ever going to ask me. All three of us were sitting in the common room, and I was badgering Harry about his egg as had become my habit, and Ron was busying himself with building a house out of Exploding Snap cards rather than preparing for Snape's rather nasty antidotes test.
When the cards all funnily exploded in Ron's face and pretty much obliterated his eyebrows, Fred and George came up to us to ask Ron about something or other, and the subject of Yule Ball dates came up. Fred asked Angelina, and then the twins left.
Ron said to Harry, "We should get a move on, you know…ask someone. He's right. We don't want to end up with a pair of trolls."
I immediately just froze. Was that why Ron hadn't asked me? Because he thought of me as a troll?
"A pair of…what, excuse me?" I spluttered out.
"Well, you know, "Ron said indifferently. "I'd rather go alone than with — with Eloise Midgen, say."
I argued, "Her acne's loads better lately — and she's really nice!"
"Her nose is off-center."
Oh my God, I could not help thinking. If Ron cared about trivial things like nose placement, he could not care at all about me, because, I mean, look at me! I have the bushiest, frizziest hair ever, and I'm just painfully average. I look no sight nicer than Eloise Midgen, if you ask me. And there was no possible way that I wanted to go to the Yule Ball with Ron anymore, because he just showed me how shallow he really is. If he can't appreciate a girl for her mind and positive qualities, then I want to have nothing to do with him romance-wise.
"Oh I see," I said, my temper rising. "So basically, you're going to take the best-looking girl who'll have you, even if she's completely horrible?"
"Er — yeah, that sounds about right," said Ron.
"I'm going to bed," I snapped at him, and I stormed off to my dormitory.
I gave up on Ron Weasley that day.
During that awful period of time when Harry and Ron weren't speaking, Harry spent most of his time with me. As my favorite place to be was the library, he followed me there almost every day. Anyway, when Harry and I were busy reading books and whispering quietly to each other, I would always notice Viktor Krum in my peripheral vision skulking around sections of the library. I didn't think much of it; he was probably researching for the tasks, and he wasn't really bothering me…until his fan club arrived.
Madam Pince and I were perhaps the most aggravated people in the entire library when those silly girls were traipsing around, wondering aloud with what and on which part of their bodies Viktor would write his autograph. I became so irritated with his mere presence that I kind of failed to notice that every day, he was always near me. Never once had I seen him looking at books that were not in my general vicinity.
Well, that day after Ron had basically called me a troll to my face, I decided that I would not continue to wait for him pointlessly to come over and just ask me to the stupid ball already. I'd had enough of waiting, and I had pretty much lost all interest. But I had one regret: I had thought that I'd known my friend well enough that I would have seen his shallowness before this. I was disappointed that my view of him had changed for the worse.
One day when I was — you guessed it — in the library, I saw Viktor Krum yet again trying to make himself look small amongst the bookshelves. I decided to walk up to him on the pretext of perusing the bookshelf next to him. He muttered a "hello" to me.
I said casually, "Oh, hello. You're Viktor Krum, right?"
"Yes," he said. Not much of a talker, this one, I thought.
We were silent for a minute, and I pretended to browse a lower shelf. He said to me, "Vot is your name?"
I said quietly, "Hermione Granger."
He looked a little confused. "Could you repeat that, please?"
"Sure," I said patiently. "HER-MI-O-NE."
The confused expression stayed glued to his face. "Hermy-own-ninny?"
"Not quite," I said, laughing a little. "But it's close enough, I suppose."
He looked a little sheepish and said, "Hermy-own-ninny, I have been meaning to ask you something for a vile. I know ve don't really know each other, but vood you like to go to the ball vith me?"
He looked a little flushed, and I felt a rush of pity toward him. How hard it must have been to gather up the courage to talk to someone you didn't know, let alone ask them out. Then I felt the same confusion that he felt earlier when he was trying to figure out my name. Why in the world would an international Quidditch player want to go to the Yule Ball with me? Was he out of his mind?
