Chapter 1: Hermione Granger Loves Viktor Krum

"Oh, Won-Won! Where are you going? Come sit with me by the fire."

Ugh! I felt my entire body go rigid at the sound.

That cloyingly sweet yet seductive tone—directed at my Ron, no less—set my very teeth on edge. Lavender Brown, or (as I refer to her in my head) the Flaming Tart of Gryffindor, was down there in the common room laying claim to my best friend. Again! Crossing my arms over my chest, I leaned against the wall of the girls' dormitory stairs and tried to decide whether or not to brave the Den of Never-Ending Snogs in order to go the library as I had originally planned.

Technically, it would be just as easy to pad my way back upstairs and go to the library in the morning, but I hated reconfiguring my plans just to avoid them. It was like letting Lavender win all over again. With that thought in mind, I girded myself up for battle by pushing away from the wall, lifting my chin and throwing my shoulders back. However, before I could even take a step, Ron's answering voice floored me.

"Lavender, you know the girls in your dorm pretty well, yeah?"

"Sure, Wonnie-Won-Won. I know everyone."

I could almost hear her body draping itself across his like the warm, drizzled honey of her voice. I gnashed my teeth and tried not to growl. What was he on about now?

"So, you know most of the gossip up there, like who they fancy or who they've dated, right?"

"Wonnie, are you worrying about my reputation again, silly?"

I snorted contemptuously and thought: Well, that would be a first.

He paused for a second and I could almost feel him squirming. Easing down the stairs, I peeked around the corner from the bottom step and spied them sitting together on the main couch. That used to be OUR couch!

"Conniving, territory-thieving wench," I grumbled to myself, scowling fiercely.

I watched Ron extract himself from Lavender's clinging arms with a grim smile. Ron never had seemed like much of a cuddling sort of bloke. Rolling my eyes at myself and wondering why I even still cared about the balmy git, I leaned into the shadows and committed myself to eavesdropping.

"So, er, Harry was wondering about something—"

"Aw, how cute! Is he worried that Ginny's still stuck on Dean?" Lavender asked eagerly, almost bouncing in her seat. "'Cause that's all over now, and she's back to having eyes for him alone."

Personally, I thought that Ginny had eyes for herself in order to see. But, perhaps that concept is a little bit too simplistic for the Mistress of Semantics known as Lavender "great Godric's ghost, how I despise her" Brown.

Lavender sighed euphorically over this bit of romantic nonsense while Ron withdrew, casting a semi-disgusted look at her.

"No, uh, not that, Lavender. Um, actually, Harry said that he'd heard some things about, well, Hermione, and asked me to check them out for him."

What? My brain shrieked. Even Lavender couldn't be thick enough to miss what he was digging for.

Apparently, it wasn't humiliating enough that he'd thrown me over for a witless, fluff-centered Snog-Tart. Now he wanted proof that I was still skulking around the girls' dormitory, mooning over him as well. I could hex his bits off! Well, actually I could. I mean, the distance isn't far and it would only take a few seconds to conjure up another flock of canaries . . . .

"Rumors about Hermione Granger?" She asked, pulling away from him with a suspicious frown. "I've only ever heard of one—no, maybe two—but only one is somewhat recent."

"Yeah?" He asked eagerly, before making a show of nonchalance. "You wouldn't mind telling me, would you? For Harry's sake, of course! He thinks of Hermione as a sister, you know, and just wants to make sure she's, er, consorting with the right sort. The bloke deserves some peace of mind, don't you think?"

Oh, how I'd love to give you a piece of my mind, you tart-fondling berk! I thought angrily. Consorting, indeed.

"Well, if it's for Harry . . . ." Lavender simpered, walking her fingers along Ron's forearm. "Of course, there was the rumor in fourth year that she was the one who managed to get Harry's name in the Goblet of Fire. That's why she was so eager to help him with all of the challenges—because of the guilt."

