IMPORTANT Author's Notes:

1) Viktor's accent will be noted in the story's narration, but I will not be torturing myself to write it out phonetically (if this were a one-shot, or he was only in the story a little bit, sure, but for a full-length fic? No, thanks ever so much). His mispronunciation of Hermione's name will also be addressed in a manner that the poor dear won't have to be stumbling over it the entirety of the story.

2) I remember Viktor from the canon (though we truthfully weren't given all that much to go on in the books about his personality), and have not read any Vikmione fics, so please don't expect his characterization here to be like that from other stories you may've read.

3) Updates will be sporadic, chapter lengths may vary wildly (some might be over 5k, while others might not reach 2k).

Fancast: Dani Tsvetkov (Bulgarian male model) as Viktor Krum.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit in any form from this work.

Chapter One

Hermione tossed and turned. She didn't need to get out of bed yet, it was a Saturday, after all, but she had that damned Ministry banquet tonight. The dreaded function her new boss—and former professor—Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, had made perfectly clear in a no-nonsense letter attached to the invitation, all Hogwarts faculty were expected to attend.

Honestly, she thought, turning over and pulling her pillow around her head to block out the muted early afternoon light from her bedroom window, if she didn't think of Minerva like a second mother, she'd tell the elder witch to sod off and leave her be. Leave her to the sweetly sinful dreams that had been the most potent thing taking the edge off the sting of her recent divorce. Oh, certainly she and Ron had known the end was coming long before they'd signed the papers, but it still hurt to know they couldn't make it work. Though, realizing they still cared enough about each other to end things before the damage to their friendship could become irreparable helped.

Yet, not so much as the distraction offered by the fuzzy, fleeting images of her ex-boyfriend, Viktor Krum. Closing her eyes and snuggling deeper into her covers, she busied herself with drumming up memories of the most recent one. Sure, she knew it was fueled by an article a few months back in Witch Weekly about how an injury had forced Viktor into early retirement. And, of course, said article had included a few . . . very helpful pictures of Viktor in a bit of a state of, um, undress, showing how he'd trimmed down his once almost too-burly physique to a trim, lean musculature now that he was training less intensely.

Though they hadn't corresponded in ages, she'd written him after reading the article. Just to check in and make sure he was all right. He'd responded to assure her he was still in one piece, and was in the process of seeking other employment. But then . . . then he'd asked her about the current goings-on in her own life. She'd struggled with whether or not to discuss her divorce. She didn't think it right—Viktor might get the wrong idea and assume she was trying to rekindle things. Which, honestly, wasn't a terrible idea, but for all she knew, he had a girlfriend or wife that hadn't been mentioned publicly as some decision by his old team's PR manager.

And so she'd kept her response to his inquiry brief, explaining simply that life was fine, nothing 'worth writing about' and that was that. Of course, he'd not written back after that and she felt awful, imagining he'd seen her short reply as a brush-off.

Her breathing steadied and darkness swam behind her eyelids, and she felt sure sleep was creeping back over her. The more she focused on those pretty dreams as she drifted off, the more likely it was she'd have another one.

It helped in that respect, as well, that she'd not been wholly honest with Harry when they'd talked about her relationship with Viktor back during fourth year. Oh, of course, they hadn't gotten up to too much, but when she'd slipped and mentioned to Harry that she and Viktor didn't do much talking, she'd covered it over by explaining that mostly Viktor only sat with her and watched her as she studied, so that the initial comment wouldn't be taken as what it sounded like.

In fact, it had been exactly what it had sounded like.

Hermione uttered a sleepy, happy sound in the back of her throat. She could still recall the brush of his lips against her throat, the feel of his skin beneath her curious fingers.

A wistful smile curved her lips . . . . Until the ring of her telephone intruded on her imaginings.

Groaning, she pulled herself to sit up, glaring tiredly about at her room. Probably her parents. They were the only Muggles she really knew, the only reason she bothered having a ruddy telephone line connected in her flat, at all, actually.

