Author's Note: Welcome! If you're new, buckle up and please don't hate me. If you're an oldy, welcome back! Glad to have you around.

To those who've read this before:

Now, this is the edited/revised version of "Relationship Status: Pending" which means some parts of the story will be altered, but the key points will remain the same. In fact, the first half of the story will pretty much be left as is, with the exception of added dialogue here and there, and maybe some cleaning around. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this version as much as the last! I've been working on the revised version for a long time. Without getting too spoilery, I'll repeat myself and say the key points will remain the same. Well, except for one thing ;)

To those who are new:

This story is written in first person, which isn't to everyone's liking, but it would be neat if you read it anyway! :)

To everyone:

If the dialogue is italicized in future chapters, it means I haven't gotten around to updating it with the revised version quite yet.

Anyway, enjoy!

Relationship Status: Pending

There was one time in my teens, when my cousin Jillian showed me a pornographic image of an erect penis. Our interest in the image — at least my own — was by no means sexual. It was morbid curiosity, if anything. I'm not sure what baffled me most about that penis (veins? pre-cum? girth? storm trooper helmet head?) only that it served as the beginning of my horrifically hapless romantic pursuits.

Thank you, Jillian.

This is what happens to boys when they like you, she told me.

Bear in mind, I was only fourteen. I had barely recovered from my fear of cooties, let alone locked lips. Did I mention Hogwarts offered no lessons on sex education? Right, well, ahem.

Long story short: fourteen-year-old me believed my equally inexperienced cousin, despite every inch of deductive reasoning my parents had ingrained within me since birth; oh and in case you're wondering, there is a purpose to this anecdote.

Before we get to that, there are some bases I need to cover, so to speak.

Deep breath.

I suppose I should start with what happened later that year, in December.

Hogwarts. Triwizard Tournament. Yule Ball. Enough to jog your memory? No need to roll your eyes. I'll tell this story at my own pace, thankyouverymuch.

Right.

It was weeks after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament. Start of December. Fresh snow. Quite romantic, now that I remember. It seemed the only thing that deterred students from ravaging one another in the middle of the corridors, was promise of a school function so grand that any future function would pale in comparison. But this was no regular school function. It was the Yule Ball; the reason we had spent ridiculous amounts of our parents' money on dress robes and shoes and perfumes (and in some cases Sleekeazy Hair Potion).

The corridors were buzzing with excitement, and then worry. Because the thing about dances, the thing most of us had failed to remember, was the requirement of a date. It was either you buck up and ask someone, or hope to be asked. The older students knew this maze and navigated with ease, having secured dates within hours of the announcement. But the younger students, such as myself and my best friends, were suddenly swept up in the confusing labyrinth that was romance.

Before then, romance was never a thing that existed for us.

I remember spending many sleepless nights thinking about it, about whether or not any young men would spare a second to realize there was a girl hidden under this wild, curly mane. I thought, rather naively, that Ronald would ask me to be his date. In fact, part of me expected him to ask. But he didn't. For three weeks I sat by his side in the Great Hall and during class, and never once did he turn to me and do so much as mention the Yule Ball.

To him, I was still bushy-haired Granger with no tits and no arse. True, on all accounts.

But there was someone who noticed me; someone whose affections had remained unbeknownst to me, until one week before the Yule Ball.

"Herm-own-ninny?" he asked, approaching me in the most sacred of places.

I reluctantly finger-marked my page in the transfiguration textbook, and laid eyes on the last person I expected to find in the library. Well, second last to Ron. There was a distinct arch in my brow, as I noticed the tall Bulgarian Seeker from Durmstrang Institute in front at me. His usual gaggle of girls had dispersed for the evening; perhaps to gossip over their prospective dates for the upcoming Yule Ball. This left him alone and, to my growing amazement, rather timid despite his international fame.

"Viktor Krum," I stupidly said, closing the book. "Are you…lost?"

There was a dash of colour on the Seeker's cheeks, after which he shook his head. "I…I was wanting to speak with Herm-own-ninny for long time, but these girls…"

Something unexpected tugged at the corners of my lips. I smiled at him. "Looks to me like they've given you the night off."

