Ch. 4 – Kisses

Her last train of thought had left her feeling rather overwhelmed and although it took a little longer than Hermione would have liked to admit, she eventually regained the composure to continue reading, now doing so with a newfound drive in the wake of her reflection.

Still not having made up with Ron, Harry had put a stop to another one of her efforts to get them to confront each other, only agreeing to go to Hogsmeade with her under his Invisibility Cloak. So it had been just the two of them, although she remembered her annoyance at all the passing stares she had gotten that day—people who had thought she had come alone, people who had thought she was talking to herself, people who had perhaps thought she was mad and hearing voices in her head. "I hate talking to you in that Cloak, I never know if I'm looking at you or not," she read her book-self say. Not that she needed to be looking at him to talk as they walked around. But still, it would have been better if she could have.

She read on as Harry met with Sirius until their meeting was interrupted by Ron, catching her by surprise—the description of Harry's rage and how he had thrown a badge at Ron's head. He had certainly neglected to mention that to her the following morning when he had found her in the Great Hall. It was he who had dragged her off somewhere for a change, anxious to tell her with a helpless pleading in his eyes all about the dragons. It was only a few pages later when she read that he had also sought out Cedric to tell him about them as well. She looked up from the book with slight surprise yet again. This was why he had told her to go ahead without him to Herbology that day? But there had been no word about this from him; instead, he had come to class late with the idea of Summoning Charms in his head.

It had been some time since Flitwick had covered Summoning Charms and Hermione had known about Harry's struggle with them thus far. But when he had explained his plan to her, it had made perfect sense. So she had stayed with him for hours as he practiced, coaching him until he could stop doubting himself and do what she knew he always could.

The first task. He had been brilliant. Amazing. Remarkable. Spectacular. Marvelous. Incredible. Outstanding.

Harry had always looked so natural when flying and that time was certainly no exception. Nevertheless, her nails had dug into her face until the marks remained long after she had removed her fingers. And afterwards, he and Ron were back to acting like normal, the dragon having done what she could not…stupid boys.

She read past their surprise meeting with Dobby and Winky in the Hogwarts kitchens, and was thinking about the potential long-term effects of Dobby's influence on the other elves when she came across the beginning of the chapter titled "The Unexpected Task." She was curious until she realized that it was in reference to Harry having to find a dance partner. She rolled her eyes. But this of course, meant another thing: the Yule Ball was approaching.

Even though she had never brought up the topic of the ball to anyone, it was not as if Hermione had been ignorant or unaware of the approaching event at the time. For one thing, she had working pairs of eyes and ears; it was impossible to ignore all the talk about it even if one wanted to. Every time she had walked the halls or entered the bathroom, groups of girls were excitedly chattering on about who they were going with or who they wanted to go with, who everybody else was going with, who everybody else wanted to go with, what they were wearing and other similar silly little points of conversation. She had initially tried to put the thoughts out of her mind—eventually settling for a "if it happens, it happens" attitude—but even then telling herself to be realistic. She was a girl whose two best friends were boys—boys, who, plainly had their thoughts elsewhere. Again, the whole affair was rather silly. Until one day in the library when it suddenly wasn't.

Her first reaction was that it must have been some kind of mistake. She had searched around suspiciously, looking for any sure signs that this was a stunt—a cruel prank. What could he have seen in her? He was an international Quidditch star who could have had his pick from a long line of hopefuls, and she was—well, just…Hermione Granger. But he had convinced her, had said that she had caught his interest when he saw that she didn't treat him the way other girls did because he was famous, had confessed why he had been coming up to the library all those times…

She had accepted.

It had seemed clear that nobody else was going to ask her. There was no point in waiting. She was proven wrong almost immediately however, as she walked down the hall with Ginny and saw Neville approaching her…

Although the only person she had told about Viktor was Ginny, it seemed as if now having a date for the ball made her presence much more noticeable to the other girls—as if they could sense she was no longer…unwanted. The questions that had been merely passing quips before now were more like a barrage— "Are you even going?" and "What do your robes look like?" and finally "Are you going to the ball with Harry Potter?" and when she answered no, "Oh, are you going with the other one then?"

