Thank you to everyone for your lovely words for the beginning of Vol III! I spent a happy few days at the coast with my in-laws, and I'm back feeling reinvigorated and ready to write. I wasn't able to while I was away, hence the delay, but I jotted down a lot of notes and conversations which turned into the chapter you see below.

I recommend you search up the River Wye on Google Images for this one, as it's quite spectacular and I loved imagining our characters here. I spent a week kayaking down the Wye a number of years ago and it was a very happy time!

By the time Viktor came sauntering back towards their camp from the shower compound, dressed in a loose-fitting t-shirt and black swim shorts, Hermione had waged war on her hair and tangled it into a semblance of a plait down her back, trying her hardest not to imagine what Viktor must've thought waking up to see her — puffy eyed and sporting a bird's nest on her head — in favour of picking out a bathing suit and summer dress that didn't look like they'd been discarded at the back of her wardrobe all year (which they had). Summer wasn't her season; she preferred the cosiness of warm layers and sensible outerwear as they were better suited for wiling away the hours in the library or roaming outdoors in Scotland, as well as covering a body that she'd never wanted to show off in the first place.

Taking one look at her pasty limbs, Hermione hurriedly coated her arms and legs in factor fifty suncream and sat uncommonly still as her mother lathered it onto her exposed back and shoulders, tutting at how Hermione had 'already caught the sun'. She noticed Viktor glancing her way more than once as he wandered over to where her father was squatted by the river's edge some fifty metres from their camp, the flattened grass displaying the route over which he'd dragged two orange two-person kayaks, and watched him curiously as he joined Dad in what she could only assume was testing the spot as a launch site. Dropping his towel to the ground, Viktor bent his knees a moment later and, in one smooth movement, seized one of the kayaks and rolled it onto his shoulder, resting it there while he rose to his full height. Show off, she thought to herself, before conceding that Viktor was the least likely wizard to show off… unless it came to her. With a warmth in her chest, Hermione returned her attention to her cheerios and pointedly avoided the easy way in which Viktor placed the boat's shell into the river. Since it didn't float away, nor did it bob too erratically, she assumed her father would call it a success; anything was an improvement on the time he'd made her carry her own single-person kayak for two miles in the Lake District one summer.

Ten minutes later Hermione had banished her mother to her tent to change, telling her that under no circumstances was she to lift a finger for the rest of the day — apparently she'd been up since the five prepping lunch and poodling around the camp, a habit that always made Hermione feel guilty. Finishing up packing the last of their picnic into the wet bag, Hermione nearly shrieked when a pair of very cold hands skimmed the tops of her arms and a set of velvet-soft lips brushed the nape of her neck, sending a shiver down her spine and a ripple of heat through her gut.

'Good morning,' Viktor whispered in a sultry tone, his tongue flicking over the shell of her ear.

'Hi… Did you forget we've already done this today?' Hermione laughed nervously. 'You're in a really good mood today,' She added as his lips continued their caress of the skin her curls would normally hide. By way of response, Viktor chuckled, his breath tickling her, and snaked his arms around her waist. Hermione concluded that they were both thinking back to their first attempt earlier that morning — it was on the tip of her tongue to attempt something flirtatious, however Viktor spoke before she could open her mouth.

'So I haff been wondering. Will you be my boat partner today or is this opportunity for me to get to know one of your parents better?'

Hermione snorted inelegantly, thankful for the heat of his greeting to ebb away into something more comfortable. She stepped around him and thrust the open box of cereal into his chest, raising an eyebrow in a silent challenge. Viktor accepted it with a nonchalant manner, the effect lessened by the sparkle of humour in his eyes, and set about getting himself breakfast.

'Of course you'll be with me. Unless you'd rather pass your morning trying to match Mum's sporadic rowing technique?'

'If you are wearing that dress, I will choose you every time,' Viktor said serenely, pausing to examine the cheerios for a moment, 'Perhaps I am very lucky today?'

Hermione swallowed her laughter as she extinguished the fire, recovering quickly when her mother emerged from the tent and came bustling over to check everything had been done. 'I wouldn't be so sure about that, Viktor. I'll warn you now, I'm a bit rubbish at steering, and I'll have you know that my clothing has nothing to do with my skill.'

Viktor considered this for a moment and then his mouth broke out into a sly smile. 'We are training as oarsmen at Durmstrang, you remember? Maybe if I knew then I would need to row with many distractions, I would haff trained harder,' He mused aloud in a falsely innocent voice before exchanging pleasantries with her mother. It was a few minutes before he turned back to her; his gaze was more intense now, and there was a flicker of mischief in his eyes that usually signalled trouble. His dark eyes ran up and down her body, unapologetically checking her out. 'Haff I told you before that I like you very much in dresses? Your legs are very distracting, but I promise I will try not to crash with my precious cargo.'

