It was a cold morning at Hogwarts. The castle's ancient stones seemed to shiver with each gust of winter wind that slipped through the cracks in the high windows. Down in the Great Hall, breakfast had already ended; benches were emptying as students wrapped scarves around their necks and hurried off to prepare for the day's long-awaited Hogsmeade visit. Laughter echoed faintly in the corridors, mixed with the excited chatter of students discussing butterbeer, Zonko's tricks, and last-minute gift shopping before the Yule Ball. Those too young to attend the Yule Ball were gathering their luggage to return to their families on the train scheduled to depart later that morning.
Not everyone shared in the festive excitement.
In the quiet heart of the castle, the library stood like a solemn cathedral of parchment and dust. The atmosphere was filled with smells of ink and candle wax, and the only sound was the turning of a page somewhere deep between the shelves. Hermione Granger sat alone at one of the long library tables, surrounded by towering stacks of books that reached nearly to her chin.
Her brow was furrowed in concentration. The parchment before her was crowded with notes, half-finished translations, and scribbled theories about the mysterious golden egg Harry had yet to decipher. A quill trembled between her fingers as she muttered under her breath, "dying people… or possibly screams… but then—"
A burst of giggling cut through the air.
Hermione's quill stopped mid-sentence. She exhaled sharply through her nose and glared over the edge of her book.
On the far side of the library, a cluster of girls were whispering far too loudly, hands fluttering as they stared toward one of the back tables. The reason for their noise was not difficult to spot: Viktor Krum sat among them, broad-shouldered and brooding, a copy of Quidditch Through the Ages open but clearly unread. Every few seconds, one of the girls would lean forward with a question, and he would grunt a reply, barely audible.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
It wasn't that she disliked Viktor — he had always been polite to her, if a little awkward — but his constant presence in the library lately had become an irritant. Wherever she went to study, he somehow appeared not long after, trailed by giggling admirers. And with Madam Pince absent this morning — an extraordinarily rare occurrence — there was no one to hiss at them to keep quiet.
Hermione sighed and tried to return to her reading, though her jaw tightened with every whisper from the other table. She was halfway through a complex passage about magical acoustics when someone slid into the seat opposite her.
"Good morning, Hermione," came a cheerful voice.
She looked up, startled, and found herself staring into the amused blue eyes of Isaac Rowen — the Ravenclaw transfer student who had, over the past months, become both her greatest academic rival and, somewhat unexpectedly, her closest study companion. From their first meeting, they had formed a rather unexpected bond. He was one of the few students who matched her passion for study.
She never had a friend quite like him. Her other friends, such as her roommates or Harry—and certainly not Ron—shared her love for books. Ron, in particular, seemed to break into shivers at the mere sight of one. Isaac, though, was different. Their first encounter had been almost comical: an argument over a point in Transfiguration that spiraled into a challenge about who had read more books. From that day, a friendly rivalry was born—filled with debates, laughter, and long discussions on magical theories.
He was grinning, a quill twirling lazily between his fingers. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and his tie hung askew in that careless Ravenclaw way that made Hermione's fingers twitch with the urge to fix it.
"I said good morning," he repeated, waving a hand in front of her face. "Honestly, you were so lost in thought I thought you'd gone full Boggart-brain from overreading."
Hermione blinked, then frowned, though the corners of her mouth twitched despite herself. "That's not even a real term."
"Maybe not," Isaac said, leaning back in his chair, "but if anyone could invent it, it'd be you. One day you'll turn into a pile of talking books and start haunting the Restricted Section."
Hermione gave a small huff of laughter. "Very funny, Mr. Walking Encyclopedia."
"I prefer 'Academic Champion of Ravenclaw,' thank you very much," Isaac said grandly, placing a hand over his heart.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, please. You've barely shown your face in the library all week. I was beginning to think you'd finally admitted defeat in our reading challenge."
"Defeat?" Isaac arched an eyebrow. "Not at all. I've simply been busy revising for my NEWTs. Some of us have exams that actually matter this year."
"That's no excuse," Hermione retorted, tapping her parchment with her quill. "And anyway, your NEWTs might help me. I'll be taking my O.W.L.s next school year, so I expect a full report on what's covered."
Isaac laughed softly. "Always thinking ahead. Don't worry, I'll make sure to take notes for you and help you pass it smoothly."
"I don't need your help," Hermione said quickly, cheeks pink. "I just want to see the questions and just examples alike, that's all."
"Of course," Isaac said with mock solemnity, raising both hands as though surrendering. "Heaven forbid I imply Hermione Granger needs help with anything academic."
She sniffed and bent over her book again, pretending to ignore him.
"Anyway," Isaac said after a pause, "why are you buried in research this morning? Everyone else is heading to Hogsmeade. Don't you want to go to Hogsmeade village?"
"I can't," Hermione said without looking up. "Harry still hasn't figured out how to open his golden egg, and I'm trying to find something that might help."
Isaac leaned forward, propping his chin on his hand. "Ah, yes — the heroic quest of Hermione Granger, doing other people's homework."
Hermione shot him a glare. "It's not homework! And he's my friend. If I don't help, he'll never—"
"He'll never learn," Isaac interrupted gently. "Look, I understand he's your friend, and I don't want to meddle between you two. But if you keep doing everything for him, that's not good. He'll start relying on others to solve his problems. He needs to learn how to handle his own responsibility especially now, given his situation."
Hermione hesitated, biting her lip. "You don't understand," she said quietly. "He didn't want to be in this Tournament. He was forced into it. If something went wrong—"
Isaac's voice softened. "I get it. You care. But you can't protect him from everything."