"Looks like," Viktor agreed, returning my smile. "I hope I don't disturb Herm-own-ninny in studies."

It was so bizarre to me that he actually cared. I'm sure the look on my face was something close to incredulous, but I tried to pass it off as flattery.

"You're no disturbance to me."

"This is good thing," he remarked, smiling even deeper before something startling washed over his facial features. "I was wanting to speak to Herm-oh-ninny about the…the…"

"…the Tournament?" I guessed, genuinely lost.

Viktor shook his head. "Not this. Herm-oh-ninny is bright witch but I don't come to her — to you — for this. I come to you for…for…" The Seeker scrunched his lips to the side, in deep thought, as he struggled to find the words. "I…I forget how do you say this one…"

There was a small voice inside my head that whispered the right answer, but I ignored it. I couldn't focus on anything apart from the broken English that came from his adorable mouth.

I realized then that I had a thing for accents.

"Are you . . . looking for someone? Perhaps, Harry?" I furthered, searching through his eyes for some form of confirmation.

Krum took a deep breath, desperate to convey the thoughts floating through his mind. It was endearing, but I didn't have the heart to sit around and let him stumble over his words. There were language translation dictionaries on the other side of the library, and the moment I decided to grab one was the moment something else caught my attention. It came from outside the library, from the corridors.

It was music. Someone had The Weird Sisters on blast.

"This!" Viktor exclaimed, moving about from one foot to the other in an awkward fashion. "I am trying to ask, will Herm-own-ninny be doing this?"

"Er —" My face screwed, as I watched with mingled confusion and amusement. Only then, did it dawn on me. Those were not nervous movements. Those were dance moves. "OH!" I realized. "You're talking about the Yule Ball!"

The young man clapped his hands together, as though we had completed the final round in a game of charades. "Yes! This one!" he rejoiced. "I am asking if Herm-own-ninny is going to Yool Bool."

There was a moment when I joined him in his rejoice, but that moment was short-lived. I bowed my head down and fell back into my seat. In all the excitement, I had forgotten what drove me to the library from sunrise to sunset. There were reminders all over the corridors and in the Gryffindor Common Room. Posters. Bulletins. Rules of conduct.

Reminders that didn't apply to me.

Because I, in the most cliche twist of fate, had been left dateless.

"Is . . . Is something saddening Herm-own-ninny?"

"Not at all," I lied, forcing a smile. "I'm just . . . I've decided not to attend the ball. I . . . I have so much revision to do and . . . no time."

His face fell. "I am sad for this. I was wanting to ask Herm-own-ninny to —"

In an instant, my thoughts reverted back to Ron; to the one person I had counted on. For whatever reason.

" — be my date for Yool Bool."

The music in the corridor faded, leaving the library as silent and still as it had been before. For a moment, I considered gathering my things and heading to the girls' dormitory — where I knew I wouldn't run into Ron or Harry or the lot of them — but in that moment, the small voice inside my head coaxed me out of this depleted state and back to reality.

I glanced up, bewildered. "I beg your pardon?"

The colour on Viktor's cheeks returned. "I am wanting to ask for long time. It will honour me to be date for bright, byoot-full witch like you, Herm-own-ninny."

In that moment, I couldn't decide which was more shocking. The fact that Viktor Krum had asked me to be his date to the Yule Ball, or the fact that I hadn't yet answered.

"Is this . . . Is this idea pleasing to you?" he furthered, glancing at me with an equal amount of nervousness in his system.

"I…I…" The answer was on the tip of my tongue. "I…"

During the Quidditch World Cup, there hadn't been a trace of nervousness within the famous Seeker. But in that moment, in the library, he might as well have been facing another dragon. His blush turned bright, beet red. His lip began to twitch. His eyes avoided mine for dear life, and for a moment it appeared as though he were planning an escape route but then —

The words came to me fast and hard. "Yes. Yes, of course. I — I would love to attend the Yule Ball with you."

Viktor opened his mouth, but didn't speak. Instead he flashed a grin so wide, I swear I could see all four of his wisdom teeth.