'You tease,' Hermione giggled somewhat shakily, giving herself a moment to navigate her surprise, ignore the way her skin flushed as if on cue, and come up with an adequate response. Clearly, Viktor was in a particularly playful mood that morning, most likely born of the carefree environment they were in, and she didn't want him to think this side of him intimidated her. After all, wasn't it normal for her boyfriend to pay her compliments? She couldn't blush and skulk off whenever he said something like that — he said it to provoke a reaction, Hermione was certain of it. What's more, there had been other compliments over the years; backhanded ones from Ron, absolutely, but also grudgingly given ones from Lavender and Parvati about her figure. She'd never been critical of her appearance as she was too practical to concern herself with the trivialities of vanity… until Viktor had come along and thrown a spanner in the works. Now, it seemed she was no longer immune to her teenage hormones, and she felt particularly self-conscious as she said, rather lamely, 'Oh, erm, thank you. That's very... nice of you to say,' and pecked him on the cheek.

'I say not because I am your boyfriend, but because I haff eyes.' Viktor said simply. Hermione managed a timid smile, examining her legs critically before shrugging to herself and accepting that maybe they weren't all that bad.

Her father interrupted her awkward musings with a loud shout, drawing everyone's attention over to where, presumably with Viktor's earlier help, he had launched the kayaks and beached them on the bank to stop them floating away. 'Come on you slow coaches! I want to get going!'

'Ah, so you get it from both of your parents,' Viktor said with a wry smile.

Hermione shushed him quickly, but her mother was none the wiser to his teasing; she was already making her way over to her husband, their wet bag containing lunch in one hand and a picnic blanket in the other. She veered off to ask their neighbours if they'd keep an eye on their camp while they were away and then joined Hermione and Viktor in trudging over to where David Granger was impatiently hovering over the two boats.

'You go first, sweetheart.' He said to Hermione, taking the bag from her mother and throwing it into the front of their kayak.

A little nervously, Hermione slid down the bank and put a tentative foot into the closest of the two kayaks, testing its stability by giving it a slow poke with her big toe. She could feel Viktor right behind her, and the change in his breathing suggested he was holding back a laugh, but he gripped the side for her and held it firmly until she was safely seated. Unlike all other sports, Hermione actually considered kayaking to be both therapeutic and worthwhile — however, that didn't stop the process of getting into one less nerve wracking, and she still hated having her feet off solid ground. Also, she was even less inclined to humiliate herself by ending up butt first at the bottom of the river with Viktor looking on. Nonetheless, after a moment of finding her balance and easing herself into a comfortable position, wriggling her toes to get some feeling back, she was relieved to feel the back of the boat dip and accept Viktor's weight. He wasted no time in releasing the boat from its temporary position and then waded out into the river, using one leg to propel them forwards and away from the threat of rocks in the shallower water. Once more she sensed the kayak dip behind her as Viktor finally settled into his seat and then his long legs came stretching alongside her, his toes tickling her bare thighs as he squashed his large frame into the cramped conditions.

'You are okay?' He called as he passed an oar over her head.

She attempted to laugh off the last of her nerves. 'Yeah. It's hard to believe right now, but I love kayaking. I just need a moment to acclimate.'

Behind her Viktor laughed and dug his bare, wet heels into her hips; she supposed it was meant as a reassuring gesture, though it just made her shiver again. If only Ginny were here to witness this; the girl wouldn't know which to believe, that Hermione would willingly partake in sport, or that Viktor bloody Krum was playing footsie with her. Despite his teasing, Viktor was ever patient as he allowed her all the time she needed to calm down, not once complaining or urging her to hurry up, even though she knew he must've been raring to go.

'Go on ahead, you two. We'll be with you in a moment,' Dad said and Viktor began to paddle immediately, silently shouldering the burden of steering as Hermione dipped her oar into the water every now and then, feeling useless with her partner making the whole thing look easy. Grumbling under her breath, Hermione gradually relaxed enough to spend more time admiring the scenery than gripping her oar like it was her lifeline. A shout some minutes later from her father had them returning upstream to rejoin the second half of their crew, and by the time Viktor had rotated the boat her parents were in and had rowed on ahead to navigate.

They soon found a rhythm. With her parents paddling a few metres ahead, they would kayak for a while down the meandering waterway before drifting aside each other while either her mother or father offered Viktor titbits of information about the local fauna and flora; he listened courteously every time, and if he was bored by their comments he didn't show it.

Consequently, Hermione realised that she was the most at ease she had been in a very long time, and as she revelled in the way Viktor's raw power launched the boat downstream, Hermione looked skywards and exhaled a deep sigh. For the most part Viktor was quite content to do all the work, leaving her to occasionally dip her oar into the water on a tricky corner or let her fingers dance over the surface of the water, and when she accused him of making her life too easy, he simply laughed and told her it was good for his core muscles (supposedly an advantage for seekers). All in all, it was blissfully tranquil and they passed the next few hours fluctuating between effortless chatter and periods of pensive quiet. Being with Viktor usually had the bizarre effect of elongating each second while simultaneously skipping over whole hours as if they were no more than minutes and today was no different; stuck in a kayak there was no alternative than to appreciate his presence and their time together.

