Whew, I'm back! Thank you for the outpouring of love and kind words for Vol II — I'm immensely grateful, and to all the anonymous guest reviewers I can't contact directly, thank you.

Vol III represents a darker time for our couple. I won't pretend OoTP isn't one of my least favourite books of the series, and that I know it less well than the others. So, I'll probably take more artistic licence with this 'adaption' than I did GoF. However, first things first; some fun, fluffy summer escapades. I want this to be about character development and less about 'plot', although for the very eagle-eyed of my readers you may pick up on some details that will undoubtedly shape the course of Viktor & his family's involvement in the second wizarding war and lay the groundwork for the chaos that is Hermione's fifth year.

'Mum, Dad, come on!'

Hermione was in a flap. She flew down the stairs, a tatty duffle bag slung over one shoulder and a sleeping bag over the other. Reaching the bottom step, she narrowly missed trampling an indignant Crookshanks that would've had her diving headfirst into the enormous pile of suitcases, cool-boxes, family-sized tents and a twenty-four pack of bottled water deposited on the doormat.

'We're going to be late!' She shrieked into the kitchen where her mother was still playing Tetris with their weathered cooler. Food supplies were strewn across the counter, all neatly wrapped in kitchen foil and labelled in black sharpie. Jean Granger inclined her head and closer examined the two boxes of breakfast cereal in her hands, weighing each one up in her mind.

'Do you think Viktor will prefer cheerios or raison bran?' She said absently. Hermione made a high-pitched noise of frustration and turned on her heel, speeding through the otherwise spotless house towards the Conservatory to find her father and almost flattening Crookshanks once more as he trailed her.

David Granger was in no closer state of readiness than his wife. As Hermione stormed through the adjoining glass door from the living room he glanced up from the tangle of tension straps on the tiled floor. At least he had the decency to look guilty, Hermione thought amidst her flustered ruminations.

'Dad! We're supposed to be picking Viktor up at twelve on the dot! Its eleven thirty and we've not even packed up the car yet!' Breathing heavily through her flared nostrils, Hermione threw her sleeping bag down onto the sofa and crossed her arms, 'You know we can't be late, we've been over this!'

Mr Granger waved a dismissive hand and gave his daughter an indulgent smile. 'You're fretting too much, Hermione. We'll be bang on time, I promise,' He abandoned his attempts to reorder the ropes that would strap their kayaks to the car roof and turned to her. 'Why are you so worried, anyway? Viktor's a big boy, he'll be fine. He can just fetch himself a coffee if we're a few minutes behind schedule —'

'Dad!' Hermione's voice reached a new hysterical high. 'Leaving a Pureblood wizard outside the tube station at midday on a Saturday is tantamount to neglect. Imagine leaving a small child in the supermarket by themselves and asking them to do the weekly shop. He's never been alone in muggle London before,' She paused. 'At least not that I know of. But that's not important. Heaven's knows what will happen!'

…

As was often the case for Hermione, working herself up into a frenzy hadn't proven all that effective. Cognisant of her tendency to organise and to panic, her parents simply let her get on with it and only a short while later, having made quick work of fitting their camping supplies into every nook and cranny of the car, the Granger family set off with minutes to spare.

A part of her regretted not suggesting to Viktor that he should apparate directly to her address, although the theory suggested it'd be near enough impossible for him to be so accurate, not to mention he'd been unusually evasive on the matter of his travel plans. Falling back on the trusty contents of the library before the end of term, Hermione had rifled through book after book on the topic, and discovered, according to The Three D's: Destination, Determination and Deliberation, Viktor's visualisation of the London suburb could bring him anywhere in the area, since he'd never been there in the flesh. With that in mind, Hermione had described the memorable facade of her local underground station until Viktor could recite it verbatim and just hoped that he'd end up somewhere near there… and, god forbid, not inside someone else's home or garden shed. She could practically hear the headlines in the Daily Prophet now: Muggle finds Quidditch star sprawled in her rose bushes after apparition gone wrong!

They'd only been apart for less than a week, but Hermione had to admit she'd never missed anyone half as much, mostly because they'd only been able to exchange one letter in that time. Other than a brief note to announce he'd made it home safely, Viktor had been unreachable. Granted, she couldn't deny him the time alone to battle his demons and work out his plans for the following year, but after a day or two with no contact she found herself desperate just to hear from him. She was no stranger to radio silence on the owl front — Harry and Ron were notoriously bad at communicating during the holidays — but since Viktor had recovered from his run in with Mr Crouch they'd hardly spent any time away from each other.

Despite her best efforts to occupy her time with schoolwork, Hermione's parents seemingly had other plans for the short period they had their daughter to themselves. In only a matter of hours after departing Kings Cross, Hermione had been interrogated within an inch of her sanity by her mother and, on the premise of beginning her summer homework, barricaded herself into a room and tried to think of anything except for her Bulgarian 'bon bon'. Surprisingly, Dad had been almost as bad — she'd exerted a considerable amount of energy trying to convince him that Quidditch players were unlike football or rugby celebrities in the muggle world and certainly didn't carry the same reputation (although, arguably, she only had Viktor and Vasily to go on). All the mentions of Viktor had left her restless and unable to sleep; not that it wasn't already tough to do so alone. That first night by herself was strange every year. Not only was it eerily quiet without Lavender's soft snores and Parvati's continuous fidgeting, but neither Harry nor Ron had bid her goodnight. It was funny, really. She spent most of the year at odds with her boys in some capacity, but the moment they were separated she felt their absence. Nonetheless, it didn't compare to the physical ache in her chest whenever she thought of Viktor.

