Her eyes are as soft as clouds and make him forget how to talk.
She beckons toward him, her mouth curling into a shy smile, wearing the morning light like a cloak. He tries to walk to her but she seems to shrink from him, laughing delicately all the while, the sunlight dancing in her curls. All he can think of is to touch her, to run his fingers through the caramel of her hair, to press a kiss against her lips, a stamp of his desire for her.
He moves more forcefully, but she continues to evade him, and so he begins to run, faster and faster, pumping his legs until his lungs feel studded with shards of glass, until his vision narrows from exertion and all he can see is her. Still she outruns him, easily, happily, and he forces his legs to work harder, faster, blinded by the overwhelming desire just to touch her, so that all he can see is the shape of her smile, a moonbeam.
He doesn't see the lip of the cliff until it is too late; he skids to a halt but the ground is too rough, and he goes careening over the edge, the cry of terror torn from his pained lungs. He sees the flat expanse of rock below him and he cries out in panic, knowing he won't survive the fall.
He feels soft breath on his face and opens his eyes to see her, smiling gently at him, and suddenly the fall is not so terrifying, because she is falling with him. He throws his arms wide, clutching her hand tightly so that they might both embrace the crush of their landing, the terrifying exhilaration of their descent, knowing somehow that they will be safe.
The ground rushes up to meet them and he smiles, bracing himself for the impact….
Viktor Krum awoke with a start, eyes snapping open to see a pool of black before him. He sat up slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the darkness, letting the rush of sudden, inexplicable sadness creep through him.
This was not the first time he had dreamt of the girl. A deep sleeper, he rarely recalled his dreams the following morning, if he dreamt at all, and when he did they were always perfunctory, mundane – shopping for his mother, practising his flying manoeuvres.
He had never repeated a dream before now. And yet this was the third time he had seen the girl, the third time he had fallen from a cliff in the pursuit of her. It troubled him. He had no idea who the mysterious girl was, and so it concerned him that after he dreamt of her he was always filled with an inexplicable feeling of sadness, of loss. It seemed unnatural to him to ache with longing for someone who did not even exist, whom he had never met or spoken to.
He cast her forcefully from his mind and lay back down, pummelling his pillow furiously.
The journey is getting to me, he reasoned. It had, after all, been three days now. Though the ship was relatively comfortable, he longed for the freedom the open skies afforded him, the liberation he always felt on a broomstick. The following day they were scheduled to arrive at Hogwarts, and Viktor forced himself to think of their arrival, of disembarking the ship, of all the spells he might possibly need.
Anything but the girl.
A/N
This is not a one-shot, it's just a very short first chapter, but I promise all the others will be longer. Scouts honour (even though I was a Brownie, not a scout). It's basically going to be Viktor Krum's relationship with Hermione from their respective perspectives rather than boring old Harry's all the time.