'Hermione?' Viktor murmured after a long stretch of silence through which they had navigated a windy part of the river that was framed by the looming Black Mountains, a sight that had rendered them both speechless. 'Next year... it will be possible for me to visit you?'

Hermione had been so transfixed on the valley ahead that it took her almost a full minute to register that he'd addressed her. 'Oh? Sorry?'

'When I am training or playing in England, I can visit you?'

She frowned and stared at the oar in her limp hand. 'Honestly? I… I don't know. There's always Hogsmeade weekends; they can't stop you dropping by then, ' Her voice faltered. She didn't want to have this discussion now, not when she'd managed to forget the challenges that lay ahead of them for a brief period. 'What makes you ask now?'

'I was just thinking how perfect this moment is,' Viktor said softly, 'and it hit me how much I will miss you.'

His admission made her throat constrict further, made worse by the obvious vulnerability in his voice. Thus far, Viktor had always been the one to reassure her on the topic of the next year, but it seemed their surroundings had forced him into quiet contemplation.

'I'm going to miss you too, Viktor. We'll just have to keep making memories that get us through next year, won't we?'

It was usually Ron who played the optimist, and she felt the burden of cushioning the truth the moment it left her mouth. If this was their real time together before Christmas or, god forbid, the following summer, then she was going to be happy for every second of it, her discomfort be damned. She was most certainly not going to dwell over when she'd see him next... the hard part was convincing herself that was the truth.

'Yes, I guess so,' Viktor muttered and then he put in such a burst of speed that they almost collided with her parents' kayak, alarming everyone and causing Viktor to jam his oar into the riverbed to break their progress. He apologised profusely, but only Hermione caught the distance in his words. He was still thinking about what she'd said.

They had emerged from the narrowest section of the river into what appeared to be a small lake; to Hermione's eye it resembled an inlet, and apart from the odd fisher lounging on huge boulders protruding from the riverbed they were entirely alone. Here the water was almost perfectly still, and it glistened in the midday sun, reflecting the rays in what looked like a blanket of crystals on the surface.

'Ready for some lunch, kids?' Dad gestured towards a natural bank on the far side of the river and they fought the current to cross over, Viktor's strokes becoming more sluggish in his fatigue.

Nevertheless, their boat was the first to make it onto the grass, and so Viktor hopped out, extending his hand to Hermione before catching the nose of her parents' kayak. Hermione gripped him by the forearm as she tentatively padded down the boat, exhaling in relief when her feet finally touched firm ground. Once the kayaks were secured Mum laid down the picnic blanket and they spread out on top of it, all laying on their backs, heads resting on their heads and gazing up at the cloudless sky. Dad quizzed Viktor on his accomplished oarsmanship as they ate and Viktor explained that he'd been sailing on the many lakes of Bulgaria since he was small, regaling them with conservative tales of the fishing trips he took with his grandfather (although Hermione suspected he left out any mention of magic on purpose).

For the rest of the time Hermione listened half-heartedly, her eyes closed and thoroughly enjoying the feel of the sun on her face, as her parents gossiped about colleagues and patients at their practice, delighting in an opportunity to share some of their 'best' stories when Viktor made the rookie error of asking them about their profession.

After all the tubs of fresh fruit and crudities had been nibbled (and Hermione had giggled at Viktor for never having tried watermelon), Viktor rose to his feet and stretched his body languidly, before pulling his t-shirt over his head and walking over to the water's edge. Only when his feet were submerged did he turn to look at Hermione questioningly, an inquiring smile tugging at his lips. Throwing caution to the wind, Hermione bravely shrugged out of her dress, folding it neatly where she'd just been sat, before scampering after him in nothing but her swimsuit. He gave her an appreciative look and then proceeded to wade out until the water was level with his belly button. There he waited for her to join him.

It was icy cold and the juxtaposition between the prickling heat on the top half of her body and the numbness below her waist made her heart thump erratically. She felt truly alive. Viktor's knowing smile suggested he was experiencing the same thing, although perhaps it also had something to do with the appreciative looks he kept shooting her way.

'So, I am finally having the pleasure of seeing you in a swimsuit,' He said dryly. 'Is my lucky day after all.'

'I guess I was feeling brave,' Hermione replied and grinned back at him. Seeing him topless might have something to do with that.

For a moment neither said anything, and then Viktor curled an arm around her waist, dipping his hand under the water and seizing her thigh. It was an innocent enough gesture, she reasoned, but sensation had now returned to the spot where his fingertips touched her and it made her vision hazy. Wordlessly, Viktor tightened his grip on her… before lifting her feet clean off the rocky ground and throwing her casually into the river. Hermione registered his laugh and her own scream before she plunged headfirst into the frigid water, fighting to open her eyes and stop herself from gulping down that which would drown her if she wasn't careful.

Torn between a fierce anger and the desire to retaliate with a severe dunking, Hermione concentrated on surfacing, that was, until something tickled the inside of her thighs. It was hair. Viktor's strong hands parted her legs easily, causing her to flail involuntarily, and he swam underneath her before pushing upwards so they both broke the surface of the water. Hermione spluttered loudly as she was thrust into the air, clutching at the nothingness for any purchase at all. Grabbing at the closest thing to her — Viktor's hair — she tangled her fingers into his wet locks and let out the shriek of outrage she'd been fighting back for self-preservation.

