Happy belated return to Hogwarts day! I can't quite believe we're in September already; we started this story together back in May, which feels like a lifetime ago. Thank you for the love and support, it has been a joy to write and have an audience for my ideas.

Here we go — Chapter 32! I dabbled in writing Sirius, one of my favourite characters… but difficult to get right. I hope Hermione's POV offers a more insightful view of his suffering than Harry's perspective; she shows a lot of maturity in OoTP, and I hope to reflect this in my own story.

For once in her life Hermione was not happy to be right. Harry was furious at her and Ron for keeping him in the dark all summer, just as she'd anticipated. In the days that followed his arrival, she and Ron were made to do their penance, suffering through bouts of turbulent emotions, violent outbursts and periods of prolonged silence, all a painful reminder of the fragile, and often dark, state of Harry's mind.

It was during these moments that Hermione missed Viktor the most. Last year he had been her escape when Harry was withdrawn, as well as her comfort when Ron had wound her up and sent her fleeing to the library for some peace and quiet. Now she suffered alone, too worried about what Harry might deduce if she broached the subject of where she'd been and what she'd been doing all summer while he had been locked up in Privet Drive with only his troubled memories for company. Ginny brought some relief to the shadow that followed Harry, and therefore her as well, everywhere, teasing nearly every detail of her Bulgaria stay out of Hermione while they lay awake at night, back-to-back in the creaky old bed, and making scandalised noises whenever Hermione alluded to some of the more intimate moments she'd spent with Viktor. With strict measures being taken to prevent attracting attention to Headquarters, Hermione could only send Roderick on his return journey every few days, taking away her means to ask Viktor for advice and reassurance in the days leading up to Harry's hearing.

'There's absolutely no way they can charge him,' She whispered to Ron on the night of the Ministry trial. Harry had already bid them goodnight, his eyes displaying a vacancy that suggested he was buried deep in his thoughts. 'I've read all the books in the Black family library on the subject and they all say magic can be used by underage wizards and witches in an emergency, and Dementors must beclassified as that.'

Ron nodded in agreement. 'He'll get off, he has to! You've seen the Daily Prophet though, haven't you? Mum and Dad say they're determined to smear Harry's name, and we all know the Ministry are behind that.'

Ginny was dozing in an armchair beside them, and across the drawing room, lounging in a chair that showed all the signs of a former doxy infestation, was Sirius. His index fingers were pressed into his chin and he looked as though it was taking every ounce of his concentration to work through whatever was on his mind. More than once in the last hour Hermione had noticed him examining the faded tapestry that hung on the wall, his nose winkled as his eyes danced over his family tree, lingering on the scorched faces of those shunned from the Black family. She wondered what was the most distasteful thing to him; that it still hung there? That he and and any decent member of the family had been erased from it?

Sirius had already been in position when she and Ron had come shuffling inside the drawing room to seek refuge from Fred and George. The Twins had been goading Ron into trying a nibble of Nosebleed Nougat in return for dubious information they'd overheard on the Extendable Ear. Hermione had carted him off before he could give it a second thought. While Ron went on about the injustices of being excluded from Order affairs, Hermione studied Sirius' every movement, and, with a pang of sadness, noting that he still very visibly bore the scars of his imprisonment. Underneath it all, however, was the same casual elegance that the portraits in Viktor's home also shared: a vestige of aristocratic beauty from a previous life. Leaning closer to Ron, she muttered:

'I can't get this horrible feeling out of my gut. It's like the Ministry wanted this to happen, for Harry to be expelled… like they've got Harry and Professor Dumbledore right where they want to be. There's something I'm missing, I just know it.'

Ron looked back at her glumly. Earlier that day, in an impassioned speech, he'd announced to them at the breakfast table that if Harry was expelled he'd be leaving right with him. Privately, Hermione knew he'd do no such thing; Mrs Weasley would sooner approve of Fred and George's ambitions than let Ron drop out of school.

