The rise of the Phoenix
I'm typing this up on my pda, so please excuse me if the quality isn't too good. This, takes place after the fifth year (that's sixth year), and, mostly will take place from Hermione's point of view. Please read and preferably review too. The pg-13 rating is for mild sexual innuendos (Frankly I don't find much in this chapter at least to worry about, but I've recently had a fanfiction deleted for ratings so I'm being cautious)
Bulgaria was a beautiful place in summer. Huge, rolling, windswept plains. If one could ignore the constant rain, uncharacteristic to a girl raised in England, the grandiose land would be perfect. Luckily, Hermione had plenty to distract her from the less-than-halcyon weather. First were her OWL results. She had achieved Outstanding in everything, which, admittedly, really was outstanding. The second thing was not as nice a prospect, as this was her last day in Bulgaria. The last year, she had been too busy with the Order of the phoenix to do anything with Viktor Krum other than be very intimate penpals. This year however, with the Ministry on their side, Hermione had much more free time, and gladly accepted Viktor's invitation to visit him over the summer. Hermione sighed, swept her hair back from the mess the wind blew it in, and headed back to the house.
Their relationship had progressed reasonably far, with her comfortable with hugging and snuggling now. She was trying to hide it from Ron but, she guessed, the fact that one of her letters written to him was written on official Bulgarian quidditch team paper embossed with the team logo and Krum's name, gave it away. Well, she had been preoccupied with the startling revelation that she, yes she Hermione Granger, was behind on her holiday homework. The thought was quite sobering, really. Hermione gave a sigh as she looked at the pile of unfinished essays. The only one she had done satisfactorily to her standards was her Defense against the Dark Arts essay. Even though Umbridge hadn't been able to set them after she had been informally chased from the school premises by a poltergeist waving a walking stick, it seemed as if the new, yet unknown replacement had sent everyone essays to write. The funny thing was it was about Foreign Spells and the Teaching Practices of Foreign institutes. Perfectly tailored for her as she was staying with the star pupil of Durmstrang institute. Several owls swooped down from the dark clouds, probably a precursor of yet another spell of heavy rain, bearing on their outstretched feet, letters. One was a large tawny owl, bearing a letter with the Hogwarts seal upon it. There was the usual host of spell books with, she noticed, several new curse books she remembered discussing with Viktor when writing her essay. Hmm, seems that the new teacher may have been from Durmstrang. Makes sense, after Karkaroff left, quite a few Defense of the Dark Arts teachers had been fired, even though, she realized, after flicking through some of Viktors old school books, there was no denying that they were extremely good. Some of the first years were learning stuff not normally associated even with Hogwarts seventh years, though Durmstrangs teaching quality really suffered in other aspects. She guessed that being in a country where unforgivable curses weren't really unforgivable and were taught as part of school curriculum did that. She tossed the letter aside after making a mental note of the books she needed, then looked for the second owl. It took her a second or so to find it as its snowy white down was quite hard to find on the icy lake. Why couldn't Hedwig just land some place other than that lake. She opened up his letter. It was mostly just inquiring when she would be back and reminding her of her birthday, showing that he had not forgotten. She did notice a considerable change in his writing style, using more abject vocabulary. Well, Sirius had died. Hermione cursed herself for her insensitivity and wiped away the tears welling up in her eyes. While she was here, having the time of her life, Harry was stuck with the Dursleys who were doing god knows what to him. Smiling slightly to herself, she tucked it into her pocket for a closer read when she had time. Then she looked around for the final owl. In fact it was two. There was a very old, moulting grey owl, exhausted by a journey miles more than it was usually capable of. She felt kind of sad for poor Errol. Imagine flying all the way from England, and the weather hadn't been all airy either. Under the old, lifeless assortment of feathers was another equally weak and pitiful albeit eager, puff of feathers. Pigwidgeon, or as Ron would misleadingly call the little raptor, pig, still chirped happily after flying through several blizzards and then, be nearly crushed by another owl. She unclipped Ron's letter and scanned through it, ignoring the blatant remarks about her time with Krum and the badly hidden, not-so-subtle, sarcasm scattered throughout the document. Basically, she summed the letter up to be roughly having the same meaning as Harry's though with slightly harsher language, rougher paper and in a messy scrawl not very well augmented by a mess of grey feathers. As the first few drops of rain began falling from the darkening sky, she picked up Ron's assortment of owls, gave Hedwig a friendly pat on the head, then returned to the massive mansion that was the home of one of the most celebrated and skilled quidditch players in the world and her very close friend.
Hermione entered the large corridor after firmly telling ten of Viktor's house elves that she did not need anything more to eat or new socks. Viktor was always telling not her to be so engagé. Hermione accepted his criticism with a smouldering chagrin, but it rubbed into her deeply that nearly no one else supported her campaign. It was clear that the condition of the house elves had not progressed through the antebellum times, during the dark Voldemort era and to the present day. At least she could console herself with the fact that although Viktor had massive lands, he had twelve house elves so they rarely had to do much work. Nevertheless, the fact that she had to stay in a house holding twelve slaves in captivity had proved a major hurdle in their relationship.
Hermione wrinkled her nose slightly as Viktor returned from yet another round of his all-important quidditch practice, covered with mud and slinging his broomsticks under his arm. As he did a quick cleansing charm on himself, she noticed he seemed to have two broomsticks, one gaudily wrapped with the firebolt logo emblazoned in flaming letters upon the red and gold wrappings.
Great isn't it, of all the birthday gifts Viktor could have gotten me, he had to get me a broomstick.
Even if it is one of those brand new, prestigious firebolts, she didn't have the fanatic enthusiasm for quidditch even though all her friends and Viktor, whom she had begun to regard as more than a friend, were quidditch players and Harry and Viktor, especially good ones. But as soon as she had ripped the paper off, thinking of some way to break the news to Viktor that she didn't have any particular affection for flying, the sight of the broomstick literally took her breath away. It was more than merely nice, it was beautiful. Even if it was not a state of the art flying tool, it would have been an extremely nice piece of art.
Beaming Viktor told her "Happy Birthday Hermione, it is a custom made firebolt" (Author note: I can't write accents which is why all the characters which should be otherwise talking weirdly is typed out as normal English)
Hermione still gaped in awe at firebolt. She may even try out for the Gryffindor team for the simple pleasure of flying this. The basic broom looked much like Harry's but was more slender, and upon sitting on it, seemed to be shaped exactly for her rather than mass produced. The wood was inlaid with gold and, carved into the essential fabric of the wood was Hermione, Happy Birthday, Viktor Krum. The cushioning charms on the broomstick made her feel as though she was sitting on a large sofa rather than a floating stick. All in all it looked way better than an ordinary firebolt and that was saying something. She beamed happily at Viktor who was looking at her rather sheepishly.
"Oh thank you Viktor. It's beautiful"
She stared straight into his eyes, stroking the gold emblazoned names on the firebolt, then tossed it aside, wrapping her arms around him, lips entwined as if in everlasting unity. As their lips met, tongues roving, exploring within, Viktor's hands roamed around. And, Hermione thought, she would let him, just this once. They collapsed into the bed, all their mortal worries abandoned in the pitter-pattering of the rain and the setting sun.