'What did you do that for!?'

Her entire body wobbled as laughter wracked Viktor's body. He had looped his arms around her thighs and was balancing on a boulder as though she weighed nothing on his shoulders.

'You told me once you would never swim with me in the cold lake, so I decided to… how to say? Take things into my own hands.'

'Viktor Krum you… you… you scoundrel!'

The fact she sounded like her mother aside, much of the effect of her confused rage and indignation was ruined by the realisation that Viktor had no idea what she'd just called him. He shrugged in response, tipping her precariously to one side which tore another scream from her lips and another laugh from his. Holding onto his hair for dear life — noting that the action seemed to elicit an interesting reaction from him — Hermione kicked her heels back into his torso and demanded he let her down.

'As you are wishing,' Viktor said readily, and she understood too late what she'd just asked. Throwing her off his shoulders, Viktor ejected her from the relative safety of her perch and back into the icy depths.

When she surfaced a second time, Viktor was floating on his back and staring up at the sky. Hermione swam over to him, and, tempted though she was to get her own back, decided he seemed far too peaceful and had moved on from his bout of playfulness.

'Viktor?' She said softly, mirroring his position and fumbling around at her side to find his hand.

'Mhm?'

'It's okay to be worried about next year, you know. What I meant earlier was that moments like this, as much as I want to hex you back over the border right now, are going to keep us going. You told me once that our relationship will never be traditional; your lifestyle isn't conducive to that, and I've accepted that. School is everything to me, and so are you, but it's only a few years and then…'

Viktor's grip on her hand tightened. 'And then we can decide what is coming next. I understand.'

'But, I promise if you try anything like that again, you're not going to make it to tomorrow.' She growled and Viktor burst into a laugh that was as contagious as it was cathartic.

…

Hermione and Viktor swam lazily for another half an hour before her father called them back to dry off and begin their return journey. The row back to camp was harder than the way out and Hermione had to do more than her fair share of paddling since Viktor claimed his arms were sore, though she suspected a contributing factor was his enjoyment of seeing her clad only in her bathing suit, her arms working overtime and her posture that of a determined Amazon Warrior (prone to bouts of vanity she was not, but who'd turn the chance to show off to someone like Viktor Krum?).

They made it back to their campsite as the worst of the day's heat dissipated, leaving a balmy atmosphere in its wake. After a desperately-needed shower and change of clothes Hermione set about teaching Viktor how to play UNO whilst her parents got ready for dinner. Amongst the Granger clan it was tradition to go out for a pub meal the first night of their stay, but Hermione's mother had discreetly pushed it back a day when it became apparent that Viktor wouldn't stay awake long enough the previous evening. Arguably it had been the right decision, as the Viktor that sat with her right now, looking dashing in a navy button up shirt, was uncharacteristically chirpy and all too happy to go with the flow.

Viktor laced his fingers into hers as they walked two abreast down the river-side path towards the nearest village. Prior to their reunion Hermione had worried how he might fare in front of her parents and whether his quiet reservations about public displays of affection might leave her starved of his touch; thankfully she'd worried for nothing and neither Mum or Dad showed disapproval of his behaviour.

It was a long walk, some forty-five minutes, but the slight breeze and easy conversation made a pleasant way to pass the rest of the afternoon. The village itself was quiet even for a Sunday, and the cobbled high-street was lined with charming patriotic bunting that flapped noiselessly in the wind. For such a small place there was an abundance of tea rooms, thatched shops and narrow side streets that led to rows of golden stone houses of which the exteriors were hidden by breathtaking swathes of virulent ivy and lilac wisteria. In spite of the undeniable character of the location, there was only one establishment in the vicinity that seemed to contain any life — "The Plough" was a quintessential English pub that looked as though it had been there since the dawn of time. As David Granger pushed open the heavy wooden door it was revealed that most of the village's inhabitants had drawn up bar stools or were languishing in plushy armchairs straight from the Victorian era; all were escaping the oppressive heat inside the chilly walls of the ancient building, nursing pints of golden ale and talking loudly over the cacophony of voices. Viktor's face betrayed his bewilderment at the sight and he snaked an arm over her shoulder protectively as the four of them shouldered their way through the crowd of people and out into the cosy beer garden out back. Hermione's mother selected a table that was sinking into a bed of wild flowers and looked as though it was often neglected for its distance from the lively heart of the pub. It suited them just perfect, Hermione thought with a soft sigh.

'Please excuse me for a minute,' Viktor said and disappeared back into the throngs of people. It put her on edge, but she supposed he had coped just fine without her for the last eighteen years. The wizard had wrangled a dragon and gone fist to fist with Grindylows — he could deal with a bunch of inebriated muggles.

'So, what do you think?' Hermione asked quietly. 'Of Viktor, that is.'

