A/N: *Zooms in on a Firebolt*

*Swoops by, shoving the new chapter into your morning cuppa*

*Skyrockets off again, cackling madly*

xx-Kitten.

A Promise Unspoken

By Kittenshift17

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The roar of the crowd from the top box where she and the rest of Finn's supporters had been seated was almost deafening. Beside her, Harry and Ron were cheering wildly alongside the rest of the crowd, and Hermione couldn't help but shake her head and grin as she waited anxiously for the teams to make their appearances.

"You're fidgeting," Reina informed her, leaning over and prying the Shamrock out of Hermione's hands when she noticed the other witch had begun twisting it and looking on anxiously, waiting for the game to begin.

"Sorry," Hermione apologised.

"You're nervous for him?" Reina asked, smiling at her sideways.

Hermione nodded. "I know he'll be brilliant, but… he was so nervous when O'Malley insisted I had to leave the dressing sheds, Reina."

"He'll be fine," Reina told her. "He'll be amazing. He's Thor. He'll do great and we'll have to spend the rest of the summer hearing all about how bloody brilliant he is."

Hermione laughed, nodding as she felt some of her concerns melt away. Before she could open her mouth in response, suddenly the announcers began shouting about the arrival of the teams and Hermione's head jerked up, her eyes tracing the skies for some sign of Thorfinn.

It wasn't hard to spot him. His hulking form was hard to miss as he rocketed through the air, his thick mane of golden hair glinting in the flashing lights of the stadium as the Irish mascots performed and the entire crowd went wild, millions of wizards screaming and shouting with excitement and encouragement. Thorfinn looked the epitome of smug talent, one arm raised over his head and clutching his bat while the crowd cheered, the Irish all introduced by name. They flashed up a picture of him on the big-screen for everyone to see and Hermione aimed her camera, taking a photo of the man she'd fallen in love with as he winked cockily for the crowds, no trace of nervousness in sight.

"Merlin, the things I'm going to do to that man," Hermione muttered to herself as she shook her head, her smile so big she felt certain it was going to break her face.

Reina mimed gagging beside her, with sound effects, and Hermione blushed, batting at her best friend and shaking her head.

"Silencing charms at the Tower tonight will be vital, thank you," Reina informed her.

"Oh, stop," Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I'm just saying, I don't want to heart that," Reina informed her.

Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "I'm sure he'll be far too busy celebrating with the team to even make it home tonight," she said.

"And he'll have to fight Mum and Dad about taking you with him," Reina replied. "Just watch out for the paparazzi, yeah? The last thing we need is them getting wind of you and Thorfinn when you're not yet of age."

Hermione nodded in agreement, lifting her eyes back to the skies as the Bulgarians arrived on the pitch. They had Veela with them, and she had to intercede when both Harry and Ron looked ready to pitch themselves from the top-box for a chance to have the pretty creatures speak to them.

"Oh, bloody hell," Reina said when Ron struggled against Hermione's grip on him.

Hermione raised her eyebrows in shock when the little blonde witch leapt in front of the red-haired wizard and wrapped herself around his front, sufficiently distracting him when she planted her lips on Ron's and kissed him. Shocked, Hermione looked on in amused kind of horror as Ron struggled for a moment before one of his arms looped around Reina's middle, pressing her to him and kissing her. She got the feeling that Ron – addled by the Veela magic – thought he was snogging one of the pretty women down on the pitch, but Reina didn't seem to mind behind manhandled by the redhead.

Looking over at Ginny, who was making a face of disgust at the pair and looking sympathetically horrified on Reina's behalf, Hermione caught Ginny's eyes.

"Now's your chance to snog Harry," Hermione whispered to the other girl and Ginny looked at Harry where he was still enthralled by the Veela.

She grinned before copying what Reina had done, slotting herself in front of Harry despite the proximity of her brothers, and she curled her arms around Harry's neck. Hermione giggled, shaking her head as Ginny went up on her toes and stole a kiss from Harry lips, seeming to instantly break the hold of the Veela over the dark-haired wizard. Shaking her head, Hermione looked around the rest of the box, noticing that Fred and George were still watching the Veela too, but looked largely unaffected.

She caught Dolohov's eye when he looked in her direction, raising one eyebrow and Antonin shook his head before pointing at something in the sky. Hermione moved toward him, following his finger to see that Thorfinn was watching the Veela with a look of confused boredom as they danced.

"What?" she asked when she slotted herself into the small space next to him.

"What've you done to him?" Dolohov wanted to know, looking down at her for a long moment.

"Nothing," Hermione frowned.

Dolohov looked doubtful.