Hermione sighed. She knew he was right, but it didn't stop her from worrying.
Isaac tilted his head, pretending not to know, even though he had already run into Harry on his way to the library. Still, he asked with mock curiosity, "And where is the famous Potter right now?" He looked around exaggeratedly.
"Who knows?" Hermione sighed. "Probably asleep somewhere."
"If he's not even trying to solve the puzzle," Isaac said, shaking his head, "then why are you wasting your time on it?"
Hermione replied, "It's all right. I like it, actually. The more I search for something, the more I end up learning along the way. Every book I read teaches me something new, so it benefits me too."
Isaac leaned back, changing the subject with a smile. "Speaking of Harry, I saw him and Ron earlier. They were talking about meeting Mr. Black in Hogsmeade later. You're not joining them?"
"Oh, I will," Hermione said, glancing at the clock. "But not until this afternoon. Sirius isn't due until then, and I want to finish this chapter first."
Isaac chuckled. "Of course you do. Only you would prioritize library time over butterbeer."
Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, a familiar voice called her name — or something resembling it.
"Herm-own-ninny?"
She froze.
Isaac turned in his seat, and there, standing at the edge of their table, was Viktor Krum. He looked slightly out of place among the bookshelves, his heavy cloak on his shoulders blazing black and his dark eyes fixed nervously on Hermione.
Hermione's heart gave a small, startled jump. "Oh — hello, Viktor."
He inclined his head stiffly. "I hope I am not interrupting," he said, his accent thick.
"Not at all," Hermione said quickly, though Isaac was biting his lip to stop a laugh.
Krum took a deep breath, glancing once at Isaac who was still clearly trying very hard not to laugh at the way Viktor said Hermione's name. before returning his gaze to Hermione. "I vanted to ask… if you do not already have a partner… vould you come to ze Yule Ball vith me?"
The words seemed to hang in the air like a spell gone wrong.
Hermione stared, utterly speechless. Her mind went blank. She hadn't even thought about the Ball beyond planning hairstyles for Parvati and Lavender. Now Viktor Krum — Viktor Krum! — was standing here, asking her.
Before she could even open her mouth, Isaac spoke up.
"Oh, sorry, mate," he said with an easy grin. "I'm afraid you're too late. Hermione already said yes to me. I asked her to be my date for the Yule Ball."
"What?" Hermione spluttered, her eyes widening. "I— what—?"
Krum's expression barely changed. He nodded once, politely. "Ah. I see. Then I vill not disturb you. Excuse me."
And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Hermione gaping at Isaac.
"You— you what?" she demanded, cheeks burning.
Isaac looked far too pleased with himself. "What? I just saved you from an awkward refusal. You're welcome."
"That was not— you can't just—" Hermione stammered. Her ears felt hot. "Why would you even—?"
Isaac leaned closer, grinning. "Because, Miss Granger, I was going to ask you myself. Just thought I'd get ahead of the competition.Anyway, forget about him. I'll ask you properly now. Hermione Granger, will you be my partner to the Yule Ball?"
Hermione's mouth opened and closed wordlessly. Her heart was beating far too fast.
But before she could say another word, a furious voice sliced through the air.
"OUT!"
Both of them jumped. Madam Pince had returned, arms crossed, her face pale with outrage.
"This is a library," she hissed, " not Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop! No confessions of love here! Out, now! Out, the pair of you!"
Hermione tried to explain — "But, Madam Pince, I wasn't—" — yet it was no use. Within moments, she found herself and Isaac being ushered out the heavy doors, Madam Pince muttering about "young people and their scandalous behavior."
Once the doors slammed behind them, Hermione crossed her arms, cheeks still flushed. "Now look what you've done! I won't be allowed back in there for days!"
Isaac, unbothered, simply laughed. "Maybe that's a good thing. You could use a break from all that reading. Come on — let's go to Hogsmeade and get something warm to drink."
"I can't," Hermione said stiffly. "I have things to do."
Isaac tilted his head. "Suit yourself. But you'll miss the fun."
Before Hermione could reply, another voice called from down the corridor, and they were interrupted again for third time today.
"There you are, Isaac! I've been looking everywhere for you."
They both turned. Cho Chang was hurrying toward them, her hair shining in the pale winter light. She smiled at Hermione politely before turning to Isaac. "Come on, I want to ask you something important. We can talk about it over lunch in Hogsmeade."
"Sure," Isaac said easily. He glanced back at Hermione. "You're not coming with us?"
Hermione shook her head quickly. "No, no — I have other things to do. I'll come later."
"Alright then," Isaac said with a small smile. "See you later, Hermione."
Cho tugged at his sleeve, already steering him toward the stairs. Hermione watched them go, something uncomfortable twisting in her stomach at the way Cho's hand lingered on his arm.
Before she could stop herself, she instinctively called his name, "Isaac!"
He turned, eyebrows raised. "Yeah?"
Hermione swallowed. "My answer's yes!"
He blinked, then pretended to frown in confusion. "To what question?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, though her face felt as though it were on fire. "To the one you asked in the library. Before we got kicked out."
Isaac's grin widened. "Really?"
But Hermione had already turned on her heel, marching toward the staircase, her curls bouncing with each determined step.
Behind her, his voice echoed cheerfully through the corridor. "I'll be waiting for you, Miss Granger!"
Hermione didn't answer. She could still hear Cho asking, "What question?" and Isaac's teasing reply — "A very important one, apparently" — as their voices faded away down the hall.
Hermione pressed a hand to her warm cheek, unable to stop the small, secret smile spreading across her face.
As she climbed the stairs toward Gryffindor Tower, the sunlight from the high windows fell across her hair in golden ribbons.