'Chin up,' Ron said after quite some time, his steadfast grin returning in a forced way, 'At least we're going back to Hogwarts soon,' He glanced around the dingy room, and then muttered, 'But if Mum makes me clean one more thing I'm outta here with Harry's cloak faster than you can say Kreacher.'

'I heard that.' Sirius' voice made them both jump; neither had noticed that the wizard's penetrating grey eyes were now settled on them. The corners of his lips were upturned in a small smile.

Ron coloured as he returned Sirius' smile. 'Sorry. Anyway, I'm calling it a night. See you in the morning,' He paused, waiting for Hermione to follow, but she gave a slight shake of her head. Shrugging, Ron then shook Ginny awake, ordering her upstairs in a manner eerily similar to that of how his mother had chivvied them to bed the night before. Ginny grumbled at this and only allowed herself to be prodded out of the door after almost a full minute of angry protest. Their absence left Hermione starkly aware of who's presence she was in; it was surreal to reminisce that there had once been a time when she feared Sirius Black almost as much as she did Voldemort — now she felt nothing but pity for him.

The silence stretched on until it was almost oppressive and Hermione was compelled to close the book that lay open but unread in her lap. At long last Sirius spoke.

'You went to Bulgaria,' It wasn't a question. Hermione blinked, returning his probing gaze with a faint smile. 'What do you know about Illian Krum's relationship with Dumbledore?' He said sharply when she offered nothing more than a bemused 'yes'.

Hermione's brow creased in confusion, and she shuffled in her seat. Neither moved and so she was forced to address Sirius from the opposite side of the drab drawing room.

'Nothing more than you, I don't believe.' She replied warily.

'Then why is Dumbledore conspiring with him, when I'm stuck in here, forced into impotence?!'

His words hung in the air like a nasty secret. Hermione wasn't sure why he had chosen her of all people to share his misgivings surrounding Dumbledore. Surely Lupin would be a better ear for this, she wondered, someone that knew Sirius better than anyone, as well as Dumbledore. What's more, she'd learnt over the years that, for all his eccentricities, Dumbledore never did anything without good reason. What that reason was, on this occasion, she didn't have an answer.

However, as she stared back into his eyes, she saw a twinge of emotion behind his hardened features. It was obvious to everyone stuck within Grimmauld Place that he was impatient to be of help, to make up for the twelve years that he'd been powerless to get revenge for his best friends, but behind all that she could sense his melancholy and anguish. He was a caged animal, in every sense of the word. Hermione opened her mouth to speak, having chosen her words carefully, and then closed it again. The wizard now hunched in his seat looked miserable and the sympathy bubbled away inside her, robbing her of the power of speech. At length she chewed over the right thing to say next.

'Sirius,' She started gently, feeling for all intents and purposes like she was addressing a petulant teenager, 'Don't we need all the friends we can get? No one needs a reason to fight against the dark, other than knowing it's the right thing to do. I genuinely believe Mr Krum's intentions are pure; the rest I can't say. That being said, it has to be an advantage to us to have allies where the Ministry aren't expecting them. Allies that don't have a large bounty on their heads.'

Sirius considered her quietly, the seconds dragging by in a loaded stretch of silence that made Hermione fidget from discomfort. And then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. Only the gradual crinkling of his eyes suggested he'd appreciated her attempt at humour.

'I don't like being back here,' He said, as if attempting to apologise for his prejudice. There was a coolness in his voice now and Hermione had the impression he was telling her something he'd kept inside for a long time. 'The foulness of this place is muddling my mind; the poison of my dear parents is still palpable,' Sirius was looking at the walls as though he could see the very darkness he was referencing. 'What I don't understand is what Illian Krum's stake in all this is… what it is about our war that he's willing to sacrifice it all for. Here the Order has reconvened, all with so much to lose and more to prove than ever. For James and for Lily…'

Sirius' mumbling deteriorated into pregnant quiet and Hermione had the strange feeling she was witnessing a deeply private moment of mourning. Just like his Godson tossing and turning upstairs, his moods were growing more erratic and unpredictable by the day — one moment he was teasing Ginny and Hermione for giggling like 'manic witches' and then a second later his temper was raging at Mrs Weasley's firm insistence that he respect Albus' rules. She waited for him to go on.

