A/N: Originally written for the Seven Deadly Sins fest at Sinfully-Romione on Tumble on and on. - DG

"That is your assignment, Weasley. Griping about it won't make your case easier."

Ron ignored the comment. "Why am I stuck with the shit assignment? This git got what he wanted!" Ron refused to mention that Harry's assignment for bodyguard duty would be entirely too close for normal public consumption.

"Every Auror on staff is protecting someone right now," Director Gawain Robards growled, "including me. I'm protecting the bloody Bulgarian Coach. Sorted?"

"It's cocked up."

"Yes it is. Blame the sod who sent the note. Anything else, Weasley?"

Ron realized that he was going to have to suck it completely up for the next sixty hours. "I need an hour, to pack a ruck for this assignment."

"One hour. A minute late and I'll have you chasing rabid werewolves in Northern Ireland by yourself if you're late."

"Yes, sir." Ron trudged out from the Director's office, completely beastly for his assignment for the next sixty hours. He needed to tell Hermione he had an assignment, not a real mission, and he'd not be home 'til early Monday morning.

Fuck all of them.

After a ride on the lift to the third floor, where Hermione's office was, he walked in. As usual, she was the only one in the water closet that masqueraded as an office.

"Ron!" She jumped out of her seat and danced around the stacks of parchment, wholly intending to snog him breathless.

"I can't stay long. I have to run home and pack a ruck for the next couple of days."

"You have a mission, don't you?"

"It's not really a mission but more like an assignment." He looked over and saw the morning edition of the Daily Prophet on her desk and scowled at the face on the front. "Why the bloody hell are they featuring that muttonhead again? Everyone including Aunt Muriel know he's the top international Quidditch seeker in the world but they've had him on the front page three damn days now."

"It's the Quidditch World Cup Qualifier, Ron," Hermione added without taking her eyes off of her newlywed husband. "I thought you'd be thrilled considering your sister is featured too."

"I am, but they put her on the last page, in fine print, about being the new addition to the team. It's like they are giving the Bulgarian bastard a verbal knob job. It's disgusting, the amount of press that idiot gets from the newspaper."

"And you're ghastly because it's Viktor and not the seeker for the English team?"

"Of course I am. The ruddy Pumpkinhead isn't English so he shouldn't be the one featured in an English Wizarding newspaper three days in a row."

"You're jealous."

"That sod?" He made a disgusting noise. "Bloody bastard was groomed to it. He's not had to work a day in his life except ride his sodding broom. No one has the bollocks to tell him he's a shit seeker."

"Ron, it's been years. What's going on?"

Ron's wand rattled and he put it to his ear. His expression changed, to outright anger. He growled a few vile things before turning towards the door. He stopped when Hermione shoved herself between him and the door.

"I'm sick of hearing about him. I'm sick of the way everyone is on their knees for him. There's plenty of other Quidditch players who are as deserving of accolades."

"Ron, stop."

"No, I won't. And now I have to be on a bloody mission guarding that sod and not being with you."

"You didn't choose this?"

"No. I'm on duty because someone owled in a kidnapping threat. Harry's unavailable. I have the sodding job. Fuck everything."

She kissed him on both cheeks before a burning kiss. "Come back to me." Her fierce look would be the last he'd see of her for almost three days.

"Yes, dear." He opened the door and stalked out, pissed at the world for very good reason.

The team of Aurors landed at the designated spot outside the stadium, well away from anyone. Ron looked around and recognized the area. "We're here? Shit!" He was the last to take off for the player's entrance, on the side of the stadium. A few patrons were wandering around while waiting to enter the facility. Their briefing before leaving via portkey said the players were already present and waiting on the Aurors before they could start practice – or leave.

The group entered the security gate in front of the stadium and were checked a second time by a supervisor from MLS. Once each was cleared, the two groups started to split.

"Asshole."

"Quit bitching, Ron."

"Look who's talking, git. You get to protect Ginny. How'd you manage that?"