"The Thorfinn I know would've been plotting the fuck one of those Veela after the match," Dolohov told her, eyeing her like he wanted to pitch her over the railing of the top-box and watch her plummet all the way to the bottom. "Yet there he is, bored by the sight of them. So, what've you bloody done to him, Granger, that he's more interested in trying to fuck you that those beauties?"

"I haven't done anything to him," Hermione protested. "I don't know what you're attempting to insinuate, Dolohov, but I believe you're mistaken."

"You fucked him, didn't you?" Antonin asked, levelling a searching look at his best friend before looking back at Hermione scrutinisingly, his eyes narrowed.

Hermione suspected from the way he was eyeing her, he was coming at this with every trick he knew from his work as a curse breaker, looking for wavelengths in the magic that seemed to connect her and Thorfinn.

"No," Hermione shook her head.

"You did something," Antonin insisted, eyes narrowed. "There's no way he's not thinking about Veela pussy unless he's too busy daydreaming about yours. Let him have you, did you?" Antonin sneered, looking rather judgemental about the whole thing.

"I didn't shag him," Hermione protested hotly.

"Yeah, but I'll wager you did everything else," Antonin said darkly. "For fuck's sake. You're going to wreck him, Granger."

"I will do no such thing," Hermione protested, stomping her foot and crossing her arms over her chest in annoyance. "And besides, it was you pushing me to value the time with him now before the Rites drive us apart. Do try to keep from being so wishy-washy, Toshka. It's tiresome."

Dolohov's wand arm twitched like he wanted to smack her for her rudeness and for her continued use of the nickname he'd warned her not to use. Hermione stood her ground.

"Figured it all out then, have you?" he asked, narrowing his eyes before looking away.

"Figured all what out?" she asked.

Dolohov shot her a look and Hermione narrowed her eyes, supposing he was referring to his insistence that she and Finn would have a rough go of things during the Rites.

"There's nothing for it," Hermione sighed. "I still have to complete them, thanks to that ridiculous blood oath. And since he's already graduated, I can hardly finish them with his assistance."

"Yeah, well, every time another bloke is touching you, you should know that he burns with rage," Dolohov muttered as the quaffle was released and the match began.

Hermione noticed that Reina, Ron, Harry and Ginny all looked sheepish and embarrassed while the adults with them looked somewhat disapproving of their behaviour. Talon, in particular, looked like he planned to have a very stern and uncomfortable chat with his daughter just as soon as they were away from the public eye.

"There's nothing I can do about it," Hermione informed Antonin, looking up at him. "Short of smuggling him into the school – which will undoubtedly get me caught – there's nothing I can do except complete them with someone else."

"Theo, right?" Antonin asked, frowning at her.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and made a gesture with her hand, hoping he would keep it down lest Harry and Ron get wind that she'd been snogging Theo Nott in broom cupboards all over the school.

"We made a deal," Hermione nodded. "What's it to you, anyway?"

"I'm the one who has to deal with it when he loses control of his jealousy and wants to storm the school to kill the little bastard," Dolohov said. "Just… don't strain the bond more than necessary, Granger. If you've got to shag the little shit for these bloody Rites, do it, but get it over and done with and keep your hands off him when you're not completing one of the tasks, yeah?"

"I hardly think Thorfinn will be chaste and a saint while I'm shagging around for this bloody ritual," Hermione argued. "Don't you dare stand there and tell me to hurry up and shag someone, but only as much as strictly necessary. How is this any of your business? If Thorfinn can't control his temper, that's his problem."

"It's my problem when he fucking kills people," Dolohov hissed, narrowing his eyes and looking down at her like he thought her beyond stupid. "Who the fuck do you think helps him dump the bodies of the witches he fucks in that jealous rage when he takes too much of their magic? He's a bloody celebrity. He can hardly be seen dropping unconscious and magically drained witches to the bloody hospital when they're sticky with his come, now can he?"

"What are you talking about?" Hermione asked feeling sick at the question.

Dolohov looked down at her sharply, tracing his eyes over her face before his left eyebrow twitched and he suddenly looked like he knew something she didn't and like he wasn't about to tell her.

"Nothing," he muttered, looking away. "Just… get the Rites done with and don't be a bloody tart about it, alright?"

Hermione narrowed her eyes. If he were anyone else, she'd hold him at wand point until she got her answers out of him, but she knew that Antonin Dolohov was far meaner, far ruder, and far more dangerous that she could ever hope to be. Before she could push the issue, Ron and Harry sidled over to get a better view and probably to be nosey and make sure that Dolohov wasn't harassing her since they didn't really know that he was something of an ally to her, these days. Turning her attention back to the game, Hermione watched as the man she loved flogged Bludgers left and right, clobbering many of the Bulgarian players and making it clear just why he'd been selected to play for the international league.