So, it was with a dizzy mixture of impatience and giddy excitement that she flung herself out of the car as they reached the station. Running as fast as her legs would carry her, Hermione wound through the crowds of people exiting the station, bounded across the ticket hall and out to the red-bricked station entrance. So far it was promising to be an uncharacteristically hot summer — the sticky, fitful sleep kind — and her sudden exertion saw her sweating in seconds, a single bead of liquid trickling down her spine. Amidst her gleeful thoughts, she agreed that the moment she was done showing him how much she'd missed him, she'd be begging him to cast a cooling charm on the car. There were many advantages to having a boyfriend of age in the wizarding world, after all.

She spotted him in an instant. In spite of a convincing effort with his clothing, Viktor still stood out like a sore thumb amongst the hoards of muggles going about their business. From her vantage point Hermione was able to approach him unseen, chewing her bottom lip to stop herself from laughing as she noticed the glances many of the muggles were shooting him. Arguably, some of it must've been down to his striking appearance (emphasised by the invisible aura of magic that hummed around him), but she suspected his bewildered expression also had something to do with it. It wasn't often tourists ventured this far from The City and Viktor's wide-eyed perusal of the newspaper stands and market stalls suggested he was from much farther afield than just south of the Thames.

Barely able to stifle her giggles, nor wait even a second longer, Hermione crept up behind him and threw her arms around his neck. Her heart thumped noisily inside her chest as she nuzzled her face into the taught muscle below his shoulder blades and sighed happily, the tension of the morning vanishing in seconds. Viktor seemed to recognise her by either scent or touch, for, instead of tensing at the sudden attack, he relaxed into her hold.

'Boo,' She whispered into the fabric of his t-shirt and hugged him tightly, pressing her body flush against his. 'Sorry about the time. I hope you've not been waiting long?'

'I do not think so…' He said in a soft, distracted tone.

'Viktor?'

Hermione rocked onto her tiptoes to peer past him then, searching for whatever was so fascinating that it had stolen her romantic vision of being swept off her feet. Not letting up on her bone-crushing hug, she observed the orderly queue of Londoners squeezing through the ticket barriers and climbing onto the escalators that carried them to and from the platforms.

She snorted and poked him reprovingly. An escalator was more interesting than her? 'See? We do just fine without magic,' She smiled ruefully against his shoulder. 'Now shift it, Mr. Krum, my parents are dying to meet you.'

That seemed to bring Viktor back to his senses. He looked sideways down at her and a lopsided grin broke out over his face — it had been too long since she'd seen him smile like that. He ducked his head by way of hello and Hermione wobbled onto her tiptoes, brushing her lips against his. Catching her off guard, Viktor kissed her with a breathless urgency that conveyed just how much he too had missed her, leaving Hermione dazed when it was over.

'Our carriage awaits?' Viktor said dryly.

'If you can call my Dad's Honda Accord a carriage, sure. I don't think Madam Maxine would even fit her big toe in it comfortably.'

Hermione would've put money on Viktor never having set foot in a car. Although his eyes glinted at her poor attempt at a joke, his blank expression betrayed his lack of understanding, not that it mattered — he was about to get closely acquainted with muggle methods of travel. One thing Hermione had learnt about the wizarding world was that when it came to transport, they liked things to be as quick as possible: apparating, floo, brooms, they didn't hang about. Idling away in a car with a temperamental A/C system for four hours wasn't anyone's idea of a good time, but it was preferable to side-along apparition (according to Harry).

Both Mum and Dad were eagerly waiting for them when they finally ambled into the car park. Jean Granger was craning her head to get a good first glimpse at Viktor, and when she did her face split into a beaming smile.

'Mum, Dad. This is Viktor, Viktor Krum.' Hermione introduced him in a cautiously flat voice, out of habit more than anything. Very infrequently did the latter incite such a restrained response.

Much to her relief, none of her parent's concern over Viktor's age or their unique situation showed in their expressions. They greeted him with the same good-natured enthusiasm they'd shown all of her friends, and none of the awe that might be expected of a parent with a child in the wizarding world. Here, Viktor Krum was just Viktor… her boyfriend. Apparently, this brought the wizard in question some comfort, as the vein under his left eye that jumped when he was nervous stopped twitching, and he looked up from the floor. It was evident that he was trying, and as he shook hands with Hermione's father he did so with more of the ease Hermione readily associated with his usual Pureblood manners. However, it was his bowing to Mum and formally kissing her hand that appeared to win them both over, if Mum's girlish laugh and Dad's raised eyebrows were anything to go by.

