Eighth Day of Christmas
Title: Fairytale
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Hermione/Viktor
Rating: G
Word Count: 500+
Summary: Their story was a fairytale.
Fairytale
***
Their story was a fairy tale.
Not that there's anything wrong with that, Hermione's certain. (Except for her memories of one rainy Saturday finding her mother's copy of Grimm's Fairytales and reading them all by herself.) There's nothing wrong with a fairy tale, a happily ever after with the youngest son winning the princess, and the prince winning the only daughter of the king with six sons.
Hermione remembers her own prince and her own fairy tale where she was the lead. She remembers her fairy godmothers (Lavender, Parvati, and Ginny), she remembers sweeping into the ball with Viktor Krum.
She remembers how strong his arms were around her.
She loves Ron, she reminds herself sternly. She loves him, she loves him and Harry almost more than life itself. She should not be thinking about another man like that. She shouldn't.
She remembers all those nights of Viktor lurking in the library, puttering around with random books and watching her over the tops of the pages. He had such dark, intense eyes, and her studying had been all shaken up that year. Not that anyone had noticed. Even doing less than her best, she was still quite brilliant. That was something she rarely admitted to, though, as she had quite enough problems with being taken as a swotty know-it-all.
His eyes, though. She'd felt them so often but whenever she glanced at him, his eyes were always on his book. Scanning the page, looking back and forth like someone who was actually reading. He probably was, too, though in retrospect, she couldn't imagine he was reading all of the books he picked out in the library so much as reading the page he'd opened to.
What was she supposed to think of a boy like that? He confused her. He had all these girls fluttering around him, but she was convinced he was watching her.
Hermione remembers the flutter of her heart when Viktor asked her to the dance. How he hadn't stood too close to her, how his voice and accent made her toes curl. How she didn't quite believe him until he repeated himself three times.
Three is a number of power, she knows. The third son, the third door, the third princess. 'These three were the greatest swordsmen in England, save for Arthur who was greater than them all.' Three times from a fairy to know he is telling the truth.
Three children against Voldemort.
Three requests for her to attend the Yule Ball with him.
(Ron didn't ask her at all, just assumed she would go with him because she was a girl and he was a boy, and they were friends.)
She said yes.
She didn't say yes three years later, and she almost regrets that. Almost. He has a wife of his own now, and she has a husband. She shouldn't miss the way his arms felt around her, the way his voice made her toes curl, the way he focused so much on her.
Ron loves her, and she loves him, and it's all right to let the handsome prince get away.
Really.
She's read the fairytales, after all.
-End-
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters: Hermione/Viktor
Rating: G
Word Count: 500+
Summary: Their story was a fairytale.
Fairytale
***
Their story was a fairy tale.
Not that there's anything wrong with that, Hermione's certain. (Except for her memories of one rainy Saturday finding her mother's copy of Grimm's Fairytales and reading them all by herself.) There's nothing wrong with a fairy tale, a happily ever after with the youngest son winning the princess, and the prince winning the only daughter of the king with six sons.
Hermione remembers her own prince and her own fairy tale where she was the lead. She remembers her fairy godmothers (Lavender, Parvati, and Ginny), she remembers sweeping into the ball with Viktor Krum.
She remembers how strong his arms were around her.
She loves Ron, she reminds herself sternly. She loves him, she loves him and Harry almost more than life itself. She should not be thinking about another man like that. She shouldn't.
She remembers all those nights of Viktor lurking in the library, puttering around with random books and watching her over the tops of the pages. He had such dark, intense eyes, and her studying had been all shaken up that year. Not that anyone had noticed. Even doing less than her best, she was still quite brilliant. That was something she rarely admitted to, though, as she had quite enough problems with being taken as a swotty know-it-all.
His eyes, though. She'd felt them so often but whenever she glanced at him, his eyes were always on his book. Scanning the page, looking back and forth like someone who was actually reading. He probably was, too, though in retrospect, she couldn't imagine he was reading all of the books he picked out in the library so much as reading the page he'd opened to.
What was she supposed to think of a boy like that? He confused her. He had all these girls fluttering around him, but she was convinced he was watching her.
Hermione remembers the flutter of her heart when Viktor asked her to the dance. How he hadn't stood too close to her, how his voice and accent made her toes curl. How she didn't quite believe him until he repeated himself three times.
Three is a number of power, she knows. The third son, the third door, the third princess. 'These three were the greatest swordsmen in England, save for Arthur who was greater than them all.' Three times from a fairy to know he is telling the truth.
Three children against Voldemort.
Three requests for her to attend the Yule Ball with him.
(Ron didn't ask her at all, just assumed she would go with him because she was a girl and he was a boy, and they were friends.)
She said yes.
She didn't say yes three years later, and she almost regrets that. Almost. He has a wife of his own now, and she has a husband. She shouldn't miss the way his arms felt around her, the way his voice made her toes curl, the way he focused so much on her.
Ron loves her, and she loves him, and it's all right to let the handsome prince get away.
Really.
She's read the fairytales, after all.
-End-