There was nothing, no words in English or Bulgarian, to describe the glee that erupted in my chest, at the mere thought of what happened in the library that night. I had been asked to the Yule Ball by someone who genuinely wanted to go with me; someone thoughtful and mature and caring. It was almost too good to be true. Viktor Krum was the real deal. There was a language barrier and he still couldn't pronounce my name, but he was also the perfect gentleman.

Descending that staircase and linking my arm around his, for all the school to bear witness, was perhaps the most satisfying moment in my adolescence. Granted, most of them took a moment recognize me due to the light makeup and the generous amount of Sleekeazy Hair Potion I had applied for the occasion, but it was still a moment for the history books.

Harry looked to me in awe. Ron was dull with shock. Ginny, the only person with whom I had shared my secret, beamed brighter than any lantern. Even the bane of my existence spared a glance in my direction; though I'm sure it was more of a deductive thing, in an attempt to figure out what I did to tame my hair and perhaps to scrutinize my ensemble.

The dress robes I had chosen were periwinkle blue and made of the softest fabric I had ever touched. Part of me felt silly with my hair straight and with blusher on my cheeks, but the second I felt anxious, I would catch my date gazing at me with that same starry-eyed look about him.

It made me delirious — with what, I had no idea. The only thing I knew for sure, was that there was music and cheering and dancing, and that this would be a night to remember.

It was pure luck that my feet remained in tact from how much I danced that night. Viktor, as well. Unlike the other boys and their dates, mine danced all night with me. In fact, we were one of the last couples left on the dance floor. It cleared out around an hour after midnight, during which time I glanced back and noticed Ron and Harry as sullen and still as a pair of statues. It looked to me like they hadn't moved a muscle since the opening ceremony had closed, much to the chagrin of their dates: Parvati and Padma.

In the back of my mind, I knew Ron had been staring at me all night. It shouldn't have mattered to me, considering who my date was and how much fun I was having, but the fact that he couldn't tear his eyes away from me only made me dance more.

It was shaping up to be quite the night and little did I know, the night wasn't quite over.

"Herm-own-ninny," spoke the deep, delicious voice that had been whispering sweet nothings into my ear since the evening started. "I would like to keep seeing you. Is there place to walk?"

Those troubling, lingering thoughts about Ron disappeared the moment I heard my name on Viktor's lips. I was sure there was no alcohol served at the Yule Ball, but for some reason I felt free and uninhibited. It was a good feeling — a great feeling — and the longer I spent with Viktor, the bigger that feeling grew. I decided then, that it was affection. This date wasn't just an amicable arrangement. It meant something to me, and I could tell it meant something to him.

Without much thought behind it, I boldly took him by the hand and tossed a look around to make sure we were unseen before leading him out of the Great Hall. There was a place in Hogwarts; a place more sacred to me than the library and with a much, much better view. I took him there, hand-in-hand, as we laughed and fell over one another on our ascent. There was a moment, mid-way up the stairs, when I lost balance and found his arm around my waist.

It was a moment that lingered in my chest long after we continued our ascent up the staircase, eclipsed only by what followed.

I led him to the top of the Astronomy Tower; forbidden to students without the supervision of a teacher. It was against the rules to be there at this hour, with him and no teachers in sight, but through my friendship with Harry, I learned some rules were meant to be broken.

"Herm-own-ninny," he spoke again, adoringly, in such close proximity that I could see the moon reflected in his eyes.

I breathed in, unable to help myself as I leaned into him, suddenly aware of the fact that his arm hadn't left my waist. There was snow falling from the clouds above, cascading down on us as we stood atop the Astronomy Tower. It was caught in my hair, as well as his, and as he moved closer to unravel the sleek knot that held my hair in place, I felt release.

The potion had warn off due to dampness from the snow, but Viktor didn't seem to mind. His eyes only shone brighter, as my curls returned.

I looked to him.

He looked to me.

Then, and only then, did it happen.

I knowingly closed my eyes and felt his breath tickle my lips, before he placed one hand under my chin and kissed me.

It was my first kiss.

It could have been his first kiss, too, but I doubted that very much. It wasn't only his fame, but also the way he kissed that told me this wasn't his first time. I melted into him, into the kiss, into his hands on me.