'We best get going then, kiddos. Our pitching spot is open from four and the motorway will be jam packed already,' He paused to assess Viktor's apparent lack of luggage. 'Travelling light, son?'

As if on cue, Viktor reached into the back pocket of his shorts and produced a bag that fit into the palm of his hand. It looked like the Pac-A-Mac that Hermione's father insisted on bringing whenever they went hiking, rain or shine. Glancing around, Viktor murmured something under his breath and it expanded to its full size — though still considerably lighter than Hermione's own attempt at packing.

Neither David nor Jean Granger said anything in response to Viktor's candid use of magic, instead relieving him of his bag with a fleeting look at each other and ushering them both into the car. It wasn't often her parents saw such overt use of magic, and other than Professor McGonagall's visit to their home all those years ago, it had only ever been in Diagon Alley, where spell-work was the least eye-catching thing on show.

They all clambered into the car. Mum resumed her position, map spread out over her thighs and started to hand out bottles of water. Noticing Viktor hadn't buckled himself in, Hermione cleared her throat softly and stretched over him, pulling the strap across his chest. If Viktor wondered what on earth she was doing he didn't ask, although his fingertips did flutter across her back appreciatively — but she put that down to the position, and not her caution. With Hermione's mother watching them like a hawk he didn't dare tease her, but she smirked at him nonetheless.

As the engine clattered into life, the A/C whirring as though it were about to take off, the car cooled noticeably and she cast him an appreciative smile, settling into her seat with a contented sigh. She'd dreamt of this ever since her mother had proposed the idea; she had Viktor all to herself and they were heading far, far away from any of their kind. There would be no looking over their shoulders — they could be normal teenagers.

Predictably, the moment they joined the motorway, her father interrupted Hermione and Viktor's low chatter to commence the cross-examination of his Bulgarian guest.

'So… Viktor,' Dad met Hermione's gaze in the car's rear view mirror and she frowned as he quirked an eyebrow. 'This must be a bit different for you? Our Hermione has told us you're quite the outdoorsy type, but I imagine our past times must seem very dull compared to what you're used to.'

Viktor's eyes crinkled in amusement. 'I politely disagree, Sir. I am looking forward to our trip, since I am always preferring to escape my world when I can. It is not so often that I haff the opportunity to go away because of my mother and father's work, as well as my own commitments. It is very quiet for me where I live, so when I am not flying or training with my team, I am having a quiet summer with my friends. Hermione will see, there is not much else to do where I am from, you understand.'

Hermione did her best not to display her surprise — Viktor had never been particularly loquacious, so his response was as close to a speech as he was ever going to make. Evidently he didn't want to appear rude, and it made a strong surge of affection rise in her chest.

'Is flying popular in Bulgaria then?'

'Yes, Sir. But maybe not as much as here. English wizards are more modern than us, I haff decided and although there are some good teams in my home country, we admire your league very much. It was very clear to me at Hogwarts that flying is an obsession… for most.' He drifted off. Hermione had an idea of to whom he was alluding and subsequently coloured, the blush reaching her roots as she recalled her display of terror on Valentine's Day.

'And what about you, dear?' Hermione's mother turned in her seat to join the conversation. 'Will you play this Kwiddish for your whole life?'

Hermione had to look away. Squashing her laughter, she stared out of the car window and let the rush of trees and other vehicles pass by, trying not to appear too interested in Viktor's reply — she had long wondered what was on the cards for him after he retired from professional sport.

'Ah, no. Hopefully, I will haff a very successful career, but is not forever. I am wanting to win the European and World Cups first, as well as achieving top rank as seeker, and then maybe I shall retire. Since I was little boy I wanted to become international Hit Wizard. Maybe I will do that, or maybe I will follow in my father and grandfather's footsteps. I haff some years to decide, but my father would like that I choose a path before I am turning twenty-one.'

Both Hermione and her mother were taken aback by Viktor's desire to join the magical world's equivalent of a S.W.A.T team; Hermione's brow creased into a look of great concern and she unwittingly dug her fingers into his knee, seeking reassurance. Was she destined to always have to worry about his welfare? He'd never mentioned it to her before now and it sent her insides spinning once more.

'I see. So, Viktor, what is it that your parents do then?' Mrs Granger added quickly in a voice that did nothing to hide her curiosity.

There was a long, pregnant pause as though Viktor was working out how best to answer.

'My mother is a healer back in Bulgaria, Madam Granger,' Hermione's mother flushed at the title and, tittering unexpectedly, invited him to call her Jean. 'Most of the time she is working out of her own hospital in Varna, but often she is called out to special cases across Europe because she specialises in complicated cases of spell damage. In fact she is working some days at St. Mungo's at the minute for a tricky patient with memory problems. As for my father… He works for our Ministry, which Hermione tells me is like your —'

'Government,' Hermione supplied.

'Yes. For a long time my father was just Head of Magical Enforcement, but now he also acts diplomat with our magical neighbours and is consultant for cases of very dark magic, er, for wizards and witches who use their skills for bad.'