It was her mother who spoke first and Hermione could tell she was trying not to laugh through her light tone of voice. She glanced up then, warily meeting her parents' faces — they were both looking at her fondly, their expressions warm and open.

'He's certainly a charming young man, Hermione: a true gentleman. If this is how your world makes them then we needn't have worried... He's very well behaved for an eighteen year old man.'

Hermione could sense the tips of her ears burning at the compliment. 'Well, he's not exactly like all wizards... from what I can tell, he is very typical of a Pureblood, the tolerant kind that is. They're not all as understanding and open-minded as he is,' She was speaking more to herself than anyone in particular, though Mum was nodding sympathetically, 'and you, Dad?'

'There's still a lot we've got to learn about him... but, sweetheart, I don't think I could've settled for anyone less worthy of my little girl. That being said, I still want him to prove himself, but if you were ever going to have a boyfriend, I guess he will... suffice.'

Both Hermione and her mother giggled then, and she watched as Jean patted her husband's hand affectionately. 'Our little girl is growing up, David. You can't truly believe we were going to have her to ourself forever?'

'Maybe until she was twenty-one,' He grumbled before winking at Hermione. 'Thirty would make me happier.'

'But a professional sports player?' Her mother mused aloud. 'I would've never believed it.'

'Semi-professional, Mum,' Hermione corrected.

'What's the difference?'

Her father gave a long suffering sigh. 'I don't know Kwiddich all that well, but if it's the same as football then he's only permitted to play on a reduced contract. He's not technically an amateur because he plays in the main league, or that's what I understand to be true, and he can't be fully professional because his time has been split between school and sport. To my knowledge those kinds of contracts weren't available to minors, but it seems Viktor was a bit of a special case. Did he tell you that he's never been beaten to that — what did you call it? — squitch?'

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Hermione indulged her father with a polite nod. She should never have doubted that Viktor and David would get along; both could talk about sport until the cows came home, although Viktor was usually more mindful of his audience. It make her think though. What a life Viktor had led so far, but what a strange, closed life too. It was a surprise that he was so level-headed, but with parents like his and a sister as influential as Ana, maybe it wasn't all that shocking. Not to mention the fierce manner in which the Krum family maintained their privacy (at any cost) — it felt like a privilege to know him like she did. Viktor Krum was nothing like the sullen, cold wizard portrayed in the papers; he was affectionate, patient, playful and hers.

'Snitch, Dad. And yes, Harry and Ron told me actually. On principle I try not to talk to Viktor about Quidditch, I think he likes the break. It's all anyone else ever wants to ask him.'

'You can't blame them, princess,' Hermione flushed at the pet name her father had used since she was born, 'It's not often you get to talk to a first-rate player. You'd never believe he was so successful, mind you. The boy's as down to earth as Jack from Number Five.'

Hermione privately disagreed. She'd grown up with Jack Fisher from her street and he was nothing like Viktor; in fact, no boy she'd ever met was comparable to him. Not just because she saw him through rose-tinted glasses: Viktor was cut from a different cloth to most wizards.

'His family were already a household name in Wizarding Bulgaria,' She admitted by way of explanation.

Dad frowned, 'For what reason?'

'It's like over here. There's only a select few families which are Pureblood, and the Krums are one of the oldest. I accidentally came across mention of Viktor's ancestors when I was reading about Goblin Rebellions. It seems Kahn Krum, back in the ninth century, kept Goblin slaves as part his campaign to expand the Bulgarian territory. Speculation in our world alludes to him being named after his father's adviser… who was a wizard with the surname Krum. A distant relative of Viktor's.'

'Fascinating,' Her mother breathed, her eyes wide with hungry interest. 'He's got blue-blood, then?'

Hermione shrugged, 'Some magical folk would probably draw parallels between Pureblood ancestry and noble birth. I don't think it means much to Viktor.'

'And his parents?'

Hermione shuffled uncomfortably in her seat. Her mother had touched a nerve. While she was absolutely certain Sofija Krum was taken with her, Mr. Krum remained an enigma — even though he clearly sided with Dumbledore.

'They don't treat me differently, if that's what you're asking. From what I can tell they just have very high standards for him to meet. Viktor carries the weight of his name in addition to his career; between us, Pureblood families are too much about pride and honour, though no one can deny Viktor grew up with a lot of love in his household… unlike some of my other Pureblood acquaintances.'

'Hermione, darling, I have been wondering one thing...'

'Yes, Mum?' She glanced over her shoulder then, half expecting Viktor to appear from no where and catch them whispering about him.

'How famous is this boy? He seems so unassuming and normal, I can't imagine him being a celebrity. Are you... are you in any danger?'

Hermione blinked. Already in their (almost) one year together there had been ups and downs, almost exclusively caused by the interference of others, and unfortunately, she conceded, because of who Viktor was. However, not once had she considered that her liaison with him would put her more at risk than she already was — a muggleborn witch in the time of Voldemort's second rein.

'Pretty famous,' She admitted with a sigh.

'Like, Mick Jagger famous, or are we talking local league name?' Her father said dubiously.