She looked on with a wince when he managed to fling one at Krum just as he was going for the snitch, breaking Krum's arm if the wince of pain and the way he clutched the appendage to his chest was any indication. She wondered what a horrid person she must be that, along with all the other Ireland supporters, Hermione cheered over Finn's treatment of the opposing Seeker as he was forced to abandon his dive after the Snitch and to use his wand to try and heal his arm on his broom high above the stadium. Indeed, she was still cheering when the Bulgarian looked right at her, but Hermione couldn't find it in her to care.

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

They'd won!

They'd fucking won and Thorfinn Rowle was crowing it from the rooftops alongside the rest of his team. Swooping toward the top-box where his friends and family waited, Thorfinn landed, his eyes on his witch, and he scooped the curly haired little muggle-born into his embrace, laughing and jumping with glee.

All around him, people patted him on the back and Reina appeared, latching onto his arm and clinging to him, screaming her happiness and victory over the outcome of the match. Thorfinn laughed, turning in a circle with Hermione in his arms before he set her down to interact with everyone else. He wanted desperately to snog the witch, but he was uncomfortably aware of the press flocking the top-boxes, intent on getting interviews from the players. The last thing he needed was their victory tarnished by some plucky reporter writing a puff piece on his fascination with an underage witch.

Scooping up his sister and lifting her to balance her on his shoulders where she could cheer all the louder, Thorfinn was drawn into a back-slapping embrace from his grandfather before his grandmother pulled him down, kissing both of his cheeks and pronouncing him to be the brilliant young man she'd always known he could be. Potter was looking on and cheering – something a few reporters were avidly documenting – even if the git was wearing Bulgarian memorabilia, and the ginger kid Hermione associated was looking somewhat awed by his presence.

When O'Malley swooped over to hover above the box, his young son sitting on the broom in front of him and nodding to him that it was time for a victory lap, Thorfinn leaned toward Toshka – who was looking on with a small grin while he shook his head at all the excitement. His best friend, realising he wanted help getting Reina off his shoulders, lifted the small witch down, curling her into his embrace – which made Reina blush red as a tomato, no matter the two of them being Matched for the season.

"Princess?" Thorfinn asked, pushing through the crowd to his witch, noticing that she'd been jostled back and was standing beside his Gran shaking her head as she laughed.

"Don't even think about it," she warned him, spotting his intent to pull her onto his broom for their victory lap.

"Wouldn't have even been here without you, baby-girl," he grinned at her, reaching for her hand and pulling her into his embrace again, not caring if the reporters caught it all on tape.

"Thorfinn," she warned, looking alarmed.

Thorfinn laughed, twisting her into his embrace and guiding his broom between their legs before rocketing into the air to the sound of her scream. He could hear his family and friends all cheering, and he laughed as Hermione hung on for dear life.

"I'm going to get you for this!" she threatened over the roar of the crowd, but Thorfinn didn't heed the warning, joining with the rest of the team and looping around and around the stadium to the sound of the crowd roaring and cheering, the Irish national anthem being belted out over the wireless, the leprechauns all dancing and cheering. Moran was cheering, flying no-handed while he passed Thorfinn a bottle of fire-whiskey, his witch on the broom in front of him and clearly doing the steering.

Thorfinn accepted the bottle, making Hermione scream again when he swerved a bit to reach it before he took a long pull on the bottle.

"You want some, Princess?" he offered it to her and Hermione shook her head, clinging to the broom in a white-knuckled grip thanks to their speed.

Laughing, Thorfinn curled his arms around her, hooking his chin over her shoulder so he could see past her wild curls when the team put on a burst of speed and began flying loop-de-loops. He couldn't help but laugh all the more when Hermione screamed through every single one, never once relinquishing her hold on the broom.

"You're a bloody bastard, Thorfinn Rowle," she cursed when they stopped looping and began spiralling toward the ground where the team would undoubtedly all be interviewed, and the fans would all want autographs.

"Oi, O'Malley?" Thorfinn called. "You sure you want to take your kid down there? Bit hectic?"

O'Malley looked down, before shrugging his shoulders. "Once in a lifetime, eh?"

Thorfinn shrugged.

"Ready to be in the spotlight, Princess?" he asked of Hermione.

"I'm ready to get off this broom and beat you senseless with your bat, you bloody git!" Hermione retorted, making Moran's girl laugh out loud.

"Now, that's not very nice, baby-girl," Thorfinn laughed, amused by the little witch.

Before she could argue further they reached the ground and the flash on cameras snapping photos was blinding. Thorfinn kept a good grip on Hermione, refusing to let her be jostled aside or pushed out, refusing to let any of the reporters drag her away to interview her.

