Warning: This is a dark story that will contain dub-con/non-con. Do not proceed if you do not wish to read such content.

The library's become somewhat of a zoo. The Bulgarian Quidditch player, the one everyone's obsessing about, is in there all the time, and hordes of students have decided that they too need to be revising.

I really don't want to go, but I'm missing some information on the properties of dragon liver, and I need it to finish my Potions essay. It's due in a week, and I don't like to leave things to the last minute.

The Quidditch player stands and heads out of the Great Hall. He's immediately followed by a swarm of people. Grimacing, I down my drink and stand also. It looks like he might be heading outside; if I'm lucky, I can be in and out of the library in an hour and evade all of them.

"Where are you going?" Someone yanks on my arm.

I look down at Parvati. "To the library," I hiss. "I need to work on the Potions essay."

"Which essay? The one we were given just this afternoon?" She groans. "Hermione, no one else is in the mood to study right now."

That's not true. I'm in the mood.

"Speaking of moods, she's ruining the one here," Ron says unkindly. Seamus chuckles. Harry is playing with a snitch he likely stole and is looking wistfully in the direction the famous player has disappeared to.

I roll my eyes at him and go.

The library is quiet. I'd forgotten how much I miss the silence. With the addition of students from two visiting schools, the castle hasn't been this quiet since the beginning of the school year. Some OWLs and NEWTs students are occupying the study tables in the heart of the Potions section and I stay a respectful distance from them, scouring the shelves as unobtrusively as I can. I'm looking for recently published books, ones that take into account Professor Dumbledore's discourse on the twelve uses of dragon blood. I pull out a promising title.

[Regulating Hormone Imbalance in Mid-Weight Dragons]

"Liver," I whisper into the spine, and the number '56' appears engraved into it for an instant before disappearing. 56 mentions of liver in this book. Promising indeed. I flip to the first glowing page.

"May I have a word with you?"

I jump, swear lightly, drop the book, and swear again. Then I turn around.

The famous Quidditch player has snuck up behind me. Alone, and looking as though he's just shed a disillusionment charm. He's still semi-transparent around the edges.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," he apologises. He has a very thick accent. I'm not even sure if I'm hearing everything he's saying correctly.

I glare at him suspiciously, looking over his shoulder for signs of his followers. There are none. He must have finally gotten sick of them and taken to walking around invisibly.

"How can I help you?" I whisper.

"I'm Viktor." He offers me his hand to shake.

I take it, still peering around him. "Hermione. You're not supposed to be invisible in Hogwarts."

I know he's not technically a student here, but still… It's forbidden for a reason.

"I'm sorry if I scared you," he says again, and takes a step back. "I hope I'm not offending you by being so direct, but, I'd like to know how you're hiding it."

"Hiding what?" I frown up at him. He's frowning also. But then he always looks like he's frowning, so I'm unsure.

He gestures at me. "You. What you are."

This is a very strange conversation, and it's making me feel uncomfortable, but there is at least a dozen 5th and 7th year students nearby so I'm not too worried.

"If you mean hiding the fact that I'm muggle-born, you should know we don't generally have a sign on our forehead declaring us as such. Now if you'll excuse me." I pick up the fallen book. It's stopped glowing.

He's still standing there, looking dumbstruck. Maybe it's the first time someone's stood up to him, but if he thinks he can do wonky faints and get away with being rude, it's time he was taught otherwise.

"You don't know," he says, wonderingly. Then, his face breaks out into a secretive smile. "You don't know how beautiful you are."

I blush immediately, feel myself blushing, and blush some more. My eyes flit around. Is this a prank?

"Hermione," he says, voice deepening, "You are the most beautiful girl I have ever seen."

His voice makes something uncurl in my belly. He takes a step forward. I feel rooted to the spot.

"You'll go with me to the Yule Ball next week," he says, in an even deeper, lower voice. His eyes lock to mine.

I nod dumbly.

"Good." His voice returns to normal. He grins and winks at me. "See you soon, Hermione."

I stay standing in the same spot for a while after he leaves before I remember what I'm supposed to be doing.

"Liver."

The pages glow.

The Yule Ball is tomorrow.