'Erm, I've never asked, in truth,' Hermione picked at the hem of her shirt anxiously. 'Put it this way, Ginny once told me everyone in the wizarding world knows his name nowadays… before I worked at the World Cup I was vaguely aware of his existence, and I didn't, and still don't, know much about the game. The boys in Gryffindor have posters of him all over their dorms — or that's what Ron says,' She added hastily when her father's eyes narrowed, 'Honestly, I don't know. I'm not sure I want to know really. And how can you quantify fame?'

'Right,' Her father yielded thoughtfully.

Since the beginning Viktor's 'other life' as she liked to call it had been something she thought of as little as possible. He was just Viktor to her and it was often difficult to reconcile the famous name with the teenager she'd fallen for. Nothing about the real Viktor leant itself to celebrity tendencies and when they were removed from wizarding society it was so easy to forget there were hoards of witches and wizards alike that would part with daunting amounts of galleons to spend quality time with him. She got that for free, and with an ample amount of sweet kisses and warm hugs too.

Viktor chose that moment to reappear, four glasses balancing on a sticky black tray. His brow was furrowed in concentration and she felt her chest swell at the gesture — it would've been all too easy for him to resort to magic, a habit of a lifetime, but he'd opted to do things her parents' way.

'One Guinness,' Viktor's pronunciation was horrible and it tore a giggle from Hermione as he slid the glass across the table to her father, 'One glass of white wine…' Jean thanked him graciously, 'and a ginger beer for you, dušička.' Hermione beamed at him and scooted along the bench when he sat down so that their thighs were glued together.

'How did you get muggle currency for this?' She asked in a whisper.

Viktor tapped the side of his nose playfully and took a long sip of a honey-coloured liquid, his shoulders sagging in contentment. Hermione held her own glass between her two hands, shivering when the condensation trickled through her fingertips, allowing him his secrets without a fight just this once. As long as he hadn't used Imperio on the barman, she thought, and immediately felt guilty at even entertaining the notion. She already had enough evidence to suggest Viktor wasn't returning down that road in a hurry.

'This is very kind of you,' Hermione's mother said brightly. It snapped Hermione out of her rabbit's hole of wandering thoughts.

'Is my pleasure.'

After a quiet moment where they all savoured their respective drinks, Hermione's mother gazed over at Viktor and asked, 'What do you have planned for our Hermione in Bulgaria then?'

Viktor seemed to mull over his reply for a few seconds as though choosing how much he wanted to share. Evidently he didn't want to spill all his surprises and the thought sent a fresh wave of anticipation coursing through her veins. 'There are many historic sights in Bulgaria that Hermione will like… and I hope to show her some of our wizard communities and traditions. My friends are also wanting to meet Hermione and show her where we grew up.'

'And your parents? Will they be joining you for these… adventures?'

Hermione smothered her smirk in her hand; that was her mother's unsubtle way of asking if they'd be supervised for the duration of her stay.

'No, I do not think so. Unfortunately, my mother and father haff many commitments this month, but my sister has taken time off work to join us.'

'That sounds delightful,' Her mother said with sincerity, appeased that her daughter and her boyfriend wouldn't be left to their own devices, thereby getting up to 'all sorts of devious mischief'. Mum didn't need to know that Hermione had her own plans of that sort, and it had been a terribly long time since she and Viktor had done anything more than kiss. Whilst that might please her parents, Hermione was beginning to worry that Viktor would conclude she was holding out on him for a reason. In reality, the appropriate opportunity just hadn't presented itself, and she was no closer to being brave enough to instigate something intimate on her own accord — though she suspected Viktor would react enthusiastically if she did.

Hermione considered this over the course of the evening, her brain switching between excitement of travelling abroad once more (and seeing Viktor's home) and the promise of quality alone time with Viktor. Once, it might've been impossible to hide her innermost thoughts from her parents, but years apart as she battled through puberty had made it almost easy to go undetected. Now she could put on a happy face and mask the turmoil going on inside her; if Viktor noticed that she was distracted he didn't say, although he did become more unguarded with his affection and touches as he consumed more of his beer. Much to the amusement of everyone at the table, Viktor thoroughly enjoyed his first try of fish and chips, and even Hermione laughed when he exclaimed that 'English food was not all that bad after all'.

They returned to camp far later than planned, delayed considerably by how difficult it was to navigate the river path with just a torch — Viktor had guided them by wandlight at first, but after a narrow escape with a drunken local they decided it wasn't worth endangering the Statute of Secrecy. After Viktor had nearly blinded himself trying to decipher how the torch functioned, Hermione had taken it off him and pointed it at their feet; Viktor was still duck footed on land at times, and in all likelihood the beers hadn't helped, since he stumbled even more than usual.

It was another clear night as they collapsed into the camping chairs that encircled the fire (that took her father considerably longer than normal to light). Her mother passed around blankets and it seemed both of her parents were in too much of a merry mood to comment on how Hermione snuggled into Viktor's lap, her head lolling back against his shoulder and her fingers tangled between the buttons of his shirt. She might be the only one not to have consumed anything alcoholic, but she was damned if she wasn't going to take advantage of it.