'Oh, something like our Commissioner then?' David said and Viktor looked questioningly at Hermione, who's worried visage had become carefully empty. Over the years she'd tried to be honest with her parents about the threats she'd faced, but the events of the previous school year had been deliberately omitted. Theoretically they understood the risk Voldemort posed, even if they didn't truly comprehend the peril that lay ahead.

'Yes, Dad. Kind of like that, I guess. Viktor's dad deals with the kinds of wizards and witches who subscribe to You-Know-Who's ideologies… the ones who don't like us very much.' The rest of Hermione's words died on her lips, and memories of the maze flooded to the forefront of her mind.

There was a sudden, sharp intake of breath. She wasn't sure who it'd had come from, but her father had jabbed on the breaks, jolting them all in their seats.

'That's what the seatbelt is for,' Hermione said to a very rigid Viktor in an undertone. 'Anyway, Viktor, why don't you tell Dad about the team you want to play for next season? I kind of butchered the explanation, and my parents are too polite to ask you about your success because they think it's a taboo topic.'

Mum's countenance suggested she had no such qualms, but Viktor visibly relaxed at the change of topic and he launched into a thorough explanation of the international transfer process that carried them out of London and westwards without further mention of the dark shadow that stalked them both.

…

'Our junction is up next,' Mr Granger said cheerfully over two hours later. After a lively discussion about Viktor's Quidditch prowess had petered out into the occasional question about his upbringing, Hermione and Viktor were able to return their attention to each other, catching up on everything that had happened since Hermione's carriage departed the school grounds. That was, until her father called to the car at large: 'Anyone for a quick stop before we head out into the sticks?'

'Ooo, I'd kill for a tea!' Hermione's mother said enthusiastically and twisted her body to invade the back of the car, pretending — and failing — to appear as though she hadn't been watching them in the mirror for the best part of an hour.

'Tea would be good.' Hermione agreed.

'I am fine, but please do not change your plans for my accord.' Viktor said politely, although Hermione suspected he'd not understood a word of her father's announcement. Maybe it was just her imagination, but he did seem to be sagging in his seat, his eyelids drooping every now and then; so she concurred on his behalf. Chuckling under her breath, and not minding one bit that she'd be acting as translator for the next few days, Hermione gave her Mum a thumbs up and peered out the window in anticipation. It had always been something of a treat for her as a child to stop at the services on a road trip, primarily because her parents would allow her to choose an ice cream (a special occasion indeed) and additionally as she'd been so enamoured by the crates of holiday supplies that were stacked up to tempt passers by on their way to the toilets. She didn't suppose Viktor would care much for the piles of colourful beachballs, cheap buckets and spades or, Hermione's childhood favourite, the inflatable dingies, but she found herself keen to see his reaction anyway. For a young child, or a sheltered Pureblood wizard, it was an incontrovertible playground.

In the end Viktor said very little; the way his eyes lit up as he took it all in told her everything she needed to know. Dragging him away from the casino lounge, her senses overloaded by the gaudy lights and overwhelming noises, she walked with Viktor to join the queue for the loos, privately crossing her fingers that no harm would befall him in the gents. They ended up perusing the mountains of paperbacks on sale in W. while her parents waited in a mammoth line for hot drinks and Hermione was soon lost in a joyous haze of literature. Busy reading the back cover of a crime novel she didn't register Viktor's presence behind her until his arms slid around her waist and his chin came to rest on the crown of her head.

'I missed you,' He said, lacing his fingers together over her stomach. 'And now I haff you all to myself.'

Hermione smiled blissfully to herself and, resting her hands on his sinewy forearms, tilted her head up so that his chin slipped over her forehead. 'Except for my parents, and yours next week.'

Viktor's answering laughter rumbled in his chest and sent sparks coursing through her body. She had the sneaking suspicion that wasn't much of a hurdle for him, and the vision of them curled up in a sleeping bag — rather innocently — materialised in her mind's eye. On more than one occasion in her dorm at Hogwarts she'd awoken imagining Viktor was at her side, his arms draped over her, limbs tangled in hers and breathing softly into her hair as he slept. What would it be like to know that vulnerable side of him? It had only crossed her mind in the latter stages of their time together at school how much of an adult relationship she wanted with him; not just the intimacy, but the joys of being home alone together and sharing his bed. She supposed that was part of growing up and being with someone for the first time, not that it made it any easier to know it wasn't a reality for them.

Mulling over these thoughts Hermione only vaguely noticed Viktor's bodyweight growing heavier as he rested more of it on her, as though he were using her as a frame to hold himself up.

'Maybe we need to get you to bed sooner rather than later,' She teased, shivering at the flicker of heat that arose at the thought. However, instead of taking the bait, Viktor lolled his head on hers again, the weight of his six-foot frame making Hermione tremble with the effort of not collapsing underneath him. He was tracing circles on the palm of her hand, the kind of lazy affection she associated with him being exhausted from training. Knowing him as well as she did, he was surely out of it.

'Viktor, you're starting to worry me.' She said slowly.

The gears of her brain whirled back to the moment she'd sprung on him at the station. Hermione had been so overwhelmed and relieved to see him that she'd not considered his behaviour was down to anything other than disorientation. He was acting as though he was fatigued, and not just the kind of lethargy that came after a late night. She'd overlooked it because she loved this side of him, and now she was concerned.

