For the fanfic100 challenge on Livejournal, claim Harry Potter: Nymphadora Tonks/Viktor Krum. Will (hopefully) be a series of little drabbles. Will largely be PG-13; if a specific drabble goes above that, I'll mention it, and anyone not wanting to read it can just skip that one and continue reading the others. Hopefully this won't take up too much of my time, because I have other projects I want to work on, too; it'll be more like a passive thing I can keep coming back to when I feel with it, without much pressure, kay?
Not much happens in this one in particular, as it's the introduction, or first meeting; I plan to develop the relationship slowly. Feel free to get impatient. The first couple fics could even be seen as a sort of prologue.
001 Beginnings
The house was empty when he first arrives; empty except for one man, the man he had initially contacted, Remus Lupin. Remus lead him to an empty bedroom, with a dark, cracked dresser and an equally ancient bed. "Sorry for the state of things," Remus said, "but nobody's used this part of the house for years, and it'll take Molly a while to work her way up to any of the bedrooms at all." Viktor told the older man that it is fine- really, it was like the dorms at Durmstrang- and Remus smiled. "Everybody is out right now," he said, "But they should be trickling back soon for dinner. You can come down and meet them all then."
Viktor nodded, and Remus left him to set up his home in the small room in Grimmauld Place. This was the way Viktor likes it; taking it slow, meeting over a meal. It was fall, so those few people he already knew- Hermione Granger, who had remained a close friend- would not be there. And Fleur Delacour had written to him a letter, inviting him to have dinner with herself and her fiancé, Bill Weasley, at the Weasley household soon after his arrival in Britain- but not tonight. Tonight he would meet only those adults permanently living here, those who would be his.. what was the word? Dorm-mates? Until the war en- for a long, long time.
He sat down on the bed, which creaked under him- but the sheets seemed soft from constant use and washings- in silence. Not thinking, really, just resting; the trip from Bulgaria had taken many different apparition leaps; and he was also tired from the night before, when he stayed out long into the night flying on his own Quidditch field in the cool air before coming to unfamiliar and clammy England. But even if it was his way to fall asleep anywhere but a proper bed, he wouldn't be able to right now, because shortly quite a ruckus started up downstairs. A door opening and closing multiple times, stamping feet, loud calls of "we're back!" as though that wasn't obvious, a woman shrieking.
And before Viktor realized it, a small bit of the chaos detached itself from the crowd and hurried up the stairs, bursting into Viktor's room through the door he had left open. The woman was a bit older than himself, but she had a girlish air about her. Viktor's eyes were not drawn first to her figure, or even to her face, but to her hair- it was a lurid yellow, so full of lemon and wasp that Viktor had no trouble distinguishing it from blonde. She beamed at him, and he noticed her face, with a turned-up nose and brown eyes. He didn't say anything, just blinked at her, but she didn't seem to mind, if she even noticed.
"Viktor Krum?" she asked, and he nodded. "I mean, of course you are. I'm Nymphadora Tonks- but don't call me Nymphadora, please- and it's so cool that you're here." She scrutinized him; she's seen his image many, many times, of course, from watching magical broadcasts of Quidditch games both big and small, from the magazines she skimmed through and then casts to the floor- though, she's always noticed, never is there an actual interview with him, or posed pictures, just enormous shots of him in action. In person, he looked scrawny and bird-like. Tonks felt something radiating off of him, an attitude that she might have termed reclusive but she doubted he would really be feeling that way right now; so she gave him the benefit of the doubt and decided he must just be overwhelmed, maybe even a little nervous.
"Dinner will be ready soon," she said, rather anticlimactically.