by She's a Star
Disclaimer:
Harry Potter isn't mine, alas. :-) It is the brilliant work of Ms. Joanne Rowling - but honestly, who didn't know that?Author's Note:
This is weird fic for me, as I've never really written anything romantic concerning Hermione that isn't R/Hr. But this idea just came to me, and . . . well, Viktor did ask her to the ball. Plus, he's so gosh darned cute.Still, I couldn't resist dropping a few R/H hints. She likes Ron! She does!
But really. How could you turn Viktor down?
Um. Right. I really will shut up now.
He had grown accustomed to watching her.
It was a bit stupid, he knew, to sit in the library for hours at a time at a table all by himself, just staring. But he couldn't help it. She fascinated him.
She wasn't like the other girls he had seen, and Viktor Krum had seen many girls. Especially here - they seemed to be everywhere, standing about ten feet off and giggling as they debated in not-so-hushed whispers over whether they should get his autograph, and if he'd sign the back of their Potions essays in lipstick.
He hated it.
She hadn't given him a second glance, and he wasn't sure if he liked that fact. He wasn't sure about lots of things, when it came to her. He wasn't sure why he thought she was so beautiful, for instance. His friends certainly did not. When he'd pointed her out to his best friend, Poliakoff, the response had been a scoff and, "Look at her hair. You could hide a family of five in it."
But there was something oddly captivating about her: the way she moved, as if she were perpetually in a hurry but insistent upon doing everything right nonetheless, and the way her eyes sparkled with excitement when she rambled on to her friends about their homework.
Her friends.
(Viktor scowled.)
He did not like them much at all. One of them, the one with red hair who had used to gape at him when he'd first arrived, was always snapping at her, saying awful things that made Viktor want to march over to them and pull his arms off. (He refrained, of course.)
And then there was Harry Potter. Famous Harry Potter, the youngest Triwizard champion, The Boy Who Lived. Not to mention The Boy Who Got To Spend Practically Every Waking Minute With Her.
. . . Maybe he was just a bit jealous of Harry Potter. He didn't have a reason to dislike him. This wasn't the case with the redheaded one.
Nevertheless, he tried not to pay attention to her friends, because often when he did, he felt the sudden and violent urge to punch something.
He decided, instead, to focus on her.
He didn't know much about her, as he had never talked to her before, or anyone that knew her well. He did know her name: Hermione Granger. He'd found this out because she'd dropped one of her papers a few weeks ago, and he'd returned it to her.
She'd said "thanks", in a very busy sort of way, before leaving the library with her friends. She didn't even give him a second glance. (The red-haired one, however, had gaped at him, and then elbowed her in the side and hissed, "Hermione! You were just given a paper by Viktor bloody Krum!")
And then the Yule Ball had been announced.
As soon as Karkaroff told them about it, he'd known just who he'd wanted to ask. She had popped into his mind instantly, as had a vision of them gliding across an empty dance floor as she stared happily up at him with those sparkling brown eyes . . .
His reverie was rudely interrupted by a new burst of giggles. He looked up, and sure enough, there was a group of Hogwarts girls, including the one who had taken to wearing a Bulgaria scarf around her waist. He was smart enough to understand what they were playing at; they were hoping he'd ask one of them to the ball.
Well, he didn't want to. There was only one person he wanted to go with, and she was currently hunched over a piece of parchment, scribbling frantically and checking her textbook every twenty seconds or so.
Her friends weren't there.
He wanted to ask her to the ball, he really did, but he couldn't. There was no way she would want to go with him - she didn't seem at all impressed with him. She probably couldn't even stand him. She probably thought he was just another dumb Quidditch player who didn't deserve the time of day from her.
. . . But at the same time, she didn't seem like that kind of girl.
He was going to do it. He was going to ask her. If she said yes (and he could only hope - this didn't even seem a faint possibility), then he could finally get Karkaroff to stop badgering him about asking a girl to the ball.
This prospect made the idea all the more appealing.
Taking a deep breath, he rose from his seat and walked slowly toward her. (The bunch of fangirls began to giggle in a downright hysterical manner, but their giddiness subsided immediately when he walked right past them.)
She didn't look up. He discovered upon standing this close to her that she was muttering distractedly to herself.
"In 1797 . . . the ban on charms . . . concerning farm animals . . ."
She appeared to be so deeply immersed that Viktor couldn't bring himself to disturb her.
"This ban has been taken rather lightly . . . eighteen years ago, Aberforth Dumbledore was accused-"
She looked up abruptly and her eyes fell on him. He felt himself blushing.
"Hello," she said, not unkindly, but clearly wondering why he was there.
"Hello," he replied, and felt immensely stupid. Why had he come over here? It was clear that she didn't want to talk to him. He was just annoying her while she wished she could be working on her essay.