'It is the apparating,' He admitted after a drawn-out pause in which one hand drifted to her hip. 'It has drained my magic. I am fine, though it has taken a toll on my body.'

'I meant to ask how you managed that, but —'

'You were haffing a thousand and one other more important questions?' Viktor said with a twinkle in his eye. Attempting to look affronted at this, Hermione huffed and tapped his shin disapprovingly with the back of her sandal.

'Maybe,' She said indignantly. 'I was under the impression that only side-along apparition made you feel off…?'

Viktor pressed his forehead against her scalp and nodded only a fraction. 'International apparition can sap a wizard's energy. Before you ask, is not possible to make the journey from my home to yours in one jump. Maybe in theory it is possible, but I think it would haff killed me since I haff only had my licence for one year. When I was taking my exam, they told us horror stories of a witch who tried to journey from Bulgaria to Madagascar in one go. Apparently, she left her head and one side of her body behind, but maybe that is just a tale to stop us splinching.'

Hermione blinked. She'd always thought apparition was strictly for domestic travel, and, besides, who would want to put their body through that? A hundred more immediate questions jostled to be asked next.

Deliberately, as if she didn't want to know the answer, she said, 'So if you didn't come straight here, then where did you stop?'

In a drowsy tone Viktor began to list countries, ticking them off one-by-one on her fingers as he went.

'I started this morning very early. We haff family friends in Belgrade, so I stopped there for breakfast. After that I was feeling a bit more brave, so I travelled to an apparition point in Ljubljana where I played a match some years ago. Unfortunately, it was maybe too adventurous for a wizard as young as me, and I had to rest for a long time so I would not be sick. By the time I made it to your home I was visiting Cologne and Rotterdam too. Now I feel like I could sleep for a day and sustaining that cooling charm was, how to say, the icing on the cake.'

Hermione stared at him in stunned silence. All the while she'd been fretting over whether her neighbour would remember to feed Crookshanks on time, Viktor had been hopping across Europe and depleting his magical core with every jump. Ron's words 'you're mental!' echoed in her head. Surely, he couldn't have chosen to do that willingly?

'Viktor…' She said gingerly, gripping his hands and bracing herself, unable to draw the conclusion he was so obviously trying to avoid revealing. 'Couldn't you just have arranged an international portkey or something? Something less taxing?'

In almost a year of dating Hermione had done a very good job at preventing herself from scolding him. According to Ron it wasn't a trait most wizards liked in a girlfriend and, what's more, Viktor hadn't given her too much cause to berate him — he wasn't often as reckless as her friends. Nonetheless, that had sounded like a scolding even to her ears. Viktor sighed in response.

'My father did make the request when I got home, but since he has taken sides with Albus my family is not on good terms with your Ministry. They declined it and haff labelled him a colluder in Harry's "false" narrative. I was having no other option.'

There was a horrible sinking feeling in Hermione's gut. This was why she'd subscribed to the Daily Prophet — not only to hear rumours ahead of them breaking at Hogwarts — but because she was anticipating the fall out of Professor Dumbledore's proclamation to the school and the Ministry that Voldemort was back. Not once had she considered that Viktor and his family would get caught up in it, nor that he would go to any means to get to England as not to disrupt their plans.

'I love you,' She whispered suddenly, turning carefully in his arms and capturing his lips in a fearful kiss. 'I love you so much, you silly, silly man.'

…

Viktor slept for the remainder of the car journey. The rhythmic purr of the vehicle soothed him into a relatively settled sleep and he woke only when the car was bouncing over a dirt track littered with holes. Perhaps it wouldn't have been his first choice for transportation, but the way Hermione had snuggled up against him and held his hand the entire time made it preferable to flying — something she still refused to do with her eyes open and without fierce cajoling.

'Welcome, kiddos, to the Forest of Dean!' Hermione's father said in an empathic tone, tooting the car horn and receiving a disapproving look from his wife.

It felt like forever before the car finally came to a halt. Despite Hermione's hushed orders to 'rest' Viktor refused to stand aside and let her parents unload without support, so he joined the three of them parading back and forth to an unmarked patch of grass that appeared to mean something to everyone but him. Their closest neighbours were quite some way away, far enough that he couldn't hear the family of five lounging outside their voluminous tent without the aid of an amplification charm.

At the foot of the space where they were dumping their things was a winding river, the sound of which roared in Viktor's ears as he traced its source as far back as he could see; it disappeared off into a valley of idyllic, forested hillsides, rocky outcrops and swathes of lush greenery. He exhaled loudly. This was exactly what he needed after what had been one hell of a year.

Feeling rejuvenated just at the sight of their 'campsite', Viktor threw himself into unpacking the car with Hermione's father as the other two made a start on erecting the tents, smirking to himself when he noticed both Hermione and Jean glancing at him as they extracted the contents of three tents and not two. He'd done a double-take when first meeting Hermione's mother; they shared almost identical features, though it seemed her iconic, riotous curls came from her father's side of the family.

'This is very beautiful place,' Viktor commented as they examined the last of the luggage. 'You are coming here often as a family?'