I felt a little flustered as I answered hesitantly, "Erm—all right, then."
His features relaxed a bit at my consent to accompany him to the ball, and he said with a bit of a blush, "I am very glad. You know, the only reason I haff been coming to the library every day vos to ask you, but I alvays became too afraid at the last minute. I am happy that you are coming vith me."
"Yeah," I agreed, "I'm glad too."
Well, that solved my problem of having a date for the ball. I was pretty ecstatic about it. I could finally get over Ron and enjoy this ball. No one would ever believe me if I told them that the Viktor Krum had asked me to the ball. Of course I told Ginny, and she was so happy for me. But I couldn't tell Ron or Harry. I couldn't tell Harry, because then he would tell Ron, and I definitely did not want Ron knowing about this. First of all, he would laugh at me, or worse he wouldn't believe me, because if he didn't consider me worthy enough for himself, why in the world would Viktor Krum choose me?
A few days later, as I was leaving Potions, Neville came up to me, very pink in the face, and obviously embarrassed about something. He said in a small, high-pitched voice, "Her-Hermione, w-will you g-go to the b-ball with m-me?"
I instantly felt so sorry for him. Poor Neville. " He noticed my hesitation and said quickly, jumbling the words together, "I mean, I just thought, because you're always so nice to me and you help me a lot, and I thought, you know, that you might want to go…" His voiced trailed off when I still had said nothing.
"Oh, Neville, I'm sorry," I said when I realized he was still waiting for an answer. His face fell. "Oh, Neville, it's not that I wouldn't love to go with you, it's just that somebody else has already asked me. I'm so sorry."
"It's all right, Hermione. I understand." His round face was a burning shade that could rival even Ron's. He walked away, shuffling his feet.
That night, neither Ron nor Harry showed up at dinner. I rushed through my steak-and-kidney pie and hurried up to the common room to see if they were there. Indeed they were. When I asked why they had both failed to show up to dinner, Ginny told me how they had both been turned down by girls they had asked to the ball. I felt just a little smug when I heard that. Good, I thought, let him know what it feels like to not be wanted.
"All the good-looking ones taken, Ron?" I asked loftily. Eloise Midgen starting to look quite pretty now, is she? Well, I'm sure you'll find someone somewhere who'll have you."
Then Ron was staring at me as if I were some kind of apparition, like he was having an epiphany of some sort.
"Hermione, Neville's right — you are a girl…."
That hit me hard. Did he just now notice, after three and some odd years? God, he must have been dropped on his head many a time as a child for him not to recognize a girl when he saw one. I really just wanted to slap him upside the head at the moment.
"Oh well spotted," I said icily.
"Well—you can come with one of us!"
Now he thinks of it!? God, how thick can he get? That's all I wanted right from the beginning, and now that it's too late he wants to take me. Then a small voice in the back of my head spoke. He's just asking you because he has no one else. He's just asking you as a last resort. He doesn't really want you.
"No, I can't," I snapped.
"Oh come on," he said, "we need partners, we're going to look really stupid if we haven't got any, everyone else has…"
I blushed furiously as I told him, "I can't come with you, because I'm already going with someone." While I said this, I almost wished I didn't have to. I almost yearned to be able to tell him yes, to tell him that I would never want to go with anyone but him. I almost regretted saying yes to Viktor Krum. Almost.
"No, you're not!" said Ron, "You just said that to get rid of Neville!"
How dare he! I would never do something so heartless to a friend! What did he think of me? Did he really think I would do something so low?
"Oh did I?" I said angrily. "Just because it's taken you three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one else has spotted I'm a girl!"
He just stared at me. How much of an idiot could he be? Then a huge grin broke out over his face.
"Okay, okay, we know you're a girl," he said. "That do? Will you come now?"
My God, did he not understand simple English?
"I've already told you!" I practically shouted at him. "I'm going with someone else!"
Then I stormed off to my dormitory. I seem to do that a lot, don't I?