Ron's brow furrowed and he extracted his arm from her grip. "Um, okay. I hadn't heard that one before, actually. What about other kinds of gossip?" Ron asked, sneaking his arm around the back of the couch as he looked away from Lavender. "You know, like about her love life and stuff."

"What love life?" Lavender asked with a giggle.

I could throttle her. It wouldn't be hard. Or maybe I could take a page out the Half-Blood Prince's book and simply . . . .

Ron laughed nervously as well, and I wanted to slap the smirk right off of his face.

"Ah, come on, Lav." He goaded, looping her arm through his own. Bowing his head to look her in the eye, he lowered his voice and continued in a cajoling tone. "You're telling me that there have never been any rumors linking Hermione to some famous crush?"

Well, he's a bold little weasel, isn't he?

Lavender smiled widely and leaned in close, resting her chin on his shoulder. "Silly! Everyone knows about the little fling Harry and Hermione had two years ago."

"What?" Ron choked, obviously shocked.

I couldn't agree more. Had the Giant Squid been leaving deposits in the water again?

"You're so pwecious, Won-Won." Lavender murmured, absently playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck. "Of course, you remember. They had their little fling in fourth year right before Hermione fell in love with Krum."

Ron cringed away from Lavender's playful fingers and stared at her in dismay. In a choked voice, he asked: "Hermione Granger loves Viktor Krum?"

"Of course she does, silly! Poor girl. She's never had eyes for anyone else since. That's why she insulated herself with you and Harry for so long, so that no other boy could get close to her."

Oh, no! I wanted to moan. I could tear that lying vixen's hair out by the bloody root. He couldn't possibly believe that Doxy drivel, could he?

"She probably thinks he's perfect for her." Ron grumbled unhappily in resignation, accepting his girlfriend's words without question as he settled back against the cushions of the couch heavily.

Expelling a dreamy sigh, Lavender leaned forward to press a kiss to Ron's frozen cheek. "She'll love him forever just like I love you, Won-Won."

I turned away as Ron finally enveloped Lavender in the embrace she had been pleading for all evening. Her giggle tainted the air with a nonsensical vibrato, causing a distinct ringing in my ears. I felt dizzy. My stomach suddenly churned with bitterness, and I fled up the stairs before I could toss up my accounts all over their disgusting display.

Reaching my dorm room, I stormed straight across the creaking floorboards to my bed. Pulling the curtains open, I heaved myself onto the feather tick mattress before pulling them closed behind me with a violent jerk. Flopping back against my pillows, I let out a frustrated sigh. Seconds later, I was surprised to feel the mattress dimple as Crookshanks joined me. Allowing him to settle on my tummy and chest, I threaded my fingers through his ginger fur, feeling his euphoric purr rumble through my whole torso. Tucking his head under my chin, I petted him slowly, willing the anger to leave my body.

How did that rumor ever get so far? And why would Lavender say such a despicably insensitive (and absolutely unfounded, I might add) thing to Ron, knowing how much it would upset him? Was that how a good girlfriend was supposed to act? She had to know about his sore spot for Viktor Krum, so why would she go stirring up such painful ghosts? Why drive yet another wedge between us?

Because, she thinks that Ron still fancies you.

The thought came unbidden and I tried to shrug it off mentally.

Once upon a time, I had thought that Ron fancied me as much as I did him. I went about laying a plan to snare him for myself, convincing Professor Slughorn to allow each of the Slug Club members to invite one guest to his Christmas Party. I knew that it would be the perfect opportunity to invite Ron out on a real date. Just thinking about an evening with Ron had inspired recollections of the Yule Ball in fourth year. I began daydreaming about dressing up again, not just to get Ron to see me as a girl this time, but to get him to see me as a girlfriend—someone that he could date and cuddle and cherish . . . .

Well, that tender plan had soured quickly in the heat of Ginny's ire. Though I have talked to her and Harry since the stand-off with Ron began, I still cannot make sense of her actions. I can understand her desire to embarrass or hurt Ron—he really can be a royal prat sometimes—but why would she corrupt and use my secret? Viktor is the one issue I could never make Ron see sense on, so why had she instigated this mess and forced Ron to trample my unsuspecting heart?