And then the other one's infuriating realization— "Hermione, Neville's right — you are a girl…"

The Yule Ball had finally arrived. She read as Harry and the others changed into their dress robes and made their way down to the Great Hall. The Durmstrang students entered and Harry saw that Krum was at the front of the party, accompanied by a pretty girl in blue robes Harry didn't know. Hermione looked up from the book with puzzlement, brow furrowed. But she had gone with Viktor… And her eyes immediately widened in realization of the truth. Yes, he had told her the day after that he hadn't recognized her at first, but he had never used…that other word. And the reactions of the others—Parvati's unflattering disbelief, Pansy Parkinson's stunned gape, Malfoy's silence, Ron's refusal of acknowledgment—she had not noticed right then, to be honest. But she had actually felt good about herself, had even been having fun as the night went on, until…

She roughly shook her head, not wanting to remember. But all the words from that night continued to present themselves to her eyes, ignoring her wishes. Forcing her to remember.

"You're…fraternizing with the enemy, that's what you're doing!"

"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 want Harry to win the tournament, Harry knows that, don't you, Harry?"

"You've got a funny way of showing it."

"Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!"

Her throat had ached from yelling that night as she had stormed off to bed. At least she had not cried. Not in front of anyone, anyway.

When Harry saw her the following morning, it had not taken long into their talk for him to admit to her, "I…didn't recognize you at first," and she had confessed about how much hair potion she had had to use. And they had talked casually about the ball before Ron joined. And like they had done so many times before, they pretended nothing had happened between them. So their conversation had instead turned to Hagrid and what was overheard.

Time moved forward and she was presented with Harry's struggle with the clue inside the golden egg. He had apparently finally started to make an effort to figure out the clue after the ball but she frowned as she read that Harry had not forgotten the hint that Cedric had given him, but his less-than-friendly feelings toward Cedric just now meant that he was keen not to take his help if he could avoid it.

Hermione looked up in disbelief. This had been the reason he had put the egg off for so long, stubbornly refusing for weeks to follow the advice he was given—the reason he had lied to her telling her he had figured it out. It was because of a stupid GIRL!

"Honestly!" she said out loud, scrunching up her face with contempt. Her expression softened. Well, she supposed they were all prone to jealousy.

They soon arrived at the Three Broomsticks when Hermione came across her first encounter with one of her least favorite people in the world. Sit down, you silly little girl, and don't talk about things you don't understand," Rita Skeeter had told her. The rage that had come with the meeting had sent her straight to Hagrid's, bent on telling him off for letting her get under his skin. But Rita Skeeter had eventually fired back, just as Ron had said she would.

The second task had come before that, however. She remembered as she and Ron were told by Fred and George that Professor McGonagall wanted to see them. She had heard Dumbledore's explanation telling them they were to act as hostages, fighting down the blush on her face and enduring Ron's glare when he had worked out exactly who she was the hostage for… She and Ron had protested they needed to tell Harry they were okay at least, as she had told him they would be back for him. But they had been unable to—concerns regarding a potential unfair advantage.

She read as Harry suffered going through as many books as he could by himself—waiting for his friends that would not return and resorting to sneaking into the library at the dead hours of the night. He had not even woken up until there were ten minutes left before the start of the task. He had not even had a plan—had given up without them there by his side until Dobby had shoved the gillyweed into his hands…

Harry dove into the water and reached the hostages. He cut Ron free, had turned to her right after and raised the jagged rock, and began to hack at her bindings too. Until the mermen had forced him to stop, saying he could only take his own hostage. Viktor soon arrived though and Harry handed him the stone. The older boy had finished what Harry had started, cutting her free and rising to the surface with his arm around her waist as Harry stayed behind.

An exasperated sigh escaped Hermione. She had thought so back then too, but it was so like him to make sure he could have saved everyone. He really had been lucky the judges had seen it as showing moral fiber. She remembered waking up wet and finding Viktor's arm tight around her waist, the intense gaze of a shark staring at her and turning her reddening face away before scanning the area for Harry. It had taken him so long to surface; she had barely heard Viktor's words, only letting them fully in when she finally saw Harry's face above the water.

She read about Harry's awkwardness as she asked him if it had taken him long to find them. Her scowl was mentioned as she saw Fleur Delacour swoop down and kiss Harry and Ron on the cheeks. She remembered seeing people kissing each other on the cheeks many times while she had been on holiday the summer before her third year. She had casually asked her parents about it. "They're French," her father had answered, as if that explained everything. It was apparently as simple as a greeting for them. But Fleur's kisses then were obviously more than just "greetings" the way she had seen it at the time.