"I asked. Look, the only one who was really threatened was Krum. You're the best – "

"Am not. Why aren't you guarding him?"

"I asked so shut up. You have the duty. You're faster than I am and won't be goggle eyed if you're guarding him, since you can't stand him."

"Damn right."

"Do your job, don't cock it up and keep your eyes open and wand ready. Hermione's waiting on you to come home."

"Don't bloody remind me."

Harry took off towards the Harpies locker room, leaving Ron to make his way to the visitor's room, where the Bulgarians were holed up. He passed a gathering of patrons and media idiots with Director Robards and one other Auror, intent on getting to their facilities.

"You pulled us away from our families, for these gits?"

"The minister considered it a credible threat. It wasn't my idea to owl the threat to the Owner of the Bulgarian team. I said it was rubbish but Kingsley overrode my decision. He said it was worth having all hands on station, just in case. Notice I'm here too?"

"It's bollocks. Krum is the last person who anyone would kidnap. Every law enforcement group would hunt them down. He's already protected." Ron scanned the gathering in the hallway. "No one gives a flying fuck about the Bulgarians," he said under his breath.

Robards heard his muttering. "You dumbass. Bulgaria is the odds-on favorite to win the Quidditch World Cup this year because of Krum. You take him out and there's plenty who would make galleons hand over fist just on the odds. You know there are sods who bet on Quidditch."

"What's the spread? Maybe I should bet on the English team."

Robards stopped and backed Ron into a wall, away from everyone.

"Potter told me you have a hard-on for Krum. I don't give a shit but you aren't to mix work with anything else. I would have put you with the English coach but that idiot said they wanted a Senior Auror protecting them. Hemera has that job and you weren't it. You're next best in the department so you got the duty protecting Krum. You can't take this lightly."

"Sod him and his bloody broom."

"

"

"Shut your hole, Weasley. The Bulgarians will hex anyone who makes that comment loud enough about him. They love him as much as you love Harry and Hermione, if not more. You keep your hands off of him."

"Bollocks and bullshit. I can't stand the git. I have no intention of touching him, much less wanting to fuck him, whatever Harry said. I'm married, as you well know!" Ron held up his left hand, showing the goblin silver ring on his finger.

"No one asked for your pissbaby opinion," Robards drew him up short. "I don't care a lick if you got shorted for giving the whole bloody team knobjobs. You're an Auror and will do your job or I'll punt you to Glasgow. Understand?"

"Sorted, sir," Ron barked back and refused to say another word.

Robards looked up and down the tunnel. No one else was in the immediate vicinity.

"Now that your pants are straightened, here's what I know. The Director of the Sports and International Cooperation department received an owl saying that there was going to be a kidnap attempt on Krum's life. We have bailiffs from MLS crawling over the stadium but your task is to be Krum's bodyguard until his arse is on the portkey for Argentina. Hell, I even called in Longbottom to be the Auror on duty with the trainers and support staff. Sorted?"

Ron bit the inside of his cheek to keep from complaining of his duty.

"Pissed you off, have I? Good; means you'll be too busy watching your back and keeping Krum safe than fawning like a school girl crushing on the star. Now get in there and keep that bloke from being kidnapped."

"Just me? Full shadow duty? No one to replace me?"

"Only you, full shadow duty and no replacements. The match is Sunday at Puddlemere but the teams are practicing here for safety reasons. He's not to leave your sight until he's on that portkey at 2am Monday morning."

"Probably wants me to hold his cock too for a piss," Ron grumbled.

"No but if you keep whining, I'll tell him to make you wipe his ass. Now get in there and keep him where he's supposed to be. I have to go deal with a diva coach." Robards went up the tunnel and away from the locker room.

"I'll do my best, sir," Ron pouted and pushed his way into the locker room. Like the one at Hogwarts, yet different, the visitor's locker room was spacious by comparison, with cozy leather chairs around the room, and nice lockers for the player's gear. It was also raucous, if Ron could guess at the language being shared between the players. The charm on his ears was working as expected.