Throughout the whole week leading up to Christmas, Ron kept up a constant stream of "Hermione, who are you going to the ball with?" and "Hermione, will you please just tell us who you're going with?"
And I had the same answer for him every single time. "No," I would say ardently. And then he and Harry finally noticed that my teeth were a normal size. Was it only now that they noticed anything about me?
Christmas morning was just a ball of jittery nerves in my stomach for me. I woke up to a small mound of presents, and after I had opened them I went down to breakfast with Harry and Ron. Rather than join the hour-long Weasley-with-a-bit-of-Potter snow fight, I simply sat and watched.
At five o'clock I decided that I would have to go get ready, because as only someone with my kind of hair would know, it could take hours to make myself presentable for the ball, and I had to work extra hard to make sure I looked magnificent if I was going to make Ron a miserable boy tonight. I figured this was my only hope of revenge against Ron. I had to anger him as much as possible, and I knew that on top of going with Viktor Krum, it would infuriate him even more to see what he could have had, if he had only asked me earlier in the game.
As I was going up to the castle, Ron shouted his last "Who're you going with?" but I just smiled and waved. He would find out soon enough…
Up in my dormitory, I quickly rummaged underneath my bed for a bottle of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion that I had bought in Diagon Alley before term started. This would be my secret weapon. And the gorgeous blue dress robes I got from Madam Malkin's that I would be wearing for the night.
It really took the whole three hours just to get ready, between the hair potion, the make-up, and the dress robes. My hair was up in an elegant bun, and my make-up looked pretty good for my first time wearing it.
I walked silently down through the entrance hall and out to the lake where the Durmstrangs were lined up. Viktor saw me and sprinted up to me, taking my hand and kissing it lightly. "Hello, Hermione. You look vunderful."
I blushed slightly. "Th-thanks, Viktor. I'm so glad that you asked me to the ball." Which was technically true, even if I did have a teensy ulterior motive. But I wasn't about to tell him that to his face.
We were placed at the head of the line, and Karkaroff led us to the castle. He kept glancing back at the pair of us, a disgruntled expression plastered on his face. I guessed that he was not too happy that Viktor had chosen me as his date. I couldn't imagine why it bothered him, or why he thought that it concerned him, but I pushed the thought to the back of my mind. That was the least of my worries right now. I was pretty anxious to get to Ron; I just had to see his face when he saw me and realized who my date was. I worked to relax my body, and I put a smile on my face. After a while, it didn't seem so forced. I could tell that I was going to enjoy this ball.
How very wrong I was.
It all started out all right. We entered the Great Hall, which was decorated beautifully.
Sadly, I did not see Ron's expression when he saw me and Viktor together, but I did get to witness Harry's reaction, a nice dropping of the jaw, which had me greatly satisfied.
We sat down to eat at the head table near Harry and Parvati, and Viktor described the beauty of the Durmstrang castle. It was fascinating to hear about the castle, because I could never find anything in writing about it, as Durmstrang was so insistent on the secrecy nonsense. I tried again to get Viktor to pronounce my name correctly, but it was a wasted effort. I decided to leave good enough alone. I mean, if Viktor liked it, why couldn't I be Herm-own-ninny?
Viktor and I and the other champions and their partners opened the dance, and we remained on the dance floor. I was rather enjoying myself. It was nice to have his arms around me, leading me around the dance floor. But I felt very self-conscious about dancing with Viktor when I knew that everybody's eyes were on me. I was sure that they were all wondering the same thing: Who does this girl think she is? Why in the world would Viktor Krum ever ask her to the dance? Believe me, I was wondering the same thing during the entire ball. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Viktor's library fan club stalking past me, throwing me daggers with their eyes. Despite this insecurity, I felt sort of like a princess. This night was like a dream come true in a way, except for one tiny flaw in the picture. I was dancing with the wrong guy; I could feel it right away, but there was nothing I could do about it.
After at least forty-five minutes of straight dancing, I was getting a little hot and worn out. Now this is the part of my story that really gets me mad, and is the reason that I have been regaling you with this rambling anecdote of my first ball.