'But here I am kept, like a household pet on bed rest. In wars there are risks to be taken, and do I not have greater causer to be allowed to take them than a wizard with no skin in the game?'

For a moment it seemed as if his question had been rhetorical — he looked straight through her — and then those grey eyes connected with hers once more and she licked her lips nervously, unsure what answer he really wanted to hear.

'Sirius… what are you really asking me? If Professor Dumbledore has asked Viktor's father for support then I can't help you — I'm no more privy to those decisions than you are. He has connections, I guess, ways of doing things that will go under the Ministry's radar. But, what I do know is that Harry really needs you right now. Everything that's happened is eating away at him… and he's impulsive, angry. There's a ticking time bomb on his back and I worry that it's going to explode at the worst time. That… we're all at risk because of it.'

He didn't need to comprehend her muggle phrasing to know what she meant; his eyes flashed knowingly.

'Then he is lucky to have you and Ron as friends,' Sirius said the moment she'd finished, 'You know, you remind me of Moony when we were at school. He did his best to keep James and I in line, but that was a rather hopeless cause,' He added, grinning widely, and then abruptly stood. 'Harry has the very best of James and Lily in his blood, that will win out, in the end.'

Hermione clambered out of her own armchair then, a feeling of unease and resignation settling in the pit of her stomach. She needed no more proof that Sirius couldn't give Harry what he desperately needed; her best friend was crying out for a father, and Sirius Black was too lost in a past era to give him that.

…

'Filth! Mudbloods, half-breeds, mutants, scum —!'

Hermione drew the moth-eaten velvet curtains back over Walburga Black's portrait with a flourish and a determined huff and continued her way down the corridor to breakfast. She felt better than she had in weeks thanks to the positive outcome of Harry's hearing. Her two best friends greeted her with sleepy smiles as she pulled out a chair and helped herself to a healthy portion of scrambled eggs.

'Check this out,' Harry said brightly, pushing a copy of the Daily Prophet across the table to her. 'Sport section. Thought you'd like to see it.'

Hermione flicked to the middle of the newspaper, judiciously avoiding the numerous pictures of Harry and Professor Dumbledore that littered the first few pages. Page nine to ten of the paper were dedicated solely to Quidditch news. Amongst reviews of team transfers and optimistic predictions of the upcoming season, league tables included, was a portrait of Viktor with his hands behind his back, adjacent to a brief, exclusive interview. An olive branch from Harry. Her eyes flickered to him and he nodded encouragingly.

Hermione knew at once that the photo of Viktor had been taken recently — his hair had grown out and his fringe was curling over his thick eyebrows, just like it had been when she'd seen him last. Sofija hadn't been able to take her wand to it and Hermione was secretly thankful; she preferred it to the tidy buzz-cut he sported when at Durmstrang.

'Told you yellow wouldn't be his colour,' Ron said between bulging mouthfuls of bacon.

Quite the opposite, Hermione thought fondly. The dizzying yellow and black striped combination of the Wimbourne Wasps jersey complimented his pale skin more than she ever could've imagined, and it took away some of the harshness of his angular features. He appeared softer; the world was getting a glimpse of the wizard she knew. Taking a sip of orange juice, Hermione eagerly read Viktor's first interview as part of an English team.

Viktor Krum will soon be making the move from his home base in Bulgaria to the coastal town of Wimbourne, a decision that shook the Quidditch community earlier this summer. I had the privilege of sitting down with him, newly fitted out in his Wasps' colours, in a café off the beaten track in wizarding Sofia. A recommendation from Mum, I'm led to believe. Now, we're used to seeing the brooding, reserved characteristics of this champion seeker on the big stage, but here he's charming, charismatic and upbeat, even joking that it was the weather that's bringing him to the British league. Consider this reporter gobsmacked.