Though she prayed it was a mis-dial, the bloody thing rang again. Muttering a tiny, angry whimper, she climbed out of bed, swaddled in her comforter and crossed the room.

Oh, well. Might as well wake up and start mentally preparing for tonight's Ministry-funded social fiasco, anyway.

Viktor stopped short, gently tapping the elder witch on the elbow as she led him through the banquet hall toward the reception area. He made consistent efforts to subdue his accent when he spoke to the British now, but sometimes it still slipped through, thick and a bit rough on their ears, he knew. "She's a professor? I had no idea."

Minerva gave him a disbelieving once-over before recognizing that the man was being wholly honest. "Huh, and here I'd thought that between her employment at the school and her divorce, she was the reason you were so eager to sign on as Rolanda's replacement."

His brows shot up. Was that why she'd not really answered him in her letter? She hadn't wanted to tell him? He couldn't say that didn't sting, but he also couldn't know her reasons for omitting it.

He shrugged, his expression somewhat bashful. "I actually didn't know either of those things."

"Oh." Folding her lips inward, Minerva nodded before starting to lead him across the floor again. "Well, then, this should be an interesting evening, indeed."

Frowning thoughtfully, he followed his new boss in silence. Though his knee-jerk reaction to the thought of seeing Hermione again was to feel excited, knowing she'd not told him about her circumstances made him wary—what if she hadn't told him simply because she hadn't wanted him to know she was unattached now?

But that wasn't the only cause of his wariness. If he believed in coincidences, he might chuckle at finding themselves back in each other's lives like this. He'd first dreamt about her after her letter had arrived. Memories of their secret moments together back when they'd been teenagers. The way she'd blush and let out a breathy giggle when he got 'too bold.'

The way her eyelids would sweep downward as she sighed whenever he kissed that one spot on the underside of her jaw.

But it wasn't even that. It was the very clear, very sharp memory of seeing that dark and twisted shape on the inside of his left forearm as he held her in those memories. That horrible skull and snake. The first time he'd had that dream, upon waking he'd scrambled to snatch up his wand from his bedside table, illuminating it to examine his skin in the night-darkened room.

Of course, nothing was there. Nothing was ever there after the other dreams he'd had between then and now. Perhaps once a week, at random, he dreamed about her? Sweet little what-if fantasies about what things could be like between then now. And, even in those imaginings as she rocked beneath him, her skin flushed and ecstatic screams tearing from her throat as he sank into her and withdrew again and again, it was there.

As he held himself over her, his weight braced on his palms, he could see it in his periphery. That damned mark.

More than once, upon waking, he heard a voice whispering in his head. One he could swear he'd heard before, yet did not recognize. Something in the tone, though, he understood how specific it was—that the voice was echoing off the corridor walls in Hogwarts castle.

They will never look for it here.

That was why he'd signed on to replace Rolanda Hooch as the school's flying instructor and Quidditch coach. To find out if there was anything to the way that voice, and what it hinted at—that after all this time, some terrible 'surprise' had been left behind—made his heart drop into his stomach as if he understood, when he hadn't a clue what that was about.

Not for Hermione's sake.

But now, as Headmistress McGonagall—Merlin, he had trouble pronouncing Hermione correctly even after all these years, McGonagall would be a nightmare. He'd stick with addressing her as Headmistress, he'd decided—led him through the doors and into the reception hall, his eyes landing on Hermione Granger as though she wasn't half a room away amid a crowd, he knew he was grateful about the strange timing.

She looked exquisite. Her normally wild hair pinned back from her face and drawing attention to her wide chestnut-brown eyes. Dress robes of intermingled silver and pearlescent white hugged her figure. For a moment, he tried to discern if she was actually wearing dress robes, of it was simply a Muggle gown, not that which it was very much mattered. But now the question hung over his head of whether or not she'd be equally thrilled to see him.

Roving his gaze about, he noted bouquets of plump red roses that lined the entryways. Nodding as Minerva waved him off, he returned to the arched doorway, plucking one of the blooms from the rest.

Only one way to find out how Hermione felt about seeing him, again, wasn't there?