"You, you're the Auror for Krum?" A wizened wizard asked him. "I asked for two of you."

"Auror Weasley. Sorry sir, but I was informed I was the only one for Viktor." Ron pulled his credentials from his cloak pocket to show to the elderly wizard.

"I asked for two, including Harry Potter. We want him too. Tell your Minister I insist."

"My apologies sir, but he's unavailable." Ron didn't want to divulge that Harry was protecting his sister and probably closer than he wanted to think about.

"They sent you? Thank goodness," a voice broke through the cacophony. The two men turned and saw Viktor walking up. "I trust you're here on business?" His accent was less than the last time Ron remembered speaking with him. Ron nodded. "Is Dragomir being protective? He usually is when it deals with me." The older wizard scowled. "I get these threats daily wherever we go. The mysterious owls threatening to hurt me, hex me, seduce me," the old wizard opened his mouth and closed it. Viktor went on. "I told them this was nothing but they don't listen to me. 'You're too important,' they tell me."

"You know this man?"

"I do." Viktor smiled. "Tell me the last time we talked."

"My brother Bill's wedding. Fleur invited you. You went mental over – "

"This is Ron Weasley, one of the heroes of Hogwarts. He's Harry's partner in the Ministry Auror Corps and one of the best men I've met. He's as important as Harry here." Ron blushed. "Auror Weasley killed the notorious werewolf Greyback the night of the Battle of Hogwarts."

"I didn't do it by myself," Ron muttered under his breath.

"Well, then, I can see that the English took what I said seriously about the kidnapping attempt." He turned to leave the locker room. "This man knows to not to leave your side until we depart England. Is that correct?"

"Sorted, sir." The elderly wizard pushed his way out the green doors, leaving Ron in the locker room.

"Well, come along. Welcome to my oversized kelpie bowl."

Ron followed Viktor back to his corner of the spacious facilities, where there were numerous journalists, yelling over one another to ask him questions about the exhibition match Sunday against the English team. Viktor sat down in the plastic chair in front of his locker, letting the towel around his waist flare over his knees, and sat for an hour answering questions, in Bulgarian and accented English from all of the journalists. Ron waited while Viktor answered every single question and ignored the two reporters who inquired about his presence by Viktor's side. Director Robards said no media and he meant it. One by one the reporters eventually departed, leaving Ron and Viktor alone in the locker room.

"I'd tell you to go home to Hermione if Dragomir and Bogdan didn't insist. But they have, whether it's legitimate so you're stuck with me." Viktor looked Ron up and down once. "You're taller than I remember and I think you will discourage anyone daring to try anything. But since I have to go with the team, we're going to a pub in town and having a pint. Zdravko says I can only have two the entire night and I have to charm the glass so no one tries to sneak a potion into it. With you here, no one would dare do a thing while we're out."

Ron stepped aside and reached for his ear. He listened behind a non-verbal charm, for privacy. "Sorted, sir," he said and let the charm disappear.

"Problem, Weasley?"

"The director said that my sister got the same threat. It's a good thing that she already has protection for the match. Too bad we'll be missing brunch with Mum at the Burrow. She won't like all of us being missing because of work."

"The Burrow?" Viktor asked.

"That's the name of my parent's home. You were there for the wedding. Mum cooks weekly for the kids who are around. But that's the day of the match so I won't be able to go. Harry and Ginny won't be there either, since Harry's on guard duty and Ginny is flying for the English team. Percy and George might be there, along with Bill and Fleur and their kids."

"It's nice that your Mum dotes on the family so much," Viktor injected before a well-dressed wizard walked up.

"Viktor dear, you're still not ready for the interviews. Get dressed and be in the interview room in five minutes. You're already late." The wizard walked off, storming through the doors and yelling something Ron didn't catch with his augmented hearing. He'd have to thank the nice witch in the Department of Magical Cooperation for the spell that helped translate Bulgarian for him.