Hermione smiled at the photo of Viktor as though he would be able to feel her approval from over a thousand miles away. Evidently he was determined to win over the British public. But, why now? Never before had he cared what people thought of him. His performance was the only thing he concerned himself with, not ensuring the favour of his fans. She resolved to ask him about it in her next letter, and continued on with her reading.

K. Trecus, special Quidditch Correspondent: So Viktor, what hopes do you have for the season? It's been said that if you'd picked a team closer to home, the Vultures, let's say, your sights would've been set on the league title. Do you feel the same is possible as a newcomer?

Krum: *Laughing* I hope so. I am humbled to be allowed this challenge. Since I was a boy I have wanted to be the best, sometimes my friends were saying this was to the detriment of everything else. Nothing has changed. The Wasps are a great team, I have been following them for many years as they were a favourite team of my Grandfather's, and I want to be the best seeker for them. If that means winning the league then I will be very happy.

Trecus: Georgi Krum was a very competent beater in his day, for those of our English readers who didn't know, as well as a lover of excellence on the Quidditch pitch. He was also a long-time sponsor of the British league, having financed the refit of the Montrose Magpies stadium back in the 1950s. Did this play some part in your choice to head farther afield for your next career move?

Krum: My father agreed that it would be a good way to honour him, to play for one of the teams he followed. I am hoping they will make me a more creative player.

Trecus: Rumour has it something else, or should I say someone else, has brought you over the Channel to us. Is there any truth in this?

Krum: My best friend says that Quidditch is the only partner I have time for! But it is true that I will be very happy to be closer to the friends I made when I was at Hogwarts.

Trecus: So you'll be spending your time off between matches and practice up in the village of Hogsmeade then? Quidditch fans will be flocking to The Three Broomsticks the minute this is published if you admit that, Viktor!

Krum: We will see. I will be travelling across the U.K. and Europe for our first friendly matches next month, so I cannot say. When I am having the chance I would like to return to where the world cup was held, because for me it holds many happy memories. Is true that we did not win, but was still the best time of my life.

'I didn't know you could blush like that.'

Hermione was only dimly aware of Ron talking somewhere in the recesses of her mind. On the realisation that he was addressing her, she looked up. Five sets of eyes were fixed on her. Fred, George, Harry, Ron and Ginny were all grinning at her, and, on instinct, her hands flew to her face. Sure enough her cheeks were burning from Viktor's veiled mention of the place where their friendship, and consequently relationship, had blossomed.

'What?' She said self-consciously, trying — and failing — to keep a straight face.

'Nothing.' Fred said, the delight on his face barely concealed by his unconvincing innocence.

'Just thinking about all the happy memories of the world cup…' George added in a wistful tone.

'That's right,' Fred nodded seriously, 'Where young love bloomed behind Ludo Bagman's back.'

Their combined laughter drowned out Hermione's flustered protests, and soon she too has dissolved into resigned giggles, happy that, once again, Viktor was no longer a taboo topic.

…

It had not escaped Hermione's notice that living at the headquarters of the Order had not quite met the expectations of her two best friends. Both boys were restless for news from the outside world, and frustrated easily whenever they were excluded from goings on in the kitchen-cum-meeting room. On the premise of keeping prying eyes and the odd Extendable-Ear away from private conversations, Mrs Weasley had launched a relentless cleaning campaign that kept them all busy for most of their days. Personally, Hermione was quite content— she had her fair share of chores back home — as long as she was given space to curl up with a book in the evenings, or while away her free time in the cramped townhouse garden. It just about accommodated her and one other, and she'd often sit on the rickety old bench, under an ancient oak tree, listening to the boys' wild speculations about the Order. On the odd occasion that they were otherwise preoccupied, she'd catch up on writing her letters to Viktor, blissfully sheltered from the muggle neighbours by the fidelius charm that enveloped the house's borders. He wrote as regularly as Roderick allowed and she relished the diversion he provided.