Hermione frowned down at the platters of food. At least that had been worth the trouble—the Ministry had really outdone itself with the menu. And the open bar helped.

Every now and again, some poor sod came over and asked her to dance. A few times, she found herself faced with wizards so handsome, she almost agreed on reflex. But no, somehow, she'd mustered the will to turn them down. She didn't want to dance. She didn't even want to be here. Harry was 'on loan' to the States. Ron still ran the joke shop with George, so he wouldn't be in attendance anyway, and she'd already chatted with those she'd known well enough to not feel like she was forcing small talk with them.

And so now, here she stood, virtually hugging one of the banquet tables.

The brush of something delicate against her bare shoulder made her sigh. Another would be dance-partner? No bloody thank you.

"Look, I'm sorry," she started as she pivoted on her heel to face whoever it was. That light touch against her skin circled her with her own movement, so it now pressed to the front of her shoulder. "But I'm in no mood to—"

Her voice trailed off as she saw him standing before her. That delicate brush was the petals of a rose he held out toward her. She could feel her eyes widened as she stared up at him, up at those familiar dark eyes of his. A memory of that one dream where she'd watched his eyes drift closed and his head tip back as she'd kissed a path down his stomach drifted across her mind's eye, causing a blush to fill her cheeks.

"Viktor?"

A bashful grin curved his lips as he mangled her name, just like he always did.

Hermione folded her lips inward to hide a grin. She never thought she'd miss being called Herm-own-ninny. Standing in front of him, though, it felt like they were teenagers again for a moment, especially with that giddy rush of butterflies through her stomach.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm Madam Hooch's replacement. Headmistress said I had to be here."

Her brows shot up. "You've joined the faculty?" So . . . they'd be working together? All year? There went those butterflies again, along with a few other . . . rushy, giddy feelings.

Viktor nodded, only to follow the gesture up with a wince as he said, "She just told me about your divorce. I'm sorry. I had no idea. I didn't even know you were here tonight."

So he didn't know of her situation? Yet, she'd been dreaming about him, as if somehow she'd been cognizant that she was going to run into him. Oh, even after all the things she'd seen and been through since learning she was a witch, she still didn't put much stock in predictions and the like, but still . . . she couldn't help feeling like there was something larger at play to find him here after seeing him in her sleep these past few months.

"Thank you, it's fine, though. Happened months ago. I'm sorry I didn't mention it when you asked. I just . . . ." She shrugged, deciding to be honest. "I think I was embarrassed to tell you. I wasn't sure what your personal life was like and I didn't want you to think I had an ulterior motive for letting you know about it."

She'd forgotten how cute she thought it was that he watched her lips to keep up with her words when she went on one of her typical verbal tears. Oh, but she didn't think she would continue to find his utter, unintentional, destruction of her name adorable for the span of an entire school year.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, she pointed at the rose. "Is this for me?"

He shrugged. "Only if I don't get in trouble for stealing it from the bunch by the doors."

Snickering, she accepted it, caressing the edge of the petals with gentle fingertips as she started, "Listen, we should probably work on how you pronounce my name, again. Make saying it a bit easier on you." Perhaps she'd make an effort to learn Bulgarian. He shouldn't be the only one compromising, after all.

Viktor smiled, relieved that she was, indeed, thrilled to see him. He moved tentatively, in case he'd misread her, to claim her free hand and guide her fingers to wrap around his elbow.

Turning, he started walking them toward wide, glass-paned doors that opened out onto a moonlit balcony. "Do you have a . . . nickname? That word is right?"

She nodded. He'd clearly worked on his English over the years. "Oh, yes. Why didn't I think of that. Harry and Ron call me 'Mione. That must be easier to say!"

He smirked, arching a brow as he asked, "You wish me to call you what your ex-husband calls you?"

The witch uttered a scoffing sound that made him chuckle. "No, no. It was my nickname even before we were married. Many of my friends call me that, in fact. It's fine. Honest, no ex-husband business about it."

Again, Viktor chuckled, a warm, sincere sound as he shook his head. "Okay. What is it, again?"