The time came for the marks and she was stunned at the scoring. She had barely registered Viktor whispering to her—telling her those outrageous things…repeating what he had said while she had been busy craning her neck to see if Harry had come out the water yet. She had felt mild panic settling in and did not respond as she occupied herself with cheering Harry on with the rest of the crowd. What was she supposed to answer to that? Asking her to visit over the summer and telling her he had "never felt this way about any other girl." Was he serious?

And then Rita Skeeter's article had appeared, referring to her as Harry's steady girlfriend and worse, toying with the affections of both him and Viktor. Its tone had been a clear departure from when Rita had first mentioned her. Hermione had gone from "stunningly pretty" to "plain but ambitious" with "doubtful natural charms" and she had laughed after reading the article at first. The idea that she would intentionally hurt Harry like the article suggested was so deserving of derision, especially if she really had been Harry's girlfriend. But then Snape had read the article out loud to the class, until she no longer felt like laughing. And she soon realized that the ridiculous idea that she would hurt Harry did not seem so ridiculous to everybody else; it was a lot harder to ignore the insults when they were not hissed at you quickly in passing but shrieked so loud from Howlers that the entire Hall could hear. It was as if merely seeing things in print was enough to give anything credibility to most people, for even Mrs. Weasley had seemingly believed the rumors about her, the chicken egg-sized parcel she had received for Easter harshly reminding her.

She was still recalling her anger at Rita Skeeter from that time when she came across Viktor asking Harry for a word in private. About her. Her anger was replaced by shock. What was this? She read over once more: Harry, somehow struck anew by how tall Krum was, elaborated. "We're friends. She's not my girlfriend and she never has been."

Right. This was true. Had always been true. But though this was something she had already known and after second thought, was not surprising to her at all, in that instant, she felt a new strangeness come over her. Something heavy. It must have been the influence of the books. They were…changing her.

Hermione attempted to push the newfound heaviness within her to the side, focusing once more on the pages of the book. She read on about her and Ron helping Harry prepare for the third task, about another vision Harry had in which Voldemort punished Wormtail for a blunder, about Harry falling into Dumbledore's Pensieve where he heard a younger version of the headmaster proclaim that "Severus Snape was indeed a Death Eater. However, he rejoined our side before Lord Voldemort's downfall and turned spy for us, at great personal risk. He is now no more a Death Eater than I am." Dumbledore then told Harry about the fate of Neville's parents, something she would find out around half a year later from that point…

It was not long before she reached the moment where she had finally figured out how Rita Skeeter had heard all those things she was not supposed to upon hearing Harry's comment about "bugging," and Harry had finally cleared up the evil woman's lies about her to Mrs. Weasley. But these events that had slightly brightened her mood were put out of her mind once the third task started, for she knew what awaited Harry at the end. She felt his uneasiness at the strange lack of obstacles he was encountering—only a boggart and a sphinx who asked him about a creature he would be unwilling to kiss. And then as if the sphinx's riddle had taken physical form, the giant spider appeared, attacking Harry and Cedric. Together, they took it down but paragraphs later, that same word produced a horrible sinking feeling in Hermione as she read Harry stand next to the Triwizard Cup and say to the other Hogwarts champion, "We both got here. Let's just take it together."

Death.

It almost seemed unbelievable with everything he had been through, but Harry Potter had not seen death—not in a way that he fully understood it anyway—until that moment. He was then not even given the chance to process it as his blood was forcibly taken amidst Wormtail's chant…"You will…resurrect your foe…" And Hermione knew that the worst part for Harry had not yet come; it plagued her mind as she continued to read.

Voldemort had risen again. The Death Eaters rushed back to his side and Hermione was struck by his choice of words as he told the story of his return to his followers: "Now see the way that fate favors Lord Voldemort." Hermione's expression darkened at the ugly word and Professor Trelawney's shrewd face appeared in her mind. Perhaps Voldemort truly did believe, in all his arrogance, that his control over the wizarding world was meant to be. Destined. Fate. But Hermione at that moment renewed her resolve that she would never fall victim to such a ridiculous premise. Her gaze turned once more, to the two unread books at the bottom of the pile atop the stand.