The most excitement Grimmauld Place's youngest inhabitants enjoyed in August was a fleeting visit from Bill — who extended his best to Viktor for the new season, with a wink that had Hermione sinking deeper into her armchair from mortification— and the occasional discovery of a magical artefact covered in decades of dust. Hermione had become wary of rummaging around in long-neglected cupboards after a cursed child's toy horse had chased her down three flights of stairs, waking Mrs Black's raging portrait in the process and disrupting what had been a heated Order meeting.

On the very last day of the holidays, far later than expected, Hermione received the post she'd been eagerly anticipating since departing Hogwarts back in July: her new booklist. Whilst Viktor had been all too happy to lend her his sixth and seventh year textbooks, she'd already read them back-to-back and craved something new.

Ripping open her envelope, something shiny and scarlet caught her eye. Her hand flew to her gaping mouth and she emitted a high-pitched gasp. A prefect badge. She'd almost forgotten about the fifth year honour amongst the worries surrounding Harry and Viktor. Turning it over in her palm, Hermione glanced up to meet Ginny's eyes and returned her beaming smile in an instant.

'Naturally,' Ginny said, pulling her into a quick hug. 'Wonder if Har—'

But Hermione was one step ahead of her. She tore down the corridor to the boys' bedroom, where she burst through the open door to see Harry examining a badge exactly like the one now leaving an imprint in her hand. The Twins were watching him with uncharacteristic passiveness.

'I knew it! Me too, Harry! I'd totally forgotten, too, what with everything that's happened this summer! This is so exciting!' She said this all in one breath.

'No. It's Ron, not me.' Harry said quietly, his face mirroring the shock Hermione now felt.

Ron? Ronald Weasley? Hermione looked from Harry to her red-headed best friend and then back again. Ron's freckled face had got a deep shade of pink and he was scratching his neck nervously. When she sought confirmation he nodded and then accepted the unassuming badge back from Harry.

'That's…' She mumbled.

'A surprise?' Fred said.

'No,' She said firmly once she'd recovered herself. 'Well done, Ron. Maybe this is exactly what you need, a bit of responsibility and an example to set.'

Later on, after Ron had chased his mother down to discuss a reward for his surprise new status, Hermione was left behind with Harry. The moment she'd seen his stunned expression she'd known a part of him had expected it to be him, the prefect. After all, he was Professor Dumbledore's favourite; she could practically see him stewing over that in his mind.

She wasn't sure what made her say it, but the words had tumbled from her lips before she could judge Harry's reaction.

'Viktor was never a prefect. He wanted to, I'm led to believe. But the decision was made that any additional accolades might draw too much attention to him, or make others think he was getting special treatment. You're more than worthy of this, Harry, but maybe Professor Dumbledore thinks it's… best this way.'

'Right,' Harry said in a falsely cheerful tone. 'Sure, what's applies to Viktor must also apply to me. I forgot.'

Hermione sighed. 'That's not what I'm saying Harry and you know it. I just mean that there's always a reason with Professor Dumbledore. This could be the making of Ron, and the more you remain out of the spotlight the safer you are. After last year —'

'None of that was my fault!' Harry exclaimed angrily, interrupting her. 'I never wanted to be on the front page of the Daily Prophet with the whole damn world claiming I'm a liar. Normal. That's what I want to be for just one day. Normal!'

Hermione knew better than to try and reason with him. There was no competing with his dark moods of late, so it was with a reticent patience that she listened to Harry rant on, wondering what it would take for this bout of self pity to subside. Never in their friendship had she known Harry to be like this and she wondered if the house itself was feeding his melancholy, just like it was his Godfather — sapping his fortitude like a parasite.

'The sooner we get back to Hogwarts the better,' Hermione cooed to Hedwig later that afternoon as she strapped her letter to the bird's outstretched leg. She'd been too impatient to surprise Viktor with her news that she'd forgone waiting for his own familiar to return. 'For everyone's sake.'

…

'Oooh, Pansy, look,' Draco Malfoy's drawling voice greeted Hermione and Ron as they entered the prefect's carriage on the Hogwarts Express the following day. 'Granger and… Weasley, Gryffindor prefects? Oh, that is a surprise.'

