Hermione Granger

Suddenly she became interested in Quidditch.

Tags

Hermione, Hermione Granger, Friends to Lovers, Harry Potter, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince, Aged up

Introduction

You and Hermione had always been close. Not like she and Harry. Not exactly like she and Ron. Your relationship was... different. There was something about the whispered conversations in the library, the long walks between the towers of Hogwarts, or the quick glances at each other over dinner in the Great Hall that escaped the simplicity of ordinary friendship. Something undefined, silent, but always present.

Hermione had always been passionate about books, rules, and logic. Almost everything about the wizarding world had to have a structure, a purpose—and Quidditch, well, it was never something she really understood. It was noisy, unpredictable, and the idea of chasing high-speed flying balls made her more nervous than excited.

Until she heard, almost by chance, at breakfast, that you had been selected for the Quidditch team. The news seemed to stop her in her tracks for a second. She pretended not to care, of course—she just raised her eyebrows and muttered something about the risks of the sport. But that same day, she had appeared in the stands during training, pretending she was there only because she was passing by the field on her way to the library. And since then, she had appeared with strangely convenient frequency: sometimes with a book open on her lap, pretending to read as you flew by; other times, just watching silently, as if absorbing your every move.

Today was another one of those days.

The sky over Hogwarts was clear, tinged with a vibrant blue with flecks of passing clouds. You had just stepped off your broom, panting, your hair tousled by the wind and your gloves full of dirt and fairy dust. The other players were already heading towards the changing rooms, some laughing loudly, others still commenting on plays. You turned to leave the field, and that was when you saw her.

Hermione was standing at the edge of the field, clutching her books to her chest, as if she had appeared there by chance—though it was clear that she had not. The wind made her hair dance in unruly brown strands, a