'That's us for the night, kiddos,' Dad yawned theatrically and struggled to his feet. 'Don't… don't stay up too late will you?'

Surprised that he wasn't going to insist they head off to bed too, Hermione nodded in what she hoped wasn't too eager a fashion. Mum hesitated as though she was about to counter this, but, thankfully, vanished into their tent without further comment, leaving Hermione and Viktor cuddled up in the sagging canvas seat. A giggle escaped Hermione's lips and Viktor opened one heavy-eyelid to peer at her lazily.

'What?'

'Nothing. No, really, nothing. Today was pretty perfect, that's all.'

'I concur,' Viktor yawned softly and brushed her back with his knuckles. Hermione arched her back instinctively at his touch, vying to get closer to his warmth. A moment later he spoke again. 'There is one thing which might be making it more perfect.'

Hermione tensed. He couldn't mean…? No, of course not. She should never allowed her brain to stray there earlier. Her stomach tumbled over itself and she fought to keep her voice from devolving into a squeak.

'You are blushing,' Viktor said casually, both his eyes now open and pinning her to the spot with their sudden intensity. As though reading her mind he skimmed two fingers questioningly over the underside of her right breast, the sensation dulled not one bit by the layers of cotton in his way. Goosebumps erupted over her skin and it had nothing to do with the evening chill.

'What did you have in mind?'

'What did you think I meant?' Viktor whispered. He quirked an eyebrow, his other hand trailing down her dress to where the base of her spine met with the only warm part of her currently: her bottom.

'I'm not sure now…' Hermione said slowly. 'Kissing?' She cast a nervous look over at her parents' tent, but the nightlight had been turned off and their shadows were no longer visible inside the nylon walls.

Viktor snorted crudely and shook his head. 'No; but now I haff changed my mind. First I was hoping you would fly with me.'

'Why?' Hermione asked suspiciously.

'To see the stars,' Viktor replied. 'And because flying is even more exhilarating when I am feeling like this,' He waved a hand up and down his body as though it explained what 'this' meant. She deduced he meant happy, if his playful behaviour all day was anything to go by.

'You're allowed to fly when you're drunk?'

Viktor chuckled then and pinched her bottom, causing her to bury her face in his neck in case her parents overheard her resulting gasp. 'I am not drunk,' His breath tickled her forehead, 'I do not get drunk. Perhaps it has made me more… emotional, but I am not intoxicated.'

'Sure,' Hermione mumbled, but Viktor deftly cut off her ability to argue anymore by capturing her mouth with his. He tasted of beer, a delicious sweetness, and his usual mixture of mint and something else entirely him. It made her head spin. Viktor made no move to deepen the kiss, instead exploring her mouth as though it were the first time all over again; he licked his tongue over the seam of her lips and then gracefully dipped the muscle inside. Hermione sighed happily into his mouth and permitted him full control — not that she could've matched him when her limbs felt so heavy and useless. When they were both flushed and breathing impossible, Viktor sat back and examined her face with a wry smile.

'You will fly now?'

'Fine, but only if you keep both hands on the broom at all times.'

Viktor jostled Hermione in his lap as he fumbled for his wand to accio his Firebolt from within his tent. It came flying through the night air and hovered to their left, awaiting Viktor's next instruction. Lifting her without letting her feet touch the ground, Viktor shrugged off the blanket that had been draped over his shoulders and mounted the broom easily, holding Hermione to him with a firm grip.

'Two hands,' She warned again. Rather petulantly, Viktor let her go, choosing to compromise by clutching the broom at the stretch of wood where her bottom was perched. His thumbs dipped through the crease of her rear and he smirked at her daringly. Hermione responded by glueing herself to him as best she could without restricting their airways, too nervous to truly enjoy the feel of his body pressed against hers. Bloody hell. This never got any easier.

Viktor kicked off and they soared upwards. Squeezing her eyes shut against his neck, Hermione blocked out the rush of air and the bark of laughter that rumbled through Viktor's chest. When they finally came to a stop Hermione felt Viktor's lips on her forehead and he murmured into her skin, the warm exhalation setting all her nerve endings on fire, 'Open your eyes. You do not want to miss this.'

She did so, out of stupidity or blind trust, she wasn't sure, but she was glad she did. Without the pollution of the city, the sky was full of glittering stars and the sight was so mesmerising that she almost forgot about her predicament. Other than one of nature's wondrous displays up ahead, Hermione was only aware of Viktor's heart beating in his chest and his gentle breathing as they gazed down the valley.

Viktor kissed her again and she was soon lost to the sensation of his silky-soft lips gliding against hers and the palms of his hands kneading her bum — it was a fitting way to a truly perfect day, not that she would ever tell him that.

…

Hermione woke the next morning having dreamt of Viktor's hands roaming under her pyjamas during the night. She was disappointed to find her vest and short combo were askew due to her tendency to wriggle and not the lascivious efforts of a late night visitor, but, either way, she started her day in the most pleasant of moods.