"Who was that?"

"That's Anatoly, the Public Relations director. I have to meet with more reporters from home." Viktor stood, still looking slightly knock kneed and pigeon-toed. "Welcome to my world."

Ron kept his eyes outward but stole a glance at the man he was sworn by duty to protect. Ron towered over the international Quidditch star by inches, and probably had him by some pounds, too. He was skinny, much like Harry used to be until he went into the Aurors. In some ways, he did look like he had a boy's body, even if he was terribly hairy – considerably more than Harry. He could pass for a werewolf, the amount of hair on Viktor's chest. Ron stepped away from Viktor, to give him a moment's privacy if he wanted.

"You English are so prim. I have no problems changing in front of anyone. If I hid to preserve my modesty, I'd never get anything done."

Ron kept his eyes away but saw out of the corner of his eyes Viktor dropped his towel on the ground. He had his pants on, thankfully. He dressed quickly, like a man used to running from interview to interview. Ron bit his cheek to keep from noticing that Viktor had name-brand trainers and attire to interview in, aside from his uniform. The last things Viktor put on were an expensive watch and a gaudy pinky ring on his right hand.

"This might be awkward for you, Auror Weasley," Viktor's English was well-practiced. "But with the spell, you might not pick up everything in the interview in a minute. The home country media, they badger me. Let them since I'm used to it."

"They do?" Ron asked.

"Yes, they do. They ask if I have a girlfriend. They ask if I have seen my parents. What do I think about politics at home and in the region? No matter what, they want a nice quote, whether it's accurate or not, for the papers and radio. But the team wants no drama or anything that would make them look bad. They want me looking a certain way and repeating what Anatoly tells me to say. It's all quite boring, really."

Viktor stood up and Ron followed, walking down the tunnel a few meters to the press room. They walked in and were swamped. Ron kept his wand in his hand, shoving Viktor forward through the press of bodies trying to get a soundbite before Viktor made it to the dais for the interview.

Ron saw a door behind the dais. "We leave the back way once you're done." Viktor nodded.

Ron stood at the doorway, with his arms crossed and watching everyone in the room. He picked up bits and pieces of what was being asked – in Viktor's native Bulgarian – and Ron barely listened until –

"Is that your new boyfriend, Viktor Krum?"

"Him? No. He's English Security for the next few days. I'm fortunate to know this Auror. I've known him since my early days of my Quidditch career."

"But he looks like your type." Ron felt his ears turning red and kept his face neutral. Viktor gave Ron a side-eye and smirked. He turned back to the press gaggle and laughed. "I don't have a type, not at all. I'm married to Quidditch and the national team."

"But we thought you were dating someone like this man."

"Dating? Who has time for dating? I play professional Quidditch, in two leagues. It's the off-season for my club team and I'm on tour with the Bulgarian National team, with World Cup qualifier matches. I've not been home in four months. So when and how do I have time to have a relationship with someone?"

"But the Sophia Broomstick said you were dating – "

Viktor waved his hand, like batting away a beetle. "That rag? It's not even worth the ink to print it."

Ron tuned out the rest of the press briefing, since most weren't talking Quidditch. But then again, while standing in the doorway to the pressroom, watching the magpies and vultures try to tear into an International Quidditch star reminded him of Harry's treatment so many years ago – loving him one minute, castigating the next.

"No more questions, gentlemen," Anatoly the posh wizard interrupted. "We have another appointment." He grabbed Viktor by the collar and Ron put a wand in his face. "Until I'm off duty, you don't touch that man. Understand?" His quiet voice scared more people than his yelling ever did.

The other backed off. "But we have to be at the next appointment in five minutes."

"So? We'll be fashionably late. They'll understand." Ron saw Viktor grin slightly and make his way towards the back door of the room.

"Thanks," Viktor muttered while they went back to the locker room to grab his items. "Anatoly has a habit of touching me. I'm used to it. I never thought it was strange."

"How long has he worked for the national team?"