'Not as much as we'd like to; we used to come several times a year when Hermione was little, but we don't get much opportunity now she's at Hogwarts. Sadly, there's not many places you can wild camp in the U.K. anymore, but Jean has known the owner of this site since she was roughly your age, so we get a good spot where we can pretend it's like the good old days. If you look over there, you'll see the main campsite, with the showers and such.'

Viktor followed the direction in which David was pointing and caught sight of a field of tents through a thick wall of trees. The facilities couldn't get worse than those offered at training camps, he thought with a skeptical twitch of his lips. Maybe he'd throw caution to the wind and bathe in the river; it'd be just like the trip he'd taken with a group of friends in the French alps, although he suspected only one third of this party would be pleased to discover him in the nude. Communal showers it was, then — shame.

There wasn't much opportunity for pleasant conversation after that. Much to his amusement and David's well-practiced indifference, Hermione and her mother spent the next few hours bickering over the instructions, each insisting the other listen to their interpretation of the complex diagrams and jabbing at the paper booklet in vehement whispers that grew to inflamed cries as the afternoon progressed. Hermione's father explained in a long-suffering undertone that it was 'the same every year' and Viktor remarked that it was quite clear where Hermione had picked up some of her fiercer traits, resulting in a loud, mirthful snort and a wry smile from the older man.

Viktor followed her father's lead and allowed himself to be bossed around quite happily, grinning crookedly at Hermione whenever she asked him to do exactly what her mother had just asked David to do for her, commenting under his breath how his girlfriend — hair plaited messily down her back, hands on her hips and pouting invitingly — looked like a force to be reckoned with. What he didn't say aloud, however, was how tempting she was to him with her burning cheeks, face scrunched up in concentration and those shorts… Oh yes, the shorts. Hermione might've been none the wiser about how an innocent piece of clothing like that would've been cause for scorn in Pureblood circles, Viktor, on the other hand, was thrilled she'd ditched the baggy layers she'd worn at school and was opting for something a bit more revealing. The inflexible denim was like a second skin over her pert bottom and they were cut just above her creamy thighs— it took all his energy (already in short supply) not to be caught ogling her whenever she bent over the skeletal frame of the three tents to inspect his work. If her parents hadn't been present he could've wrestled her to the ground and demonstrated how much he appreciated her muggle summer wardrobe… Damn, Viktor, its only been a month since you've been intimate. Get a grip. It was YOUR fault, after all.

Smiling wistfully, Viktor threw himself back into constructing their temporary dwelling, privately relieved that he could do so without magic and pretend he was part of her simple world for just a little while. The whole process was clumsy without the aid of charms; nonetheless, it turned out to be quite enjoyable hammering in the stakes and connecting all the poles, even more so when he realised the effect it was having on Hermione; egotistical he was not, but her flustered reaction did the world of good for his mood (and made him feel less pervy for his earlier wandering thoughts).

The sun had already begun to set before they finished. Rich hues of red blended with orange and crimson illuminated their camp in a warm glow and eased the last of the tension from Viktor's muscles. Admiring his work with a frisson of pride, he caught Hermione's waist with his palm and tucked her into his side to watch the last of the sunlight melt into the horizon, teasing the belt loops of her shorts with his fingertips.

'So, which tent is to be mine?' He said softly, only a glimmer of humour in his voice. 'Sadly I notice there are three, so I will not haff you to keep me warm at night.'

Hermione giggled and swotted at his wandering hand. He didn't dare go any further, as chaste as his intentions were, for he could feel two sets of eyes boring a hole into the back of his skull. It made the smile on his face spread even wider.

'The one in the middle. Mum wants to be stationed between us in case you try any funny business: her words, not mine.'

'Me?' Viktor said incredulously, though it wasn't entirely convincing even to his ears.

'Yes, you. She seems to think you're going to pounce on me the minute their backs are turned.'

'Will I not?' Viktor replied. 'Hm, but it sounds so tempting,'

Hermione peeled his fingers off her with another peal of laughter and reached up to peck him on the cheek. Her plump lower lip ghosted the curve of his jaw and he felt a familiar lick of heat in his gut. Fine, maybe I wouldn't be able to control myself.

'However, I am reminding you that it was you who jumped on me last time… with your delicious, wicked little mouth of yours.'

It was worth any potential consequence to see the blush that spread over Hermione's entire face, neck and down past her coral pink vest-top to the chest he'd equally been averting his gaze from all day. Viktor ignored the stirring inside his own shorts at the memory of the last time they'd been able to be together intimately and stepped around her to kneel by the river, where he began to splash his face with the perishing water, trying his hardest to look angelic.

Hermione knelt at his side and did the same, squealing when the icy liquid made contact with her skin. She scowled as though it were his fault and then a dangerous look flittered across her face for the briefest of moments. As she spoke her voice wobbled in mild embarrassment, however, her expression remained unflinching.

'That's categorically untrue, and you know it. If you could keep your hands off my… ass, then we wouldn't have ended up doing half of what we have.'