An awkward silence surfaced.
"Um . . . sit down," she said, and nodded toward the chair across from hers.
"All right," he obliged, and managed to stumble while attempting to seat himself in the chair. (Apparently, the Fates were set upon humiliating him as much as possible.)
"So," she said, and impatiently pushed a lock of hair behind her ear.
"So," he repeated, and laughed a little. She smiled.
"I see you here a lot," she said. "You must love reading."
"I suppose so," he said, and gave her a weak smile. "You are here a lot as vell."
"Oh, yes," she said, and laughed a little. "My friend Ron says I may as well just sleep here."
"Let me guess," Viktor said bitterly. "The redheaded one."
"Yes," she said, smiling. He noticed that she had gone red now too. "I suppose you've heard us. We . . . argue a bit sometimes."
"Sometimes," he agreed. They smiled at each other.
Another shrill round of giggling from his fanclub of sorts drifted through the air, and Madam Pince silenced them with a rather sharp, 'Shh! This is a library!'
Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm sure that gets old after awhile."
"Yes," he replied, nodding fervently. "It does not take much intelligence to know that they are only following me because I play for Bulgaria."
"That must be annoying," she said sympathetically.
"Yes," he said, and silence fell again.
The giggling started again, and this time Hermione took it into her own hands.
"Oh, really!" she snapped at the girls. "This is a library! People are trying to get work done!"
The girl with the Bulgaria scarf shot Hermione a nasty glare before stomping out of the library, her friends following her.
"Thank you," Viktor said gratefully. "I haff been wanting to get rid of them for ages."
"So," Hermione said, the corners of her mouth still turned up in a small smile, "Why do you come here so often? I'm guessing it's not because of the fanclub."
He felt his cheeks heat up again. "Um . . . no," he managed, rather calmly. "It's because . . . well, because . . . I like to . . ."
You like to what, Viktor? a voice inside his head taunted. Stare at her?
"I haff been coming here to watch you," he said, and stared at the table intently.
" . . . What?" she asked, laughing a bit.
Oh, wonderful. He had set himself up there. She was completely disgusted.
Viktor Krum, you are an idiot.
"The vay you vork," he said, a bit desperately. "And . . . the vay your eyes sparkle vhen you are excited about something." He paused for a moment, then threw in, "You are very pretty."
She looked as though she couldn't quite believe what she was hearing.
" . . . Thank you," she said finally, in a slightly dazed tone.
"I am sorry," he apologized at once. "I'm sure that I haff frightened you--"
"No, no," she cut him off, smiling. "Not at all. It's just . . . I never thought I'd hear anyone say that to me. Ever."
"I vas vondering," he said quickly, deciding he may as well do it before he lost his nerve, "If you vould be villing to go to the Yule Ball vith me."
There was a moment of silence, and he immediately felt humiliation rush through him. Of course she wasn't going to accept; why would she? It wasn't as though-
"Yes," she said, softly.
He felt an elated sort of joy soar through him, and managed to think, amidst almost overpowering happiness, that it was the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard before.
She said yes, she said yes.
"Really?" he asked, unable to resist asking.
"Yes," she said, smiling this time. "Yes, of course."
He finds himself grinning widely at her - something he doesn't do often. "Vell . . . thank you."
"Thank you," she replied, giggling a little. This struck him as odd - she didn't seem the type to giggle - but for some reason, it wasn't at all annoying when she did it.
It was quite . . . cute, actually.
She consulted her watch, and when she looked up at him again, her countenance donned an apologetic expression. "I'm sorry - I have to get back to the common room. Ron-" She paused for a moment, and looked almost nervous. "Ron and Harry are going to be wondering where I am."
"And I should get back to the ship," Viktor returned, still grinning. He wondered vaguely if he would ever stop.
"Well . . ." she said. (Her eyes were sparkling.) "Goodbye, then."
"Goodbye," he repeated, a bit dazed, and watched her as she gathered up her books and left the library.
He sat for a moment by himself, still a bit blown away by his own good fortune, before realizing that he did, in fact, have to get back to the ship. He rose and made his way out of the library, passing a few of the giggling girls in the hall. However, in his state of temporary bliss, he didn't even notice them.
"I wonder what's gotten into him," one of the girls said, staring after him in bewilderment. "He's smiling."
"What I want to know is why he was talking to that awful Hermione Granger," another one declared, wrinkling her nose. "She's such a know-it-all. He wouldn't . . . fancy her, would he?"
"Oh, yes, I'm sure he does," the third girl deadpanned. "He's probably taking her to the ball and everything."
The girls laughed derisively, all equally skeptical at the prospect of a world-renowned Quidditch player asking Hogwarts' resident bushy-haired know-it-all to the Yule Ball.
Like that would happen.