"He's worked for my club team for ten years. This is his first time for the national team."

"He could easily slip you a poison while touching you. I can't allow it."

"He'd never. He's the owner's son."

"And Draco Malfoy would never stoop to murder, unless his git of a father is involved. Nonetheless," Ron started and Viktor grunted at the comment.

"Then we can keep him at arm's length right now."

Ron followed Viktor back to the locker room and watched as he packed his expensive dragon skin overnight bag. "Got everything you need? Who is seeing to your things to your room?"

"I do. Boris, the team trainer, he will take my things to my room. I charm it anyway so only I can open it." Viktor put on his silver bracelet. "See this? I put this bracelet on last. It's never left out and stays in a sealed compartment in my bag. My bashta had it made from goblin silver when I was named starting Seeker for the Bulgarian National team at 18. It's probably the thing I most prize, now that my bashta is retired. I bought my parents their doma, their home, once I signed my second contract. I owe them everything, for helping me get here. I take care of them above all else."

"And a family of your own?" Ron asked quietly.

"Who has time for that when you're busy at Quidditch?"

Ron winced. "Not even a bird for an evening?"

Ron followed Viktor out of the stadium, shortening his stride to match the man next to him. He had plenty of practice walking with Hermione and shuffled his size 12s easily. Viktor was a magician on a broom and clumsy on his feet, walking like he already had 2 shots of whiskey in him.

"I can't get a bird past the team trainers for a night. They might turn a blind eye if I brought a bloke back to the room but the photographers would see but I'd never hear the end of it. Anatoly would tattle on me to Pyotr, his father, and I'd be sacked for dishonoring the team and the club. That can't happen. So no, there are no blokes or birds for me, not during the season."

"That's fucked up."

"Yeah, it is. It's lonely going back to the room every night, sober and without any companionship. The owner protects me from myself and others since I'm considered the country's superstar. They don't want any bird acting like a niffler, getting pregnant and besmirching my reputation. Besides, witches realize who I am and they want with me because I'm famous and rich, not Viktor Krum from Kotel so I can't get pissed at a pub, I can't catch a bird, can't shag a bloke, and can't have the fun that the others have."

Ron took a look at the man next to him. Unlike when he was much, much younger, he really looked at the man next to him. He was shorter than him, by some inches, and while most would say he was fit, Ron saw the way he walked and the slump in his shoulders. They walked, passing various homes and the occasional alleyway.

"Mind if I ask you something, something slightly personal?"

"It's about Hermione, isn't it?"

"Yeah, but it's long ago."

Viktor smiled, ignoring the others walking the other way on the sidewalk. "She was very kind to me, and so polite. When she would talk, it was about schoolwork and such, mostly to break the silence while I was trying to do mine. It was nice because she didn't see me as a Quidditch star, but a nice wizard who asked her out." Viktor gave Ron a glance. "We stayed friends and still are, I think. You know, she mailed me a letter, telling me all about you, some years ago."

"What?" Ron stopped.

"She is so proud of you, especially for being accepted into the Aurors. Her letter, it was 10 pages, while she was attending Hogwarts, and you were off at training. She was praising your name. Every page had something about you in them. She told me what she was planning, what goals she had, but she also thanked me for being there to listen, and for being the man she needed when you, how shall I put it, 'couldn't figure out she was a girl.'"

Ron turned beet red. "I was nothing in comparison to you, ever."

"Sure you were. But she was never really interested in me, not the way she was for you."

"Did you," Ron couldn't finish the sentence. He felt sick for even thinking the thought. He cocked up most of his sixth year because of the envy that Viktor got to kiss Hermione first, and not him. His fear of rejection hurt so much then, and felt like a phantom ache now. He'd never forget how sixteen year old Ron felt those stabs of jealousy, for something that happened two years prior.

"I did, but I was a gentleman. I asked. She agreed. And I behaved as a gentleman. She was sweet but she was also 15. See, she was my first kiss."