Viktor only had enough time to open his mouth to offer an indecent response — his infatuation with her rear apparently hadn't gone unnoticed — before she splashed him, covering him in droplets that burned his skin as if he'd been touched by fire. Viktor spluttered in surprise and then, impulsively, he splashed her back and delighted in the high-pitched shriek that burst from her lips, moving just fast enough to avoid being doused again.

Hermione's top became gradually more translucent as Viktor nimbly slopped water over her, tactically aiming for her chest and not her face anymore, much to Hermione's amused exasperation and his unabashed glee. By the time Hermione's father called them over for dinner they were both sopping and laughing manically, their clothing drenched and stomachs tight from the fits of giggles.

It was the closest Viktor had come to feeling his age since the final task. Overcome by a rush of strong emotions, he crushed his arms around her and kissed her damp temple repeatedly, no doubt betraying every one of his thoughts in his features — not that he cared one bit. Only Hermione could make him feel so free and unburdened of the complicated situation back in Bulgaria between his father and the authorities.

'You're incorrigible,' Hermione muttered eventually and shot him a covert glance that told him it was said with fondness. Viktor pinched her cheek and without a word of warning shook his wet hair, spraying her one last time with the remnants of their battle. All too aware that Hermione could be a dark horse at times, he set off at a sprint in the direction of his tent, not wanting to succumb to her counterattack, leaving her gaping at him in shock.

He thought he heard Hermione's mother laughing as he zipped up the tent vestibule and peeled off his clothing; it stuck to him in an unsavoury manner thanks to a mingling of sweat and river water. Padding around the surprisingly spacious enclosure in just his shorts, Viktor tentatively produced his wand from the waistband of his shorts and gave it an experimental swish, and, to his surprise and relief, the sleeping bag that had been lovingly laid out for him morphed (somewhat grudgingly) into a sizeable mattress, albeit a lumpy one. It seemed his care-free tussle with Hermione had replenished more than his good humour: maybe their time together would be just the type of healing he desperately needed.

Viktor changed his clothing and ventured back out of the tent to where the Granger family were gathered in a circle around a small fire, loading their plates with food from a towering stack of discoloured Tupperware, and talking amongst themselves. He lowered himself into a fold-out chair at Hermione's side and scooted it closer so that their knees bumped — when their eyes met she looked at him with such a softness that he knew she too must be thinking about their first date. That night they had also perched by a bonfire, legs crossed awkwardly on their camping chairs, and eaten off plastic plates; the only difference had been their shyness around one another. So much had changed.

'We are just needing some fireworks to complete the moment,' He said quietly, tilting his head towards the sky. Of all the memorable milestones in his life, that night still held a prominent place in his heart, and he knew he'd have to hold onto it tightly over the year ahead.

'Would you like a beer, Viktor?' Hermione's father called over from where he was rummaging in a cool box. 'It's tradition for our first night, mind you!'

'Sure,' Hermione passed it along to him and he examined the can with interest. Although his parents had been giving him small measures of wine and liquor since he was young, he'd never really been a big drinker. His dedication to Quidditch had stamped out any opportunity for partying and drunkenness, not that his team mates over the years hadn't given it their best shot, and Valentin refused to consume anything alcoholic that wasn't Rakia which made Viktor's head throb the morning after.

This beer was a dark, ruby colour and filled him with a heady, warm sensation that made his vision swim and his limbs feel languid. When they toasted to the commencement of their holiday, Hermione wrinkled her nose and clinked the can with her glass of water, murmuring something about 'poor taste'. It earned her a nudge from Viktor's thigh and a wink, as well as an (slightly) insincere declaration to the group that he thought it was great.

The evening passed in a bleary haze of rich food, easy conversation and many more beers. Viktor's earlier drowsiness returned with force and, when he almost nodded off in his seat, Jean Granger ordered them all to bed for an early night. Too tired even to lumber over to the showers, Viktor crouched by the river to brush his teeth, unable to find the energy to wish Hermione's parents anything but a polite goodnight before collapsing onto the sinking mattress and closing his eyes.

…

Hermione had stayed awake for a number of hours after Viktor kissed her goodnight outside her tent. Her mind was filled with memories of their day — how happy she was; how easily Viktor seemed to get on with her parents; the way his mischievous teasing about their rendezvous on the Durmstrang ship had caused a wonderful warmth to spread through her body. Above all else, she worried that it was too good to be true. She tossed and turned in her sleeping bag, her legs flailing about as she struggled to get comfortable and stay cool. Outside, it was still sweltering, and it was impossible to sleep without the fan she usually had set up by her bed in the summer months.

Nevertheless, she must have dozed off at some point after midnight, since the next thing she knew Mum had unzipped her tent and stuck her head through to wake her up.

'Up with you, sleepyhead,' Jean said. 'And go and wake that boyfriend of yours, I'm frightened your father poisoned him with that stout. Not intentionally, I must add!'

A quick check of her watch told Hermione it was just gone seven. No wonder neither of them were awake yet, and as Hermione thrashed around in the cocoon of her sleeping bag to free herself, she wondered how Viktor might react — their last months at Hogwarts had proven he wasn't a morning person, but maybe he wouldn't mind so much if it was her?