I tossed and turned on my bed fretfully, managing to upset Crookshanks in the process. I rolled onto my stomach then, allowing him to settle in the curve of my lower back in apology. Resting the side of my face on the crook of my arm, I sighed softly as his purr rumbled deeply through my tissues, soothing the tension there. Where had things gone wrong with Ron? I wondered sadly.

Was it always there between us, a ticking time bomb set to explode when our hearts finally engaged? Did it start this year with Slughorn's show of favoritism, last year when I missed his big game, or over the course of a year where Viktor fell from Ron's vaulted esteem at the Quidditch World Cup to persona non grata after the Yule Ball? As I mulled over the matter, I became firmly convinced that the Yule Ball was the key to my current troubles.

When Ron originally became jealous of Viktor Krum, I admit that I missed the obvious at first. I remember thinking to myself, He's simply jealous that Viktor wants to spend time with me rather than him—how ridiculous! It honestly never occurred to me that Ron might not be jealous of me, but of Viktor himself.

I thought that we had come through that drama relatively unscathed. Ron and I had settled back into our holding patterns as one long year faded into the next. There were times when I thought that Ron would finally say something, like when he would gripe about my letters to and from Viktor, or during those intimate moments we stole at Grimmauld Place when Mrs. Weasley thought that we were cleaning. There was one moment, when I almost inhaled some Doxycide vapors, in which I had thought for certain that Ron had felt something. He had taken my hand and rubbed my back, and I remember hoping that he would continue to do so when my coughing spasm subsided. We had blushed and traded hoarsely whispered nonsense, but Ron had remained silent on the one issue I wished to hear about most.

The silence never seemed to leave us; it cleaved to our insides and made it impossible to be around each other without sniping about one imagined slight or another. We were so tetchy around each other that I can hardly believe that I finally worked up the nerve to kiss him. But Viktor had coached me in his letters and urged me to make an overture to Ron.

'At my first game,' Viktor had written, 'I would have given anything for someone to take away my mind from the game. A joke, a fight—even a kiss—would have been much welcome.'

It was the inspiration, the very motivation that I needed to make my move. I had thought that it would force the issue into the open, but I had been wrong. I had been wrong about so many things: wrong to think that Ron would be proud of me at the Yule Ball, wrong to think that a first kiss could flourish under Doxycide, and incredibly wrong to think that Ron would ever fancy a self-proclaimed bossy boots, know-it-all in the face of all the Snog-Tart flesh being peddled throughout Gryffindor tower.

He didn't like me like that. He couldn't see me in that way.

I resigned myself to biding my time, hoping that Ron would eventually grow to appreciate my assets. It was a good, sensible plan—it might have even worked if Lavender had kept her marauding lips off of my best friend!

But I digress. My point is that, as angry as it all made me, I had almost been ready to gracefully accept them as a couple. After all, neither one of us could have predicted or controlled how Ron's emotional barometer would guide him. I could be the bigger person in this situation, right? Maybe I'd eventually reach a point where I could even forgive him for not fancying me back. I had convinced myself that Ron didn't, that he couldn't, fancy me and had nearly accepted the fact, but then I heard them this evening, gossiping like two senile hags, and everything changed.

After seeing Ron's face fall when that manhandling manticore (stupid Snog-Tart!) suggested . . . no, TOLD him that I was in love with Viktor Krum, I felt the first glimmer of hope pierce through my carefully iron-clad heart. Was it possible that my best friend could still be harboring certain warm fuzzies for me, Hermione Granger? Or was he just an incredibly obtuse git determined to break my heart?

Perhaps if he knew the true state of my friendship with Viktor, how it began and what we shared, Ron would be able to accept it and move on. Maybe then we could move out of this holding pattern we seem to be stuck in and into something, well, better suited for people with the emotional range of at least a tablespoon (thus ridding us of the dreaded Snog-Tart known as Lavender Brown).