"Bollocks." Ron growled. "Surely there were witches at Drumstrang who turned your head?"

"There wasn't. Quidditch was all I was interested in until I came to Hogwarts and I met Hermione. I've had others since, but only the three of us – "

"No, my sister and Harry and another bloke know – "

"Oh. Well, a small group of us only know about Hermione. I never told another soul. I never would. It would be rude. It would disrespect her. I value her as a friend to treat her that way."

"Really?" Ron felt the sixteen year old inside, the one he kept locked away in a particular loo, screaming bloody murder for making an epic mess of things along with fourteen year old Ron who was jealous of… absolutely nothing of importance. Thank Merlin he grew the fuck up.

"She saw me as Viktor, not Viktor Krum, World Class Quidditch star. She saw a lonely awkward young man and treated me like a normal wizard, not a world famous one. She's my friend, when I have so few. I wanted to protect her reputation. I cherish our friendship." Viktor took off walking again, and Ron easily kept up.

"You did. I didn't find out for a few years. But people gossip, especially at Hogwarts."

"Oh. I didn't know that so many knew."

"Word traveled fast enough, once it got out." Ron refused to mention the epic row he had with Ginny that started it all.

Viktor stopped in front of a closed storefront. "Hermione is an incredible witch, and I am fortunate she's my friend. But there was nothing there between us, not compared to you. I couldn't compete."

"Me? I'm – "

"You were the one who turned her head every time you walked in the room. I realized she fancied you long before she met me. I was a distraction but she was entirely too kind to say anything. It didn't keep me from noticing."

"But she – "

"Nonsense," Viktor turned and started walking towards the pub again. "She was the first friend I made who didn't like me for Quidditch. Do you know how important that was, at the time? Yes, I fancied her but she didn't feel the same way. So I was happy to have her as a friend, and nothing more. So when we write to one another, I talk about work, and travels, and how boring things are when I'm not in the air in front of 50,000 screaming fans. I talk about my mother baking at home when I am there, or my father puttering in the garden of the house I bought for them. You know, trivial things, things that almost no one else except my parents are interested in. It's nice to have a friend who is genuinely interested in your life outside of your work. It's nice having someone who has no interest in bedding you and causing a scandal.

"And when she writes me, she brags so much about you. I can see why she fancied you, even if you didn't see it then. After a while, I came to envy the life she has with you, and want that for when I find someone to have a family."

"Really?" Ron's voice threatened to break like he was still 14.

"You figured it out. Hermione told me about getting married to you. She sent an invitation but I didn't come. It would have been rude to you. You got the girl who adores you. You have a job that you chose, not one chosen for you when you were small and pitiful. You have those purple wands that so few get unless you're dead." Viktor stopped and Ron halted, towering slightly over Viktor. "You have what I covet, and that's freedom. Sure, you have a job that requires so much – but you chose it. You can say sod all and walk away from it, if you want."

"Not if I want to eat," Ron said. "Bloke has to pay rent, you know?"

Viktor ignored it. "What I'm saying is that you have choices, in your life, career, and the love of a wonderful woman." Viktor motioned towards Ron's hand and his ring finger, seeing his own goblin silver ring on the third finger. Viktor took a deep breath. "I don't have anyone to wake up to, and for that, I will envy you. For it to be Hermione, who is beautiful, brilliant, completely kind, and warm-hearted, well, that makes it that much more. When I do meet someone, they will have to live up to Hermione, unfortunately, and I have lived enough to know that there are few like her."

"You could walk away," Ron yelled after Viktor's retreating back. He ran the few meters to catch up. "I know it's Quidditch and all, but you could retire."

"I could, but what else could I do? Quidditch has been my life since I was a small child. I know nothing else. I have a career that lets me travel and provide for my family where they don't have to work ever again. But I also have to pay lawyers so the taxes are paid everywhere I travel, an accountant to make sure the lawyers are paid, and a nutritionist who travels with the team so I can eat right but not gain any weight, which is in my contract. This doesn't include the business manager, to make sure that my money is tended and a personal assistant, to make sure that I don't miss any appointments or public relations events."