Hermione stared resolutely ahead, smiling politely at the cluster of students from the other three houses. Now wasn't the time nor place to allow herself to be provoked; she was a prefect, and she sure as anything would act like one. At her side Ron was struggling with the concept and she could feel the repressed irritation radiating from him. No one else had believed he'd been given the privilege, either. Hermione could tell that it bothered him more than he let on.

'I bet they didn't think much of you over there in Bulgaria, Granger, father always says the Bulgarian families have been much stricter on —'

'Shove off Malfoy.' Ron grunted.

'Ron.'

'What?' He hissed under his breath, 'It's clear he doesn't think you actually went. I'm not gonna allow that git to humiliate you here.'

Hermione felt a pang of affection for her best friend. In spite of his indifferent feelings towards her boyfriend, Ron was still willing to defend them both. She reached out to touch his arm in thanks, but it appeared Malfoy was far from finished. Inside the rather more luxurious cabin, some of the other prefects turned to listen out of curiosity, Malfoy's derision capturing their interest.

'Oh, but that's right,' Malfoy sneered, unperturbed by the silence from both Hermione and Ron, 'Second best again, Weasley. It must feel shameful to lose out to another famous wizard.'

Pansy giggled raucously at his remark, as though he had made a hilarious joke. This, however, was too much for Hermione. Fame, unwanted though it was, was part of the reason Ron and Harry had fallen out last year, and it went without saying that he resented Viktor for it. If only he knew the pressure it imposed on Viktor. Nevertheless, with Ron seething at her side, Malfoy's comment having hit the mark — and from his delighted smile, he knew it — Hermione snapped.

'That's enough!' She said crossly, managing only just to keep her voice at a level volume as not to attract attention, 'At least Viktor doesn't hide behind his father, in his shadow. There's no need for him to rely on a surname for the perceived status it brings.'

Ana's words about the power, or even the impotence, of a name came rushing back. Hermione smiled sweetly at Malfoy and Pansy, who were staring at her in respective fury and shock. Thankfully, the Head Boy and Girl chose that moment to begin their introductions, and everyone was forced into silence, though Hermione could feel Malfoy's glare burning into the side of her head.

'Come on,' Hermione whispered to Ron almost an hour later, after they had been given permission to leave. 'Harry'll be wondering where we've got to, and we should do our first patrol soon.' She was also edgy to leave before Malfoy sought retribution for her comment, but she didn't want to mention it again.

'Hermione —' Ron mumbled suddenly. His cheeks had turned a violent shade of pink.

'Yes?'

'Thanks for standing up for me.'

It looked as though it had cost him a lot to say it. Hermione squinted at him, confused. Never before had Ron felt the need to thank either him or Harry for having his back: it was a given. All of a sudden she felt the urge to pull him into a hug, something she was now far more confident in doing with Viktor when he carried the same air of vulnerability.

'Ron… my relationship with Viktor doesn't supersede anything between Harry, you and I. Nothing has changed between us. You're both still my best friends, and I'll continue to boss you around as best I can — for your own good. Besides, who else would keep you two in line?'

Ron grinned at her. Prior to that moment she'd been unaware a new tension existed between them, but as she returned his smile it seemed to ease. Now she could be free to be irritated by him, angry with him, and entirely flummoxed by his niggling behaviours, all without the guilt of believing he thought Viktor had replaced him in her life.

Hermione followed him out of the prefect's cabin and into the noisy main corridor of the Hogwarts Express. It felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

'Fred! George! Hands off those first years!'

All worries of their exchange were forgotten as Hermione stampeded after the Weasley twins, who, at that moment, had decided to run their first human trial of one of their unidentified joke products. After an incident with a Canary Cream last year, Hermione wasn't taking her chances.

…

Viktor dumped his duffle bag on the black and yellow bedsheets, looking around at the plain bedroom that would be his home for the duration of his contract with the Wimbourne Wasps. It was simple and uncluttered, with a window that overlooked the stadium on the horizon. Best of all, his nearest neighbour was all the way down the corridor — his entire school and professional career he'd had to share a confined space with at least one other wizard.