'And, Hermione —' Her mother's stern gaze pinned her to the spot. 'Unless he's naked in there, in which case I expect you to haul yourself back out here immediately, keep the door unzipped?' She ignored Hermione's huff of indignation. 'It's not that we don't trust you both, darling. It'll just ease your father's nerves.'

Flushing from head to toe Hermione darted over to the only tent that remained undisturbed. She opened the entrance flap as quietly as she could before poking her head into what felt like the North Pole. Viktor had evidently cast a cooling charm before he'd drifted off, for the tent was so cold that Hermione could see her breath. Its inhabitant was still asleep; Viktor was flat on his back, one arm draped over his bare stomach and the other drooping onto the ground below. Hermione didn't give a monkey's that her mother was probably watching her; the view that met her was worth a little ridicule later on. Viktor's face was slack from sleep, his features serene and peaceful in a manner that reminded Hermione of a child. However, there was nothing else child-like about him. Hermione was captivated by the way his broad chest rose and fell as he snored softly, the muscles of his torso and flat stomach constricting with every intake of breath, as well as the small trail of black hair that dipped below the waistband of his shorts.

Hermione let out a surprised giggle when her eyes came to rest upon his groin; apparently he was having very sweet dreams indeed, since she could make out the visible outline of his arousal below the baggy material of his clothing.

Creeping up on him, Hermione pressed her lips to his forehead followed by his jaw and his neck. Her hand ghosted over his collarbone and came to a stop on his shoulder; the skin there was decorated with goosebumps from the magical chill enveloping them. Viktor stirred almost immediately and his hand jolted from his stomach to the back of his shorts, producing his wand in an instant. Neither had time to register what had occurred before Viktor dropped it and blinked the sleep from his eyes.

'Sorry,' He croaked. 'I was not expecting a lovely wake up call like that. Is instinctive.'

'Erm, right, good morning,' Hermione covered her mouth to stifle the nervous laugh that erupted. 'It's a bit early —'

Viktor glanced at his own watch then and, upon seeing the time, groaned loudly and shielded his eyes with his hands. 'Early? Come back in one hour.'

Of all the reactions Hermione hadn't expected that one. She trailed more kisses down his cheek, thankful she'd not left the tent gaping open as her Mum had instructed, and then shook him playfully.

'Dad wants to get out in the kayaks before it gets too hot, so we can't all sit around waiting for you to get up in your own time, Mr.'

'I'm on holiday,' He sniffed petulantly and turned over, burying his face in a pillow he'd either brought with him or transfigured.

'So am I. Should I sent my mother in here then?' Hermione teased. She gripped hold of the pillow and tugged at it, but Viktor was quicker. He grabbed at it at the same time and they wrestled for it, once more giving her the impression of a sullen child — after a half-hearted game of tug-of-war sheer power won out and Viktor yanked it from her grip, sending her sprawling over this prone form.

'I would much rather you stayed,' He purred, his entire demeanour shifting. There was a heat in his eyes now and the smirk on his face betrayed that there was a chance he'd done it all on purpose. Through her sheer pyjamas she could feel every inch of his solid flesh, including the searing part of him that he thrusted into her thigh with a seductive look that made her feel light-headed.

'None of that,' She whispered a little breathlessly. 'I'll get breakfast… meet you outside?'

Viktor rolled his eyes and dug his fingers in the curve of her bottom, pressing her flush against him for a protracted second, before releasing her and allowing her to scramble to her feet. Never breaking eye contact, Viktor stretched his arms and legs out languorously, before skimming his hand over his crotch and sighing.

'You will give me five minutes, please? There is something… I need to do first.'

Hermione gave him a quick kiss before disappearing back the way she'd come, zipping up the tent behind him to allow him privacy to dress. She puzzled over his words as she helped her mother relight the fire to get a pot of tea on to brew, her eyes straying to Viktor's tent every few seconds as she pondered what could be taking him so long.

He appeared some minutes later, a towel hung around his neck, and looking far more awake. He waved at them both, his eyes lingering on Hermione, before cheerfully announcing he was going to test out the shower facilities.

'Heavy sleeper?' Her mother asked conversationally.

'Yeah… Yeah, I guess he is. '

A/N: I'm well into my re-read of OoTP, so the preparation for the chapters post-summer commences! I'm going away for a long weekend to the coast to visit my Husband's parents, so an update may take longer than usual. Check out my profile for an ETA.

Disclosure — Some people contacted me about the mature dynamic, and my position is clear — my vision for Hermione is that she remains, until Sept 19th in this timeline, a minor. Furthermore, the portrait I've tried to paint of her over the last 24 chapters is one of curiosity, but also relative innocence and caution when it comes to aspects of intimacy. It's a hard one to work through, since this is (in my mind) her first real relationship, and Viktor is now an adult. Arguably, the impression of him that I hoped to create was one of patience and honourability, but the fact remains he's a hormonal 18 year old male… some things don't change. They'll work through things in their own time, and in a manner I hope is realistic, and I'll attempt to make that 'change' in their relationship appropriate. Viktor might like to tease, but he's not about to force anything.