Harry had narrowly escaped. He had held on tight to Cedric's body and Hermione read the word that was repeated upon his return. Dead. Dead. Dead. But the worst part for Harry had not yet come. She remembered, after the initial confusion, the slow realization of everyone in the stands at the time as that haunting word came from their mouths and filled the air among the screams and tears. Dead. Dead. Dead. She read as the imposter Moody took Harry away from the scene, wooden leg clunking as she knew what had been echoing in Harry's head. Dead. Dead. Dead.

Crouch Jr. revealed everything and Harry had listened. Listened as everything he thought he had known was revealed to be a farce. Listened as it was explained how Voldemort's plan for him had gone so right. He listened—his thoughts occupied—delaying the worst part for him. Following Crouch Jr.'s confession, Harry was forced to retell his story, struggling to keep the haunting images at bay. Along with everybody else, Hermione had finally seen him again in the hospital wing. She had noticed the dull pain in his eyes, the exhaustion on his face. But at Dumbledore's order, they had all refrained from saying anything, hoping that sleep would come quickly to silence the ringing of Dead. Dead. Dead. in Harry's ears.

But the angry shouting of Fudge and Professor McGonagall had woken Harry up. What happened to Barty Crouch Jr. was never explicitly stated but Hermione and everybody else had clearly understood what befell him when a dementor was mentioned.

The Kiss. It was a terrible perversion of something that was supposed to be rooted in comfort and love. Instead, the dementors had taken the word and corrupted it to become something worse than death. Hermione read on as Fudge firmly shrouded himself in ignorance and left the scene, refusing Dumbledore's advice and turning a blind eye to the clear evidence of Voldemort's return.

Her attention returned to Harry with dread. At the time, she had been momentarily distracted as she spied an unwelcome beetle near the window. But she knew as she read further that the worst part for him had finally come as he said in a broken voice to Mrs. Weasley, "I told him to take the Cup with me."

Hermione's heart seemed to shatter. She knew she could only feel a modicum of his grief and eyed the next thick book to be read, all too aware that the grave and terrible feeling of responsibility would come again for Harry Potter.

The mood of everyone in the school after had been beyond somber. She and Ron had remained at Harry's side, knowing nothing they could do would be enough, only making sure that, despite their feeling of helplessness and futility, their presence was felt by him.

The end of the school year finally arrived and the students of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were about to depart as well. Fleur had come by to see Harry a final time. Viktor had come afterwards asking to have a private word with her, taking them to a secluded area away from the crowd.

Their conversation had been short. It had started with Voldemort and he had casually asked if she thought their Minister would get on the right track.

"No," she had answered.

He had reminded her of his invitation to see him over the summer.

"Maybe," she had told him.

Then he had asked something which had caught her off-guard.

"Can I kiss you?"

She had thought about it for seconds. That year, he had paid attention to her in a way that she had never experienced before. He had spoken to her earnestly—had not cared what other people would say or think about the famous Quidditch star taking an interest in a regular girl like her. And at the Yule Ball, he had made her feel not-so-regular, a welcome change. So she had given him a friendly and appreciative smile before her reply.

"Yes."

He had stooped down, his lips touching hers a second later. But she had not felt anything. How strange it had been! There was none of the expected warmth spreading through her. Her heart did not stir within her chest as she had imagined it would as if something was holding it firmly in place. After they had broken apart, she saw the expectant look in his eyes and she had curiously tilted her head. She had then brought her face closer to his. She had to be sure. Their lips had met again. And she had confirmed it, she did not feel the same way he did for her. And after, she had told him they were probably better off as friends.

As Hermione approached the end of the fourth book, she remembered the final goodbyes at King's Cross. She had looked at Harry and had seen the smile on his face. But underneath it, she could feel the taunts of death that would come for him when he would be alone.

She had suddenly remembered Fleur and the French girls she had seen on holiday. She had remembered Viktor's face growing closer and closer. And feeling emboldened and hoping Harry could begin the summer holidays, not with thoughts of death, but with those of comfort and love, she had kissed his cheek.

As she pulled back, she had studied his face. She sensed the cloud of hidden grief over him, too thick for only her lips to chase away fully at the time. Perhaps she had imagined it, but she thought she had sensed him pause ever so slightly at her action.

Hermione thought back to the moment. It had been something she had never done before. He had at least realized that. The book had no other words for her and she closed it, absentmindedly reaching for the next volume, words now blazoned on the previously blank cover. It was understandable, of course. After all, she concluded to herself, it was a kiss of comfort. A kiss of friendship.

Nothing more.