Hermione was frustrated. Ron still hadn't spoken to Harry, in spite of her prodding. And Harry had been so preoccupied with the tournament, though that wasn't his fault, that he hadn't had the time to patch things up with Ron yet.

Malfoy had come up with badges that dissed Harry. Most of the students from Slytherin were just wearing badges supporting Warrington, but it was still frustrating.

She was glad that Neville at least seemed sensible. He had helped Harry with a few homework assignments in herbology, knowing more about plants than just about anyone else their year. And he was trying to patch things up between Harry and Ron in a similar manner to Hermione.

The boys had decided that not speaking to each other was the easiest course of action. So Hermione and Neville had wound up spending most evenings talking, reading, doing homework, and playing exploding snap. Harry and Ron hadn't even asked for her help with homework.

As odd as it was, Hermione wasn't going to complain about it. It had given her more time for her own interests. She'd had time to work on her Bulgarian, time to talk to Viktor, and time to read with Neville.

She'd read through just about all of the book Neville had lent her. She had understood probably about half of it, but she had made very detailed notes and looked up several references in the library.

She was glad to find that just about everyone had a soulmate. But not everyone's was romantic. And the more she thought about it, the more certain she was that Harry and Ron were platonic soulmates. If they could just talk things out.

She heaved a sigh as she sat on one of the couches, rereading her essay for charms for the fifth time. She was almost ready to turn it in, but she wanted to make sure that her ideas were clear and concise.

"Boys getting to you?" Neville asked.

"How can you tell?" She didn't really mind, but she wanted to know how he managed to know what was on her mind.

He laughed. "Hermione, I've known you for a little over three years. If I couldn't tell when you were frustrated with Harry and Ron, I would be blind."

A small smile crept over her face. "I think the boys must be blind then."

"Not blind. They just don't want to admit when they're annoying you."

She thought about it for a moment, nodded, and went back to proofreading her essay. She finished fairly quickly, and rolled it up, ready to turn in when she next ran into Professor Flitwick.

"So is there anything you wanted to talk about?" she asked Neville.

"Actually yes." He fidgeted a little in his seat, a sure sign that he was nervous. "But it is a bit of a touchy subject."

"Neville," she looked him straight in the eye, "we're friends. You shouldn't be afraid to talk to me. Even if it is something you wouldn't want shared by the whole school."

"It's not about me, it's about you."

She paused. She wasn't sure exactly what he knew, but she was sure that whatever it was, he wouldn't be so nervous unless he was fairly sure that she would like to keep it quiet.

"What is it?" she whispered.

"It's the writing on your arm. Not all of it is yours."

She breathed a sigh of relief. He didn't know too much; he'd just seen something he didn't understand. "You are really perceptive, you know."

He shook his head. "I just watch and listen. Most people don't expect much from me, so I get to see things."

"Oh Neville…" Hermione felt bad. She knew that people constantly underestimated him. It certainly didn't help him any that he sometimes had a hard time mastering spells. Or that Professor Snape scared him so much that he couldn't concentrate in potions.

"I don't mind," he said. "But I do like to know things. And you haven't explained the writing at all."

"It's difficult to explain."

"Then let's start at the beginning. When did you notice it?"

"I think it was second year. Or third. Definitely not first year. But as I put my assignments on my hand to remind me to do them, I sometimes got weird little marks around them. I couldn't figure it out, but one day it hit me that it wasn't English.

"And then I tried to figure out what language was appearing on my arm. It took me forever to learn that it was Bulgarian, and even longer to learn how to read and write the language passably. I still can't speak it well at all, but that's another story."

"Wait," Neville interrupted. "Bulgarian?"

"I'm getting to that. Where was I?"

"Learning Bulgarian," Neville reminded her.

"Right. It took me a while to learn, but I was finally confident that I could hold a conversation this summer. So I asked the person on the other side if they would be going to the world cup. And things sort of evolved from there."

They sat in silence for a few moments. Neville was processing everything she had said. And Hermione was feeling a bit of relief at sharing her secret.

"So who is he?" Neville asked.

"Who said it was a he?"

"You wouldn't be so secretive if it was just a friend. So, he, must be something special."

"Alright, but you can't tell anyone."

Neville looked at her like she was crazy. "Who would believe me if I tried? Not that I would."

"More people than you think," she said. "But I trust you."

There was an awkward pause as Hermione worked up the courage to tell one of her good friends that she was talking to Viktor Krum. Seeker extraordinaire and triwizard champion.

"So…" Neville prompted.

"Viktor Krum."

"What about Viktor Krum?" Harry asked as he climbed through the portrait hole.

"I was just asking Hermione here who she thought would win the tournament," Neville covered for her.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," Harry muttered.

"Hey! Just because I'm counting on you not getting killed, doesn't mean that I think you'll win. And the other champions almost certainly know things I haven't learnt yet."

Harry rolled his eyes. "I was teasing you Hermione."

She stuck her tongue out at him, and they slowly devolved into laughter. It was nice. If Ron had been there laughing along with them, it would have been perfect, but he was sulking somewhere.

Hermione read the Daily Prophet fuming. How someone could twist Harry around to be this miserable, helpless thing, was beyond her. And there was little to no mention of the other contestants. That seemed highly unfair.

"But Cassius, he's actually not that bad," Harry finished saying to Neville.

Hermione tossed the paper onto the table, not caring if it splashed something or got smeared in syrup. Her anger at that Skeeter woman was boiling, and would explode if she didn't manage to calm herself down soon.

"I wouldn't have expected that," Neville said. "I don't know the guy, but he's the kind who you don't want to mess with."

"I wouldn't mess with him," Harry said, "but he's not bad. He just likes to be left alone for the most part."

Hermione crunched her toast in her mouth, still listening to Harry and Neville. She walked out of the great hall when she saw Viktor pull a quill out of his bag. To any of the Hogwarts students, it would look like notes on his arm.

Darling, is everything alright? Was written a few moments later.

Did you read the trash Rita Skeeter wrote in the Prophet this morning? I want to punch something.

She was halfway ready to storm back into the great hall, grab the paper, and tear it to shreds. It wouldn't solve anything, but it would make her feel better, if only a little.

Don't. It will just make people try to make you angry again in the future. I know from experience.

She took a deep breath, listening to his advice. She really didn't want anyone trying to get under her skin. But she wasn't sure what to do.

So how did you feel about the article? Any qualms about you being glossed over? Mr. youngest seeker on a professional team.

I do not need accolades. I was chosen, that's enough for me. But I guess I would like to win.

And, if you don't?

Well, I got to meet a pretty girl. I think that should be a good enough consolation prize.

Hermione couldn't wipe the grin off her face. She knew it was silly. She couldn't even understand how a boy, even one like Viktor, could make her feel so happy.

I certainly hope so. But I think maybe I got the better deal. I got to meet the most amazing boy, and he's a champion in the triwizard tournament. Even if he does scowl more than I would like.

I only scowl because people treat me as though I'm some prize. They follow me around. They take pictures. It can be annoying.

I know.

Hermione stared at her arm, trying to think of something more to say. Something that would lighten the mood to where it had been. She couldn't think of anything.

I hope to see you later today, Viktor wrote.

I'll be in the library.