I have never written a Harry Potter fic before... but I just finished the 4th book last night, and couldn't get this out of my head.
I'm sure it's been done before and I'm sorry if it isn't original or is out-of-character.
I wanted to write it because I felt sorry for Krum, and because I think I might be in love with him... and with his adorable accent.
So be nice... and don't forget to leave me reviews. I love them. =]
Viktor Krum sat, still as stone, on his bed aboard the Durmstrang ship. The only visible flutter of movements came from the trembling tips of fingers, laying restlessly on his knees; and his eyes, which traveled back and forth from his bedroom door to his clock so rapidly it was as if he were following a snitch. This, however, he felt, was much more important than any game of Quidditch.
It was 11:40, 11:45- each minute ticked by in such a speed he felt time must have been slowed- 11:50, 11:53, 11:58...
Krum gave a nervous drum of his fingers; every muscle, every nerve, was tight with anticipation... What if she got caught? What if she couldn't find a way onto the boat? What if... and Viktor had to choke back a feeling of dread as this thought crawled it's way into his subconscious... she chose not to come?
The clock struck midnight just as a small knock sounded.
The man jumped violently to his feet, rushing to his door with a speed parallel only to that of his Firebolt. The door however, when jerked open, faced only an empty hall. His heart fell into his stomach.
"It's me." A shrill, familiar voice whispered and Viktor, confused into silence, stepped aside just enough that a small figure would have been able to slip through. He gave a quick glance down each direction of the hallway- it was dark and empty- but as he shut the door softly, the lock sounded with an ominous click.
"Herm-own-ninny?" He asked the empty room, feeling stupid.
"Yeah," She answered breathily, pulling on a piece of fabric around her face. Viktor gasped as her head, full of thick, brunette hair, appeared, floating- it seemed- in the middle of his bedroom. She fidgeted, tugging on the mysterious cloak until she stood before him, completely visible, in her dark, Hogwarts' robes.
"I borrowed it from Harry." Hermione explained, tossing the Invisibility Cloak onto the empty desk. "He didn't ask why."
"Harry," Viktor murmured, only a small bit indignantly.
"He thinks your an amazing seeker... He and Ron, both. Honestly, I'm shocked that neither has asked you for your autograph." Hermione said, but then she stopped herself. She spoke too much about her friends, and even more so now that she was nervous.
Krum gave a small smile, standing shyly a few away from the young witch. "Too many people asking for that." He murmured, to which Hermione smiled.
"I would imagine."
"But not you, you haff never asked." He glanced down at his feet, then his dark eyes lifted up to lock on hers. "You do not care about 'vo I am."
Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but Viktor cut her off. He had planned this, it seemed, and he didn't want to lose his nerve.
"You do not care about Quidditch, or about the tournament. You treat me like any other vizard."
"Not really." Hermione admitted, glancing down at her own feet. Krum looked confused and so she continued. "I treat you better than most of the boys here."
"Vy?" He asked quickly, he eyes locked on her narrow frame though hers were downcast.
"I'm not entirely sure." She finally said. "You make me feel..." He reached forward, grasping her small hands in his large, warm ones.
"I understand. You are making me feel, too. You are special, Hermy-own-ninny." He traced his fingers across her face, cupping her chin in his hand, forcing her eyes to gaze upon his own. "And you are very pretty."
Blood rushed into the young girls' cheeks and a smile alighted her features.
"Nobody has ever said that to me, before." She confessed; her arms hung limply at her sides and she felt the sudden- and strange- impulse to wrap them around his neck.
"No-one? Not Harry? Or his friend?" Krum asked suspiciously and Hermione let out a chuckle.
"Especially not them. I'm not sure they're even aware that I am a girl."
"Then they are fools."
She looked into his eyes and was startled by the fierceness they held. She pulled him over to his bed, sitting tentatively on the edge, trying to swallow her fear.
"Viktor," She started, but the witch was smart enough to know that words could never convey what she was feeling, and that scared her more than anything. She leaned forward, planting the smallest of small kisses on his lips. But, once there, she froze, waiting for his reaction.
Viktor smiled against her mouth and closed his eyes, reaching around her backside to pull Hermione into his lap as his lips captured hers once more.