"That's messed up."

"I do not have my own life. I do what I am told, where to be, how to smile, which way to hold my broom, which broom I am to fly, and what to eat. I've not had a woman in my bed in six months and it will probably be another six before I am allowed to have a woman for the night. She will be someone who might catch my eye but she will have to pass three people before she is allowed to spend the night."

"You could retire. You've been doing it long enough."

"I could, but I'd have nothing else to do, since Quidditch is my life. What would I do?"

"You could bed any bird you want," Ron cheeked. Viktor shook his head. "Have you ever come across a bird like Hermione besides Hermione?"

"I've not met a woman who hasn't been screened in years. All of them are either with other players or off limits because they are married. Besides, I find most women are silly. They talk of pretty things and spending galleons but few want to know me. That's what made Hermione special – she could talk of so many things, none of which were related to Quidditch.

"And a wizard? My parents would die of shame if I did that and it made the papers. I do enjoy the company of men, too, but they only want to talk Quidditch. They are only interested in the Quidditch Viktor, not the man. Now you see my problem?"

"You're stuck, aren't you?"

"I am. But we can at least drink some, listen to bastards make claims to my feats, and have a fun night at the pub. But I can't get too drunk and you can't drink. We have to watch for the occasional bird to slip me a potion to bed me. I can't have little Viktor running around a year from now."

"No, that would be cocked up."

Viktor stopped on the edge of the pub, looking at his issued bodyguard. "You know Weasley? I like you. I see why Hermione likes you too. You listen well and give a shit."

"Well, I am on duty."

"But you're not obligated to listen to me whine about my life."

"You're not whining. I do that well enough. I'm practically a professional. You're just talking shite, like most blokes I know do."

"Come. Let's flirt with some birds we can't bed and drink some bad beer."

"When do you have to return to your room?"

"My contract says I have to be in my room for the night at 11pm and lights out at twelve. You, Hermione's husband, have a very uncomfortable chair in the hallway to sit in." Viktor shook his head. "You're a professional. I know you will find time for a nap somewhere and sometime."

"Probably when you're in team meetings and I can sleep in a chair in the room."

"Why do you think we have portkeys? I can't sleep in chairs anymore. It's too hard on the body after too many bludgers to the back." Viktor slapped him on the back. "Come. There must be some horse piss known as beer in here. I'll even introduce you around. I'm sure my teammates want to meet Auror Weasley and buy you some butterbeer."

"Me?"

"News spreads even to Bulgaria."

The two men opened the door to the pub and were greeted with raucous yells from those inside.

Ron stepped into their flat and dropped his cloak and jacket in the rickety chair. He unzipped his boots and toed them off, letting them clunk on the other side of the chair. He knew he was getting in extraordinarily late but the Portkey was for 2am and he'd be arsed if he didn't see his duty through with the Bulgarian National team. Then he'd had to check in with the supervisor on duty before coming home.

He padded back to their bedroom, ignoring Crookshanks in his little pallet by their bedroom door, snoring lightly in the darkness.

He opened the door and saw the candle still flickering, and Hermione sitting up in their bed, reading a book. She looked up, smiled, and he melted. "You're up. Why are you up? It's after four in the bloody morning." Christ, she was a sight for very sore eyes and a very tired arse.

"I wanted to greet you when you finished your assignment. I took today off because I thought you would want my company," she blushed slightly, using the euphemisms that made him laugh.

"Hermione, if you've not noticed, I'm not 14 anymore." He stripped out of his jumper and t-shirt, along with his trousers and socks, leaving him in bright orange and black Cannon's boxers she bought for him a few years ago.

"Well, your pants betray you." She lifted the bedclothes and he slid in, snuggling up next to her.

"I was wrong about Viktor," Ron started. "I was so wrong about him."

