I do not own Viktor Krum, Hermione Granger or anything in the Harry Potter universe. I do own a hint of an Irish accent that a lot of people find terribly amusing as I'm not even a native speaker of English.

As nice as doing homework sitting under a tree in the early spring sun, Hermione is suspicious. Surely he must have done something. Some sort of spell she has not learnt about yet. When she voices her guess, he shrugs it off.

"I don't know vot you're talking about," he says, trying his best to look innocent.

It is getting ridiculous. The first afternoon they spent with their books in that very same spot with not a single interruption was a surprise. This is the fifth one in a row and it simply doesn't make sense. They are not even that far away from the castle. A castle full of adolescent girls that normally follow Viktor Krum, seeker extraordinaire, literally everywhere. A charm, maybe. She's almost certain it's not a potion. She can't recall eating or drinking anything he has given her in these last few days and, obviously, if it were a potion, they both would have needed to take it, right? He must have done something to the tree, then. Viktor cracks half a smile and moves to press his lips softly to her temple.

"Hermy-own-ninny, let's say vot you don't know von't get you grounded, yes?"

She really wants to correct his pronunciation and make him confess how on earth he has managed the current state of peacefulness around them, but the idea of him bending the rules of Hogwards to get some private time with her is too thrilling to think about anything else right now. She must be blushing again, seeing how smug he looks right now. It's always like that with Viktor. He didn't even seem to notice the fangirls fainting at his feet on a daily basis, but one tiny, almost imperceptible, flush in Hermione's cheeks and he got so full of himself it was unbelievable. She opens her mouth to say something, but he cuts her:

"Besides, you're distracting me. I haff to do my English homevork. My teacher is really extrict."

"Strict, Viktor."

"She is, isn't she?" he jokes, winking at her.

"Well, you," Hermione stumbles a bit through her words, "...you do your homework, I do mine."

She feels the heat rising in her face again as he buries her head in her Potions book. How can he do that to her all the time?
It's not even fifteen minutes before she gets interrupted, his book almost thrown in her lap.

"Done!" he announces, with the funniest of accents. Even funny by Viktor's standards.

He must have been talking about the World Cup final to Seamus again. For some reason that escapes Hermione's understanding , three or four conversations about quidditch have made more of an impression in Viktor's English than months talking to her for hours every single day. Apparently, "the Irish haff more musical accent" that "is easier to get" and "vel, is no problem because they sound better anyvay, mila," according to the man himself. At first she didn't know whether to be amused or slightly hurt, but she chose amused in the end.

"Great, Viktor, this is actually very good! I mean, good, just good," she corrects herself, blushing again.

"No! You said very good first. And first impression is best impression," he argues. He knows his exercises are not that spectacular, but there is nothing wrong with taking a bit of an advantage of Hermione's overenthusiasm as a teacher, is it?

"Well, I'm not sure..." she began.

"Ve said I do the exercises in the books to improve English and you correct. If I do good exercises, I haff kiss. If I do very good exercises, I haff very big kiss. If I finish early, ve can haff lots of time to kiss before dinner. You said," he protests, trying to use his trademark scowl and failing miserably at it, as a mischievous smile escapes his lips.

"I didn't say any of that, Viktor Krum. You did," she feigns indignation.

"Vel, you agreed."

"I might have. But the kissing time before dinner? I recall nothing of that sort in our agreement, Mister Krum."

"You giff me very little homevork, Hermy-own-ninny. Is obvious you vant me to finish fast and kiss me and kiss me and kiss me. You're alvays vanting to kiss me," he teases.

"That is most certainly not true!" Hermione says, hitting his left leg jokingly with his own book.

"See? You von't haff your hands to yourself. Alvays thinking about touching and kissing poor Viktor who only vants to study a lot, but the teacher is so pretty he is distracting all the time."

"is distracted," she murmurs, biting her lip. Nobody, apart from her parents, has ever referred to her as pretty. Nobody before Viktor, anyway. She finds difficult to get used to it. Even if he says it every day.

"is distracted," he repeats, pulling her to his lap and closing his eyes for a moment, enjoying the feeling of the sun in his face and her warmth against his skin.

Soon, she's shifting to get the almost forgotten English grammar book and have another look at his exercises.

"Is it very good, then?", he asks, a hint of vulnerability in his voice that has nothing to do with the quality of his answers in the exercises.

"You know? On second... third thoughts, I think it really is very good."

"The three of them?" Viktor's face relaxes and makes him look so much younger than he usually does.

"The three of them," she confirms, staring at him under her lashes, much more of a girly gesture than she would allow herself before anyone else at Hogwards.

"Three very goods?" he grins, the tip of his tongue subconsciously wetting a bit his lower lip.

"Three very goods," she lets his face get closer and closer to hers until, only some inches away from each other, she whispers, "unless you want to ask Seamus to be your new English teacher, with his loffly accent and all."

"I'm thinking I prefer the pretty teacher vith the ugly accent. Ouch!" he replies, leaning again and capturing her lips with his.

It's a very low price to pay, really. Getting Igor a shirt signed by the complete Bulgarian quidditch squad in exchange for him drinking a bit of Pollyjuice potion and spending his afternoons this week impersonating Viktor, signing autographs, scowling and frowning a lot and basically directing the fans' attention anywhere but the place where he and his girl actually were. He might even take him to a training session so he could meet his idol, Zograf, when they went back to Bulgaria. He sighs and looks up to the sky on his way to the ship to leave his books there. He's heard rain is to be expected tomorrow.

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