Emerging from her tent with a great deal of dramatic stretching, she immediately felt the beginnings of another stifling summer's day and smiled broadly at no one in particular. Her father was sat in one of the camping chairs, his ankles crossed, sipping a scolding cup of coffee while he did the daily crossword in his newspaper. At his side her mother was scribbling a postcard to Hermione's Aunt, and she smiled inwardly to herself as she wondered what Mum had written about Viktor.

Speaking of her boyfriend, he was no where to be seen, and his tent had already been vacated, the door tied open to reveal his empty bed.

'Where's Viktor?' She mumbled to them as she dipped her hand into an open punnet of strawberries. The juice dribbled down her chin as she bit into the plump fruit.

'Good morning to you as well, sleepyhead,' Her mother teased. 'What time do you call this? Even Viktor was awake before you — he mentioned something about Quidditch practice.'

Oh. Hermione immediately looked skywards, but she knew Viktor wouldn't be silly enough to fly in the open air where the entire camp could see him. Even so, she squinted in hopes of catching sight of him on his broom.

Feeling a little bereft by his unexpected absence, Hermione busied herself with breakfast and her wild appearance. After the exertions of the previous day they'd all opted to spend a morning doing nothing, although in Hermione's vocabulary that correlated to uninterrupted time with her nose in a book. Heaven. She whistled to herself as she changed into her battle gear — a pair of chino shorts and an old strappy top — and gleefully rummaged through the assortment of textbooks in her suitcase. Today would be strictly extracurricular, and there was a book on Activism and Animal Rights Through The Ages with her name on it.

The next hour flew past. Hermione was lost in a world of creature welfare as she sat, toes dipped in the river and book plastered to her face, contemplating where S.P.E.W had gone wrong and where she could improve next year. That was until someone tapped her on the head and proceeded to envelope her body in a mass of long limbs. Viktor had sat down behind her, sliding his legs around hers and tucking her back into the cove of his chest.

'Good morning,' He drawled, kissing the back of her head and saying nothing about her failed attempt at a plait.

Hermione tore her eyes from the page, still reading the last of the sentence she'd been mulling over as she glanced over her shoulder. Viktor was red faced and perspiration covered his brow.

'Hello. And where have you been?' She said softly. There was no hint of accusation in her tone, but Viktor smirked anyway. He liked her bossiness — he'd already said so.

'I received an owl very late last night after you went to bed,' He rubbed the sweat from his face with his shoulder and looked down at her. 'The Coach of the Wimbourne Wasps had time to meet with me. He was wanting to see me in action before we could agree my transfer,'

'And?'

Viktor licked his lips thoughtfully and then produced a scroll of parchment from his shorts pocket. He was wearing his Bulgarian training kit; if she'd not been so focused on her book she might've deduced earlier where he'd been. Hermione unravelled the parchment eagerly and read:

Application for International Transfer to the British Quidditch League

The Ministry of Magic

Level 7, Department of Magical Games and Sports, incorporating the British and Irish Quidditch League Headquarters

Hermione read on with her mouth gaping. Viktor's full name had been written out in neat, capitalised letters alongside 'applicant' and a Coach Dermot Petcher had printed his name and signature, along with the stamp of the Wimbourne Wasps in vibrant yellow ink by 'receiving team'.

'It's official?' She whispered.

'Not yet,' Viktor drew a finger down the side of her cheek and smiled. 'I am having to fill out the rest of the form and then I must file it with your Ministry. However, I do not think I will haff too many hurdles. Coach Petcher says they… they really want me.'

'Of course they do, silly! Any team would be lucky to have you!' Hermione twisted her body, dropping her book into her lap, and flung her arms around his neck in an embrace that was closer to strangulation than a hug. 'This is wonderful news. I'm so pleased for you.'

Viktor ducked his head and his lips ghosted over hers. 'I am also happy. My plans haff changed, but after seeing their stadium and speaking to Coach I think is a good choice. Will not do me any good to stay in Bulgaria forever and this way I am closer to you.'

Hermione took them both by surprise then by tackling him to the ground and attacking his lips with a mixture of overwhelming relief and unadulterated desire. Despite Viktor's declaration that he wanted to play for a local team, Hermione had been convinced he'd change his mind when he realised how tough it would be to give up on his dream of playing for the Vratsa Vultures. He hadn't let her down.

Coming up for breath, she giggled at his startled expression and unfocused eyes. Maybe she should do that more often.

'Come on,' She dragged him to his feet, both stumbling shakily, and kissed him again. And again. And again. 'Let's tell my parents!'

A/N: You might have noticed a slight change in my writing style over the last few chapters. I'm trying out more 'novel' length chapters that run on, rather than jump in the timeline and shift POVs in episodic style. This will just be for 'summer' while our characters are together all the time. Once they part (sob) it'll return to more of what I have done previously to enable me to get through the plot. I hope you like the mix up.

Let me know what you think and, as always, I'll update my profile with an ETA for C27 in the next few days!