"Viktor's just gone to get some drinks," I said wispily while I sat down next to Harry and Ron and fanned my face with my hand.
Ron gave me the most hostile look I have ever seen cross his features. Good, now he knows what it feels like to be hurt by his friend, I thought with vindictive happiness. "Viktor?" he said. "Hasn't he asked you to call him Vicky yet?"
I looked up at him innocently, with what I hoped looked like genuine surprise, "What's up with you?"
"If you don't know," he said in his nastiest voice, "I'm not going to tell you."
I felt an immense satisfaction as his face contorted with vexation. I looked from him to Harry. Harry just shrugged noncommittally, so I had no idea what he thought of me going to the ball with Viktor.
I continued to play dumb. "Ron, what—?"
He cut me off. "He's from Durmstrang! He's competing against Harry! Against Hogwarts! You — you're — " Ron searched for the word frantically in his mind. "Fraternizing with the enemy, that's what you're doing!"
Up until that point, everything I said was just said to gauge his reaction, and I felt pleasure at every annoyed word that came from his mouth. But when he said this, I was utterly shocked. I couldn't believe he could lower himself to such a level as to accuse me of "fraternizing with the enemy." And how could he think of Viktor as the enemy?? At that moment, I had no control over what came out of my mouth. I was in a furious rage, and nothing he could say would stop me.
My mouth fell open in horror.
"Don't be so stupid!" I shouted at him. "The enemy! Honestly—who was the one who was all excited when they saw him arrive? Who was the one who wanted his autograph? Who's got a model of him up in their dormitory?"
Ron acted as if I hadn't spoken and continued on his ridiculous tirade. "I s'pose he asked you to come with him while you were both in the library?"
"Yes, he did," I said, and as I said it I could feel my face heating up. "So what?"
"What happened—trying to get him to join spew, were you?"
Must he insist on calling it spew?
"No, I wasn't! If you really want to know, he—he said he'd been coming up to the library every day to try and talk to me, but he hadn't been able to pluck up the courage!" I said in a rush, my face flushing even more, if that was even possible.
"Yeah, well—that's his story."
That brought me up short. What?
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Obvious, isn't it?" he spat back. "He's Karkaroff's student, isn't he? He knows who you hang around with….He's just trying to get closer to Harry—get inside information on him—or get near enough to jinx him—"
I froze. How dare he? I hoped to God that Viktor was still busy with the drinks, although with my luck he could have been standing right behind me right now, hearing all the positively atrocious things that Ron was saying.
I was so angry, when I spoke my voice shook. "For your information, he hasn't asked me one single thing about Harry, not one—"
Ron could see that this argument would not end in his favor, so he changed tack immediately.
"Then he's hoping you'll help him find out what his egg means! I suppose you've been putting your heads together during those cozy little library sessions—"
Didn't he think that Viktor might have asked me because maybe he liked me? Why did someone have to have an excuse to be attracted to me? God, he could be so insulting! Was it really so hard to believe that someone out there may find me just the teensiest bit appealing? And how, just how, could Ron think so little of me? Harry is my friend! I wouldn't just stab him in the back like that, like Ron did. I had a sense of loyalty in me, unlike some people.
"I'd never help him work out that egg!" I said, outraged. "Never. How could you say something like that—I want Harry to win the tournament, Harry knows that, don't you Harry?"
I turned to him desperately, hoping that he wasn't thinking the same as Ron. He had to know that I was rooting for him all the way. Why would I dedicate so much time and effort to helping him if I would just leave his side to help someone I barely knew?
"You've got a funny way of showing it," Ron said nastily.
Oh, please. "This whole tournament's supposed to be about getting to know foreign wizards and making friends with them!" I said hotly.
"No it isn't!" Ron said rather loudly. "It's about winning!" I pulled myself out of this heated bubble when I noticed that this conversation was no longer private. People were beginning to stare at us shamelessly.