"Thorfinn Rowle, star of the hour. You've just played the match of your life. How do you feel?" a reporter asked, quill poised to take down his answers.

Knowing it was all part of being a celebrity and knowing it was good for Ireland and for the league, Thorfinn did his bit, answering the questions, posing for photos, letting them touch him when they had to. The sponsors were all there, handing out new brooms and Hermione looked alarmed when she was handed a Firebolt of her own, before someone plonked an Irish coloured top-hat her head, flicking her hair off her shoulders to let the world see that name ROWLE stamped across her chest thanks to her wearing one of his spare jerseys.

"What's your name, little lady? This will be on the front page of Quidditch Weekly. We love a super-fan and a free Firebolt is just the ticket, eh?" the sponsor said, the reporters poised for her name.

"Erm… my name is Hermione Granger," she said after glancing up at Thorfinn. He nodded at her, shooting her a wink and knowing she'd hate the publicity, but knowing it would only get worse if she didn't play along and answer their questions.

"A Rowle super-fan, by the looks, are you?" the sponsor asked, chuckling when he noticed her Irish-themed nail polish and rearranging her grip on the Firebolt to better catch the polish on her nails in the shot.

Hermione laughed. "I suppose I am," she admittedly blushing and looking up at Thorfinn. "His second biggest fan, I'd wager."

"Who's the biggest, eh Rowle?"

Thorfinn smirked.

"My kid sister, Reina," he said.

"Where's she?" the sponsor wanted to know.

Hermione looked up at him, panicked, and Thorfinn shrugged.

"Still cheering in the top-box with my folks," Thorfinn said. "She's a bit young for all this mess."

Hermione bit her lip, clearly aware that she wasn't much older, but Thorfinn didn't comment on it and the reporter didn't ask.

"Brilliant. And you, Miss Granger? Were you in the top-box supporting Rowle, too?" the interviewer asked.

"I was," Hermione nodded, looking nervous.

"Must be a great honour, taken on the victory flight along with the greatest Quidditch team in the world, eh?" the reported asked.

"Uh… yeah," Hermione nodded. "Um… delightful."

Thorfinn chuckled, leaning over to rescue her.

"I gave her a bit of a fright with the loop-de-loops," he told them. "Bit too fast for her, what with these brilliant Firebolt's. I think she might've left her tongue way up in the clouds, eh lads?"

The reporters all laughed, pleased with the endorsement on the speed of the brooms, and Hermione blushed appropriately, looking sheepish but pleased that he'd come to her rescue. The rest of the evening passed in much the same manner, people snapping photos, fans asking for autographs, reporters interviewing the entire team and the supporters. More than once, Thorfinn had to rescue his witch when the reporters got a little too pushy and she got tongue-tied, clearly not sure how much to give away when his career would be in jeopardy if they figured out how young she was. Thorfinn made sure to keep her tucked into his side as often as possible, caught somewhere between wanting the world to think he was a great sportsman looking out for a fan, and wanting them all to think she was his girlfriend and that she was older than she really was.

They just had to bluff their way through it and it seemed like hours before Hermione went up on her toes, pulling him down to whisper in his ear.

"I've got to go to the loo," she said. "And then I'll see if I can find the rest of your family, and Harry and Ron. They're probably getting worried."

"You want me to walk you, Princess?" Thorfinn asked frowning worriedly, on his umpteenth glass of whiskey thanks to the victory shots that Moran had begun passing around.

She shook her head. "You stay. You did so great, and you deserve all this hype, Finn."

Thorfinn grinned at her, wondering what they'd all make of things if he pulled her in and snogged her. Before he could think better of it, someone – Moran, he'd wager – bumped him from behind as he was stooping to keep eye contact with Hermione. She squeaked in surprise when his lips met hers, their noses bumping together before he laughed, going for it and kissing her no matter the flash of the cameras that went off over the idea of a winning player snogging a 'fan'.

When Hermione pulled away she was blushing crimson, though she was smiling widely, and the team began to cheer. Thorfinn knew they'd been trying to figure out what he and Hermione were to one another, and if any of them were aware of the age difference, they didn't comment on it, which he was thankful for.

"I'll see you later," Thorfinn promised Hermione when she began backing away, still intent on finding a loo.

She nodded, looking entirely too pleased despite the danger of people finding out what they were to one another. Thorfinn was too high on life to care right then. It never occurred to him as he watched his witch disappear into the crowd that she might soon be in more danger than she'd ever been before that moment, even with all her questionable choices where Potter was concerned. It didn't occur to him that there might be people in that crowd who hated muggles and thought muggleborns were scum enough that they would don masks, and stage an attack on the only muggles for miles around.

But there were, and they did.