The Goblet Of Fire - Hermione Granger x OC

The Yule Ball

"Hi, Oliver," Hermione said with a warm smile as she stood in front of him, her presence like a soothing balm to his troubled soul.

Oliver's sentence hung suspended, his words caught in his throat as he gazed at Hermione, captivated by her radiance. But before he could find the right words, a voice sliced through the air, interrupting the fragile moment.

"Hermy-own" came the assertive voice, abruptly cutting off Oliver's incomplete sentence.

Startled, Oliver turned to see Victor Krum ascending the stairs. His tall figure exuded an air of confidence.

"You look absolutely beautiful this fine evening," Krum stated, his tone filled with genuine admiration, as he closed the distance between himself and Hermione.

The sudden presence of Krum seemed to cast a cloud of discomfort over Hermione, her response tinged with awkwardness. "Oh, uh, thank you," she replied, her words lacking the usual grace that adorned her speech.

As Krum gracefully extended his arm, oliver's heart sank, realizing that Hermione's attention would not be his tonight.

"You go on without me; I'll be in there in a minute," Hermione said.

"I'll be waiting," Krum replied, his words dripping with quiet confidence, as he turned to descend the stairs. A fleeting smirk flashed on his face as he cast a lingering glance at Oliver, stoking the flames of a simmering rivalry.

Oliver, seething with frustration and resentment, scoffed at Krum's departing figure, his eyes burning with a fiery determination. With a swift turn, he decided to retreat, ascending the stairs again, his heart heavy with disappointment.

But just as Oliver was about to fade into the shadows, Hermione's voice echoed through the corridor, laden with concern. "Wait, Ollie, aren't you going to the ball?" she implored, her voice laced with desperation, reaching out in a futile attempt to bridge the growing divide.

A coldness settled over Oliver's demeanor, bitterness seeping into his words. "No, I think I'm gonna go back to the common room and go to bed," he retorted, his tone icy, as if his hopes had been shattered beyond repair.

Unyielding in her attempts to salvage the night, Hermione pressed on, her voice tinged with a fragile optimism. "Come on, it'll be fun!" she pleaded.

But Oliver, stung by the reminder of Hermione's "date" with Krum, shot back with venom, his voice laced with bitter sarcasm. "Why don't you go in? Don't wanna keep your 'date' waiting," he snapped, his emphasis on the word "date" hasty in its delivery, seething with a poisonous mix of jealousy and resentment.

Caught off guard by Oliver's cruelty, Hermione's voice wavered, her eyes brimming with a mix of hurt and indignation. "It's not like that, Oliver," she protested, her voice barely above a whisper, her plea laden with a desperate need to be understood.

Ignoring her plea, Oliver's resolve hardened, his voice tinged with dismissiveness. "Whatever," he muttered, his words carrying a finality as he coldly turned away, dragging his heavy heart up the stairs, hoping to find solace in the silent confines of solitude.

Oliver had made it back to the common room door when someone tapped his shoulder. He turned around and saw Henry standing there.

"Come on, man. You're going to the ball," Henry exclaimed.

"I'm not feeling it," Oliver replied, his voice filled with sadness.

"If you go back in that room, you're admitting defeat to that knob Krum. Do you want to do that?" Henry questioned.

"No," Oliver responded, his determination clear.

"Then let's go in there and have the best night of our lives!" Henry declared, pushing Oliver gently towards the ballroom.