Taking into account that no one aside from her parents really ever said her name completely right, anyway—Hermi'ne, like the 'o' just fell out of it sometime ago and no one'd bothered to tell her—she halted, just at the balcony's railing. She turned to face him, her gaze meeting his as she said, "'Mione. Try this, My-knee."

His brow furrowed as he echoed the syllables, trying it out a few times. Nodding, he said it again. "'Mione. That is easier. Why did we not do that back then?"

She smiled. Hermione couldn't believe she'd forgotten how much she liked being around him. There was just an energy in Viktor's presence that she couldn't quite explain. "Because no one thought about it until after you'd already gone back to Durmstrang. After that, we were writing, and there didn't seem much point, since you didn't have trouble with the spelling."

He leaned his palms against the railing and looked out at the starry night sky. "Admit it, at first you thought I came here because of you?"

Hermione turned, as well, again with those damn butterflies as her shoulder brushed his arm. "Actually, I was so surprised to see you, I didn't think anything."

"Headmistress thought it."

Her brows shooting up, Hermione turned her head to look at him. "She did? Oh, dear."

He returned her gaze. "Something is wrong with that?"

"Oh, no, not really, just, um . . . ." Hermione dropped her attention to the railing, where their pinkies were overlapping against the metal. This was ridiculous—like no time had passed at all, she was so comfortable around him, she'd thought nothing of the contact. "I adore Professor McGonagall, but she's become quite the gossip-monger as she's gotten older and, well, as there's no terrible happening at the end of every school year, she's not had much else to take up her time. If she thought that, she's probably going to be watching us like a hawk whenever we're near each other."

"True?"

Snickering, she held up her hand—the one not currently preoccupied by the press of Viktor's warm skin against it. "I would never lie about old ladies and gossip."

"Perhaps, then, we should give her something worth seeing?"

She found it hard to breathe for a moment as she processed his question. "What, um, what did you have in mind?"

Grinning, he moved over a bit, standing behind her and bracing his palms on either side of her on the railing. "Something like this."

Dear God, it felt good—good and so damn comfortable—to have his solid frame against her back, to feel his breath against her ear as he spoke.

"You know what I remember?"

"Right now I'm assuming that'd be a lot of things," she answered with a laugh.

He chuckled. "I remember when I used to catch you in the corridors. How we'd sneak off around a corner. How scared you'd get that someone would see, but you want me to never stop."

"That's a lovely memory," Hermione managed to say, her voice a bit breathy. "But, um, don't you think we should maybe try being friends first? Before, you know, starting anything?"

Leaning to tip his head around her shoulder, he waited for her to meet his gaze before he spoke. "I had thought we already were friends."

"Oh!" Her eyes shot wide at the misunderstanding. "We are, but I simply meant—"

"And I wasn't saying to start anything."

"Oh," she said again, a bit embarrassed, but also her heart sinking a little. That was silly, it wasn't as though he'd rejected her, simply that he'd pointed out she was being presumptuous—those were not the same thing!

A smirk curved his lips and he searched her face with his gaze as he clasped his hand around one of hers. Lifting it, he brushed his lips against her knuckles. "If you are saddened by that, we could try both."

The gesture and the way he was looking at her sent a flash of warmth through her. Viktor Krum had been back in her life for all of fifteen minutes and she found herself willing to entertain being close with him again.

She knew she should tell him that she was flattered, but they needed to move slow, instead, she found herself once more asking, "What did you have in mind?"

"Next week, before start of term, we meet for coffee, or a meal? Catch up, as friends. For now, though . . . . It's not crowded out here." He playfully tugged at the side of her dress. "But I think you like someplace less obvious."

Hermione couldn't believe what she was doing as she moved to look around. What if they were caught? Oh, she'd utterly die of embarrassment.

Even so, she nodded toward the side of the balcony, where it turned sharply against the building, creating darkened corner. "Over there?"

Following the direction of her gaze, Viktor grinned. Slipping an arm around her shoulders, he led her away from any overtly prying eyes.