Harry stated that he didn't have a problem with me coming to the ball with Viktor, and I felt a small weight lift from my heart. At least he didn't think of me as a back-stabbing bitch. But that was only one tiny stone chipped off of the huge boulder I felt was weighing me down, and it was getting heavier with every hurtful word that Ron sneered at me.
"Why don't you go and find Vicky, he'll be wondering where you are," said Ron scathingly.
I could think of nothing else to say as I jumped to my feet and stormed off (yet again) but a shrill "Don't call him Vicky!"
I ran across the room and up the stairs on the long trek to the seventh floor. I felt bad about leaving Viktor at the ball, but I just had to get away. I would apologize to him later. I sat fuming in an armchair by the fire, just thinking very angry thoughts about Ron. By now, my hair was in disarray. Several large chunks had fallen out of the bun they had been in, and it was already beginning to loose some of its shine and sleekness.
How could he do this to me! How could he think such ridiculous about Viktor, and especially about me! He acts as if he hasn't known me for three and a half years, like he's only just meeting me and finding stuff out about my personality and character. It's like I'm seeing someone different from the boy who I used to know. Some jealous (dare I say it) creature who can't stand the fact that he had to go to the ball with someone he didn't even know, and I got to go with an international Quidditch player. Well, it wasn't my fault that he hadn't asked me earlier on. That's what you get, I say.
As I was brooding over my heated argument with Ron, the said red-head stormed into the common room, red in the face and muttering incoherently to himself. He stopped short when he saw me, his chest puffing out as if he was about to begin another long, winding rant about how I was a horrible, untrustworthy friend. I didn't want to hear it.
"What are you doing here?" he asked bluntly, clearly taken aback.
"Oh, nothing, just imagining what will happen tomorrow at my next cozy library session with Viktor…" I said bitingly, measuring his expression.
He seemed to get even redder at this remark. I almost smiled.
"You're being really naïve, you know that?" he said with a cold smile.
"And what's that supposed to mean?" I asked.
"He's just using you."
At this, I jumped to my feet and shouted, "How dare you?!"
"In any case, he's way too old," he said, obviously enjoying himself as he saw me swell with anger.
"Oh, shut up, Ron!"
"You shouldn't have gone with him!" he said angrily, with a hint of passion mixed in.
At this point we were feet apart from each other, yelling across the distance between us, both with furious expressions on our faces.
"Well, if you don't like it, you know what the solution is, don't you?" I yelled at him. I was vaguely aware of Harry opening the portrait hole and entering the common room.
"Oh yeah?" Ron shouted back. "What's that?"
"Next time there's a ball, ask me before somebody else does, and not as a last resort!"
I turned on my heel and stormed up the girls' staircase to my dormitory (that's all I seem to do lately, isn't it?).
Now, in my dormitory, my hair is down and it is definitely regaining its bushiness, my mascara is streaked down my face from the angry tears I have shed, and I have replaced my frilly blue dress robes with a comfy dressing gown. I am sitting on my bed, just thinking back on the events of the past few weeks, and I am not happy.
How could he have done this to me? I had been counting on him to ask me to the ball, not stupid Viktor! I mean, he's really nice and he seems to like me, but he's not Ron. I hate to admit it, but he's not Ron, and I need Ron.
I tried to quash those feelings as I danced with Viktor, as he kissed my hand, as he whispered nice things in my ear. I could not be thinking those things when I was spending the whole night with the Viktor Krum, international Quidditch star. But I really couldn't help it.
Those arms around my waist were supposed to have been Ron's. Those lips lightly brushing my hand should have been Ron's (although, really, would Ron have ever done that?). It wasn't natural to me, being with Viktor. The whole night, I had to force myself not to look over at him, not to hope that he would come and politely tap Viktor on the shoulder and ask if he could cut in. Because Ron doesn't want me. Why would he? Although I suppose if Viktor Krum found me attractive, I guess anyone could. But Ron doesn't.
I hate him, but I think I'm in love with him.