At first he merely kissed her lips, again and again, in a type of fury, but once he was sure that she wasn't going to flee from him, he allowed his tongue to drift ever so softly across her bottom lip.
Again, Hermione froze; she didn't know what to do. Her books had never prepared her for this and she felt- for the first time since riding the train to Hogwarts those four years ago- that she was flying blind.
"I'm sorry." Viktor whispered, pulling away to look into her brown eyes. "I vould never vant to..." He paused, struggling with the English translation of whatever it was he was trying to say. "pressure you."
"Oh, no." Hermione argued instantly. She didn't want him to feel that she didn't want this, that she didn't want him... but- for once- she simply could NOT find the words. "I'm just... nervous." She gazed down at her legs, resting on either side of his broad hips.
"Oh." Viktor smiled- a large, bright smile- and Hermione couldn't help but return it. "Do not be fearful." He pulled at the tie of her robes, pushing them off her shoulders to reveal her Muggle clothing: jeans, paired with a light t-shirt, and a knit sweater with large, plastic buttons. He brushed her hair behind her shoulder, bringing his lips to her neck, lining it with kisses.
His arms were wrapped around her waist and his face was buried into the nook between throat and her shoulder, and Hermione found she didn't know what to do with her arms, which were again hanging limply at her sides. She felt the strong muscles of his back, through his Durmstrang uniform, as her fumbling hands made they're way up to the mans' shoulders, settling to entwine themselves around his neck, pulling him closer to her in a type of embrace.
Viktor sighed contentedly, his breath tickling the space of skin just below her ear, and Hermione giggled, hugging him to her even tighter than before.
The Seeker knew, without a doubt, that he would have been more than happy to continue merely kissing her until the dawn threatened to tear them apart- sending them back to their homes and far from each other- but more carnal desires were beginning to make themselves presently known and so- to risk frightening her with his uncontrollable emotions, he lifted her off his lap and laid her flat across his bed, resting next to her on his side.
"You don't want to kiss me, anymore?" Hermione asked, trying to sound untroubled, though she felt that never to kiss him again would be a crime of deepest proportion.
"I vant much more than to kiss you, Herm-own-ninny." Viktor admitted; his voice was deep and throaty.
"What's stopping you?" She asked honestly and Viktor, without even a moment's hesitation, launched himself at the girl, his lips brushing over hers as she parted, making room for his tongue.
Viktor was slow, passionate, taking every precaution not to push the young witch further than she was willing to go and so, at first, he merely touched his tongue to hers, waiting for a response, waiting for the green light he was so desperately hoping for.
Hermione, at a loss, pushed back with her own tongue and though- in the beginning- it felt awkward, the two somehow managed to find a rhythm, a beat, that sped and slowed, and was sweeter than she could have ever imagined.
Before Hermione even fully realized what was happening, Viktor had found his way to the buttons of her sweater and tugged at them with one hand, while the other kept himself propped up above her.
Soon she was free of the knit- which was a relief, seeing as how the temperature had increased by many degrees. Viktor slid out of his robes as well, revealing a pair of black slacks and a form-fitting, blood-red t-shirt.
Hermione gulped. She had the feeling that this was getting to be too much. His heat was everywhere, she couldn't breath, it felt as though the room was spinning, and -with her wand tucked into the pocket of her robes, thrown carelessly in the floor- she was powerless to stop it.
Viktor noticed the frightened look on her face and chose to settle onto the bed beside her, reaching for her pale hand.
"It is okay, we do not haff to be doing anything."
"B-but... I-I want to." Hermione said, struggling with the admission. "I've just never, I never, nobody has ever really-" She sighed and sat up, taking Viktor's face in her hands. "Let's just take it slow, okay?"
"I vill do vatever you vant." He nodded, reaching up to cover her fingers with his own. She leaned forward on her knees, her lips covering his as she pushed him back against the mattress.
Viktor hooked his arms under her legs, situating her atop his midsection. His hands reached up to caress her back, where her shirt had lifted slightly to reveal just a few inches of soft, smooth skin which- the second his fingertips reached it- filled with goose bumps.
His hands drifted further up the back of her shirt and soon he was pushing it up over her head as Hermione stretched out her arms to allow easier removal.