Hermione turned to him after putting a bookmark in and laying the book aside. "Regarding what, Ron?"

"I was such a twat, at 14. I would be pissing and moaning if I had the life Viktor leads, with people telling him constantly what he has to do on a daily basis. Sod can't do a bloody thing without approval from three people."

"So you finally saw what I've known for years?"

Merlin keep Hermione. She didn't smirk or natter on about told you so's he'd hear from Harry and Ginny. Ron snuggled into her side and put his head on her shoulder, blowing breath across her chest. "Well, yeah, I did. It's rubbish when Mum owls, telling me to come visit more often, and I can't because I'm working too bloody much, either for the Ministry or for George. But Viktor? He has no life. He can't go see his parents because he's traveling so much. Sure, he's an Internationally Famous Quidditch star, and makes gobs of galleons, or whatever the Bulgarian wizarding currency is, and has so many people wanting a piece of him every single second of the day, but you know what else? He has zero freedom, has like twenty people telling him what to do every second of the day, and he doesn't have a moment's peace, even while taking a piss. He was shaving before his match and he had three people in the loo with him, with one telling him the English game strategy, and another discussing his endorsement contracts in Bulgaria – for a cereal, of all things, and his nutritionist informing him that he needed more fiber in his diet." Ron looked at Hermione with a slightly green tinge. "I won't even tell you how the team nutritionist knew that. And that doesn't even include his personal chef who was constantly busy cooking his meals that looked like rubbish and tasted even worse. I know. I shared breakfast with him and it was worse than you get at the canteen at the Ministry. Your cooking is loads better than that rubbish."

Hermione pinched his cheek and he laughed.

"I can guess since it's probably close to what professional models have to endure. You've seen them on the telly at my parents place – well, at least the world class ones that you think are entirely too skinny."

"Well, they are!" Ron retorted. "Anyway, he might make galleons hand over handle, but he won't have a real day away from everyone for at least another six months, way he tells it, and hasn't in six months. I took a look at his planner and everything is mapped out, such as when he wakes, works out, eats his meals, including what he eats, who he's to meet with, when to practice, what exercises he does, when he gets his massage, and all of the other rubbish. He might have ten minutes a day total to himself."

"Are you now happy with what you have? You've decided that you don't want to throw away everything you've worked for and be a Quidditch groupie, following around Viktor for every match?"

"Fuck no! I'd be a groupie for the Cannons, if you let me." Hermione laughed and Ron did too. He finally settled down into her side, relishing he could have these times to talk with her without interruption.

"Have you finally decided that you don't envy Viktor anymore, that you have nothing to envy?"

"Well, it'd be bloody nice to be so wealthy that you can play Quidditch professionally and not have to otherwise work, or have barmy blokes trying to kill you daily, but I'd be completely spare if I had someone telling how much to eat every day – what to wear – meeting people every hour without an hour to sit on my arse, drinking a butterbeer and listening to the wireless. He has the glory, attention and affection of thousands, but he's so lonely. He's not seen his parents in almost a year and hasn't seen his friends for months, all because of Quidditch."

"What are you getting at, Ron?"

"He lives like a prisoner – sure, it's a magnificent gilded cage – but I have things that he doesn't, like you, and can shag my wife when I want while he's left bereft for months on end for tournaments. He looks like he has everything he'd ever want in life, but he's nothing more than a glorified poppet, flying for an owner who uses him and – " Ron pulled Hermione on top of him, letting her feel every inch of him.

"I'm tired of talking about Viktor. I rather snog you." He pressed Hermione down into the bedclothes, appreciating how responsive she was to his needs. She eventually pushed him off and onto his back and straddled his waist, removing the vest she had on. "So you're happy with the life you have?"

Ron stopped moving so he could appreciate his wife out of her kit. "I am so bloody content with my life. Viktor wishes he had what I have."

"Does that include me?" she softly kissed him. Ron reciprocated with everything into his kiss with Hermione, smiling through it all.

"No. Viktor envies me."