I know, because I've been counting down the days in nervous anticipation. Along with everyone else. Ron finally asked Lavender to go with him, but seeing as he only asked her last night, after rumours that he had been publicly rejected by the Beauxbatons Champion, she really shouldn't be as happy as she currently is.

Nobody has asked me if I have a date, and I haven't told anyone. Sometimes it feels like a dream, or a big joke. But I bought a dress anyway. It was very expensive because I had to have it custom-made at the last minute. My parents didn't mind. It's a dark pink and reminds me of flower petals.

There's a tapping on the window. An owl looks balefully in at us, feathers white against the sky.

One of the boys go to open it. Neville. He takes the letter.

"It's for Hermione," he says, walking over to hand it to me.

Everyone stares. "Who's sent you a letter? At night?" asks Lavender, sitting up with interest.

I shrug and put down my quill. "Thanks Neville." I rip the envelope open. Parvati reads aloud over my shoulder. "Wear your hair up tomorrow," she squeaks breathlessly. "Who's V?"

I'm blushing again. That just makes it worse.

Lavender leans over then snatches the slip of paper from my hands. She shrieks excitedly. "Who's V, Hermione?"

The boys are rolling their eyes and going back to their Quidditch talk. Harry looks at me for a moment like he's seeing something that concerns him.

I'm so proud, I think. Walking into the Great Hall on the arm of the most famous Quidditch player in the world, everyone looking. I'm busy trying not to trip, and smiling nervously at no one and nothing in particular, but I can see them goggling at us out of the corners of my eyes.

Viktor's prouder, smugger, and acting like he's the one showing me off. Like he's seen something in me no one else has. And I want to believe that, that finally someone sees that under all my struggle to belong to this world, I am still a girl, a proper girl, but he has this mischievous grin on his face like he had seen something in me, and he was showing it off- not me, but the fact that he had found me.

We descend the stairs.

"I like your hair," he says to me. It's piled up on the top of my head in smooth curls. It took hours to achieve this. There are some permanent measures I can take to make it stay smooth and straight, but I kind of like my hair the way it is.

"Thanks." I look at him. He's in burgundy and has a fur cape draped around one shoulder. I wouldn't have thought him my type, but he asked me, and here we are. He's really very handsome, I think, in a rugged kind of way. "I- uh, I like your cape."

People are whispering. Some crane their necks. Some are even standing. They look floored, like they'd seen something they once thought mythical. They can't believe their famous Quidditch keeper has me, the resident swot, for a date. I can't blame them. I can hardly believe it myself.

Viktor steers me towards the other champions all already waiting in the middle of the Great Hall, right in front of the row of dressed-up professors and ministry officials. None of them look very happy. Professor Karkaroff is placating the Minister of Magic. He gestures slowly with open hands. "I can assure you there is no malicious intent…" I hear him say, before the music begins and we are swept into the first waltz.

"What's happening there, you think?" I ask Viktor, as we go through the motions. He laughs a full-throated laugh and spins me.

"They're not very happy with me."

"What did you do?" I ask. He'd probably been caught prowling around invisible. I did warn him. But then, even that wouldn't have involved the Minister of Magic. Whatever he did had to have been really out of line.

He appears to think for a moment, and then says, "They think I stole something."

I'm flabbergasted, and falter through the next few steps. I spot Lavender and Ron amongst the blur of staring faces. Lavender is whispering in his ear.

"That would be a serious accusation!"

He laughs again, and spins me again, and when we come together again, my hand resting on his arm, I giggle a little. His laughter is contagious. "Don't joke about such things. You didn't actually steal anything, did you?"

"Finders keepers," he says cryptically, wearing a wide smile. He looks a lot less moody when he smiles.

"Ha ha. Very funny. I know you play Keeper and all, but I highly doubt that sort of childish excuse will hold up in court."

It's his turn to look flabbergasted. "I'm a seeker, Hermione."

"Seeker, finder, stealer, however you want to name it…"

"No. What? No! I play Seeker. In Quidditch."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I apologise sincerely. I may not care for the game, but I know it's important to him. The tempo of the waltz is slowing, and we follow suit. "Well, what do they think you stole?"

"You," he says. The song ends. We separate and bow to each other, and as the first smatterings of applause begins, he puts his thumb in his mouth, sucks on it, and then rubs it quickly along my collarbone.