Who am I? The young with thought as she watched the growing pile of her clothes that littered the otherwise spotless bedroom of Viktor Krum. When did I become so bold?
Viktor lifted off the bed, pulling at his own shirt, revealing a very chiseled set of abs and arms. Hermione suddenly felt shy once more. He was so mature, so- most likely- experienced, and she was a child, playing a game she didn't even know the rules to.
"Do not be vorried." Viktor coached, as if reading her mind. "You are perfect." He reached- slowly- for the button of her jeans and Hermione let him, squeezing her eyes shut for she couldn't bear to watch. She felt the jeans sliding down her legs and- with her tennis shoes- off her feet. Then the room was still, and the only sound was the furious beating of her heart and Viktor's deep breaths.
She opened one eye, nervously, to find that he had frozen before her, staring hungrily at her thin, curve-less body. Feeling self-conscious, the girl wrapped her arms cross her diminutive chest, but Viktor shook his head, smiling at her.
"You are the most beautiful girl I haff ever seeing." Though Hermione knew this couldn't be true, she- for once- didn't feel like correcting him and instead reached out her arms, wanting to feel him within them once more.
He easily obliged, shimmying out of his pants before joining her on the bed. Hermione shivered in a type of jittery delight as Viktor's lips drifted down from her face to her throat and further down until they rested just centimeters from the fabric of her bra.
She reached behind her back, feeling oddly self-assured as the snap unclasped and her small breasts came to rest against Viktor's solid chest.
Viktor gasped at her boldness, but spared no time in exploring this new body part with his lips. Hermione gave a small whimper as his mouth closed around her left breast, his tongue flicking the sensitive nub.
"Viktor," She gasped at his touch and he shifted back and forth from right to left, having not a clue which to favor. The hand that wasn't supporting his large frame slid down her slim waist to rest just above the line of her cotton panties.
He lifted his head to look at her, questioning, and with a gulp, she nodded slowly.
Viktor's fingers dipped under the fabric, rubbing against the wiry hair, and- for the briefest of moments- Hermione worried that he wouldn't like her... naturalness. But if it did indeed bother him he was good at hiding it for it took only seconds for him to his fingers graze her delicate folds.
Hermione might have cried out as one of his fingers pushed inside her, but she was too overwhelmed to give notice to any sounds she may or may not have been making.
The witch trembled with the pleasure ricocheting throughout her body and Viktor's mouth found its way to hers, swallowing her moans. Hermione- whose mouth was still occupied with Viktor's- vaguely noticed that he was sliding her underwear off, as well as his own, and her eyes shot open in surprise.
"Is this... to be okay?" Viktor asked, struggling with his English as much as he was struggling with his hormones.
"Just... be careful." Hermione breathed, knowing that there was no chance that either one of them would be able to stop now.
He probed at her entrance, his eyes locked on hers; slowly, gently, he began to nudge inside her. She was very small, very tight, and he took his time, not wanting to cause her any harm.
He reached a solid wall of skin, and knew that it would have to be broken for them to continue. His eyes still locked onto hers, he gave a thrust, and Hermione let out a cry, tears immediately welling in the corners of her eyes.
"I sorry, I am sorry." Viktor whispered furiously, covering her face in kisses. He began to pull out but Hermione gripped his shoulder, drawing his attention to her face.
"Don't stop, please." And so he didn't.
With each thrust and cry the pain began to ebb and soon Hermione found that she was enjoying herself, that the pressure building inside her was not a sign of the end, but a sign that this was meant to be.
Viktor grunted and gasped as he reached closer and closer to his release, and Hermione felt herself growing closer as well. She felt that she would burst, and she wanted to tell Viktor to stop, wanted to warn him that her body wouldn't be able to handle this, that she was going to fall to pieces but she couldn't; she wouldn't.
"Viktor," She whispered his name, but knew- with firm coherence- that it didn't matter if he heard her. It didn't matter if she shattered into a thousand pieces. It didn't matter what Ron would think, or how it would feel to watch Viktor sail away tomorrow. She knew that never again would someone as slimy as Rita Skeeter get to her, nor would an nasty insult from Pansy Parkinson.
She was strong, she was beautiful, and nothing would ever diminish this new feeling of self-confidence again.
Review, please.