Over the four or five days that immediately followed Christmas Day, Hermione saw nothing of Viktor. It was as though he had completely disappeared, and it was only the fevered bouts of whispering that Parvati and Lavender seemed to collapse into at her every approach that convinced her that he had really existed in the first place, let alone had taken her to the Ball. They were doing it now.
It was the day before New Year's Eve, time having slipped around Hermione whilst she stood frozen, and she now lay in her bed, listening to their not-so-discrete discussion and trying very hard to pretend she wasn't.
"…why would he take her anyway? It's not like he couldn't have got anyone he wanted."
"I don't know, maybe he really did like her – I mean, she did look really pretty at the Ball." Hermione knew this was Parvati's voice, even with her eyes tightly closed; she could hear her honeyed tones, thick and brown like molasses.
Lavender snorted. "Yeah, but I bet she spent hours doing that to her hair."
"Well, so did you."
"That's not the point. He can't have liked her that much anyway; no one's seen him since the Ball, not even the Slytherins."
"How do you know the Slytherins haven't seen him? Or have you been cosying up to Draco Malfoy behind my back?"
There were brief squeals and giggles as Lavender threw her pillow at Parvati. "Oh shut up!" she cried, as Parvati began to make kissing noises. "I heard that cow Pansy moaning about it, saying no one knows where he is. He's probably hiding on that stupid ship though; she probably started talking about Ancient Runes or something and scared him away." She snorted unpleasantly, clearly trying to stifle giggles, and Hermione forced herself to remain still and silent. Ancient Runes! She hadn't mentioned a single thing, as far as she could remember – although, truth be told, she couldn't remember much of the night, past the dancing and the soft muddy brown of Victor's eyes and the tingles that fizzed in the tips of her fingers.
"I think you're jealous," Parvati began but she was cut off by Lavender's spluttering.
"Jealous of what?" she said, bristling with indignation. "If he wants to go out with her, that's up to him – and anyway, I saw you with Harry on the dance floor, trying to pretend you weren't enjoying it!"
"Oh shut up!" Parvati squealed, and after that Hermione heard no more; not wishing to hear Parvati's feelings concerning Harry, she had pulled her wand from beneath her pillow and muttered a spell under her breath, cancelling out the sound from the next two beds so that she was enveloped in a pocket of silence. The upside of this was that she didn't have to listen to another word; the downside was that all she had left were her own thoughts.
If Lavender had been telling the truth, and no one really had seen Viktor since the Ball, then maybe it wasn't because of her; maybe he was ill. She turned on her side, curled like a question mark in her bed and resolved that before the year was out tomorrow, she would find him and talk to him. She would find out what was wrong.
The dream begins in the same way. He is running once more, the grass cool on his legs, the sun beating a tattoo across his neck, and he pumps his legs like pistons until his face burns from exertion. She runs beside him this time, her hair pulsing in the wind like a sail, her smile a slice of sunshine, and he laughs as he runs, his fingers entwined with hers like pieces of a jigsaw.
This time, when they approach the lip of the cliff they both skid to a halt and as they peer over the edge she looses her fingers gently from his grip, looking down at the dusty ochre of the rocks below. He doesn't know how it happens. He is looking into her eyes and he holds out his hand to her, his fist closed tightly like a promise, and he doesn't have to think; he knows he holds his heart. He can feel it beating against the flesh of his palm, fighting to break its bonds and as he offers it to her he loses his balance and slips and her face becomes a pink smear against the azure of the sky. He screams as he falls, his desperate fingers scrabbling at the air as if they will close around hers, as if she can save him, and he knows that this time he will hit the rocks. This time, it will hurt.
Viktor, though she didn't know it then, lay in precisely the same position in his little bed aboard the Durmstrang ship, listening to the steady pulse of the lakes waters, as if it were truly alive. He had awoken suddenly; sweat beading his brow and panting as though he had just run a marathon, he had sat bolt upright as he tried to regulate his breathing, to restore his normal heartbeat. He had dreamed of Hermione every night since the Ball, always a repeat of the initial dream, except that there were three major differences. Now, when he ran, she ran beside him. Now, when he fell she always remained unharmed, standing at the cliff edge and watching his descent. Now, whenever he tumbled over the lip of the cliff it felt more as though he had been pushed; there had always been some kind of force shoving from behind, and tonight as his body had twisted helplessly in the air like a puppet, he thought he had seen a flash of red beside her.
He knew why he had dreamed of her. He had not seen her in the days following the Ball and now, a week later, he had dreamed of her so intensely it had wrenched him from sleep. He knew he would dream of her until he saw her once more, though quite how he knew he was unsure. But seeing her last time had allowed him to sleep, and there was always the chance it would work a second time. And, apart from anything else, he wanted to see her, if only to watch the curve of her smile.
He found her, quite by accident, the next morning. Emerging yawning from the ship later than his friends, who had disappeared half an hour previously for breakfast in the Great Hall, he had stretched his arms out as he stood on the ice-cracked ground beside the lake. Then, spying a huddled black figure silhouetted against the horizon of the great folds of greenery that had made up the grounds before snow had blanketed it, he squinted slightly, trying to work out who it was and puzzled by its strange familiarity. It wasn't until he was around a hundred yards away that he noticed beneath the red woollen hat pulled down roughly around her head the thick caramel curls, and before he realised what he was doing he had shouted, "Hermione!"
She turned immediately and, seeing him, had made her way over. When finally she stood before him words failed him, and she said quietly, "You got my name right." Her cheeks were flushed pink, so that Viktor didn't know if it was from cold or embarrassment. He merely smiled at her and walked slowly past her, hoping she would realise he was not walking away. Thankfully, she soon fell in step beside him and they walked in silence for several minutes, away from the castle, away from the lake and the ship.
"I am vanting to apologise," Viktor said after lengthy moments. "I haff been vorking on my egg."
Hermione stared blankly at him. Then, realisation dawning on her face, she said, "Oh!" and smiled gently so that Viktor's stomach hitched slightly and he walked faster to combat it. "I thought…" she trailed off, clearly embarrassed.
"You are thinking I haff been staying avay from you," Viktor said simply, stopping in the snow, and it wasn't a question, it was a statement. When she nodded hesitantly he took her hand, burnished red with cold, gently in his and said, "It vos the egg. I vos vorking out the clue in the egg. You must not be thinking I am staying avay from you, I am not wanting to. I am vanting..."
Hermione blinked at him. "What do you want?"
Viktor did not answer her. Oh, he fully intended to, but the problem was that when he opened his mouth to speak he found that his lips had taken on a mind of their own and simply refused to do what he wanted them to anymore. Her lips were just as soft as he had dreamt they would be. The fingers of his left hand remained entangled around hers, and he hesitantly placed his right on her waist, noting the way she stood on tiptoes to receive his kiss and liking her all the more for it. She tasted of apples and passion and when he opened his eyes she looked faintly surprised, even with her own closed.
When finally they broke apart she was pinker than he had ever seen her and her curls tumbled loosely, the hat having fallen off. She plucked it from the ground, wiping the snow from it and made to put it on her head but Viktor pulled it gently from her grasp.
"Leave it off," he said.
A/N There's chapter 12, I hope it was enjoyable, sorry about the wait between chapters, I've been unbelievably busy over the past month. I know this chapter ends on kind of a cliffhanger but I promise it will be resolved in the next chapter, and I hope this was satisfactory for people who wanted a return to Hermione/Viktor. Anyway, let me know, good or bad. But hopefully good.
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