He smiled to himself as laid out two items on his bedside table. First, the now-framed photo of him and Hermione from his mother's gala, and then the snitch he'd caught in his first match representing Bulgaria.

What was Hermione doing at that very moment, he wondered. Last night he'd sent Roderick off into the darkness with his last letter from his parents' estate, letting her know he'd be undertaking his journey to England the next day. The team's welfare officer had organised a bespoke portkey for his one-off use and had had it delivered by a special owl courier just after lunchtime on the day of his planned departure. There had been a tear in his mother's eye as he'd said goodbye and seized the inconspicuous Wasps' pin between his thumb and forefinger.

A tap at the door drew Viktor from his reverie. He stroked Hermione's animated face in the photo with the tip of his finger and padded towards the door.

'Hello?' The words sounded odd on his tongue. After speaking English day in day out for the previous year and the beginning of summer, Hermione's departure had seen him go nearly a month without uttering a word of the language.

A short, stocky wizard greeted him with a salute.

'Ralph Striker at ya service.' He said curtly and stuck out his hand. Viktor shook it and introduced himself in return.

'Yeah. Knew it 'ready,' Ralph grinned at him. He was missing a front tooth. 'Bunch of us ar' goin' to town for a few drinks. Wanna join?'

Viktor's limited geographical knowledge of the country hindered him in placing the wizard's accent. Whatever it was, he had to strain to understand it.

'Of course.' He said automatically. 'A moment, please.'

Under Ralph's curious gaze Viktor rummaged in his bag for a sweatshirt. Yanking out something unbranded — anything displaying his Bulgarian origins might've been perceived as arrogance — he checked for his wand in the back pocket of the jeans Hermione had insisted he purchase on passing a muggle shop when they'd visited the capital together.

'So ya settlin' in ok?' Ralph asked when Viktor had closed the door behind him. They walked in step across the grounds that separated the players' living quarters from the main clubhouse. Viktor had to adjust his gait to match that of the shorter wizard, giving him the awkward impression of duck-footedness that he'd been teased for his entire life.

'Yes, thank you,' He said, 'I haff not been here long. Coach gave me the tour while the team were eating lunch. He said we begin training as a team tomorrow morning?'

'Yup. Four sessions a day, then a trip t' Healer for maintenance 'fore dinner. We've been wit' out a seeker for tha whole of pre-season trainin' now, so tha team ar' lookin' forward to ya joinin''.

Viktor was relieved to hear that; ever since he'd been offered the contract he'd been worrying his new team wouldn't accept his presence as a foreign player. He'd dealt with animosity towards his age and experience before, with his first team sabotaging their own success just to try and prove his unworthiness. Here he expected it; they were a team where the mean age was twenty-six. He was the rookie coming in with a name that afforded him an element of leeway that he'd understand if they begrudged. The fact that his coming had boosted ticket sales exponentially wouldn't matter, he knew from experience.

'Right,' He said after some hesitation. 'I cannot wait either.'

Ralph had led him down an alleyway towards the one wizarding street in Wimbourne before Viktor realised he was without his glamour.

'Erm, is this safe?' He asked, only the slight tremor in his voice betraying his real concern.

Thankfully, Ralph seemed to understand without the embarrassment of Viktor needing to explain. He gave Viktor a toothy grin.

''Course. Ya might get sum gawpin' but they'll leave ya alone here. Team comes 'ta town whenever we can, so tha locals ar' used to our faces. An' if they don't, we've got ya back.'

So, with one-sided trepidation, Viktor got his first glimpse of wizarding Wimbourne without the safety of his glamour. It was quaint: just what he'd expected of an English coastal town before he'd first visited the island. And, just as Ralph had predicted, there were stares — the boggling eyed kind — but just like the locals from the village near his childhood home, they looked away the moment he glanced their way. It was a sort of pride for them to act as though it was nothing for him to be there, that he was 'just' Viktor to them.

Ralph led him into an old pub that appeared as though it hadn't aged a day since it's opening some three-hundred years ago. No heads swivelled on their entering, however, and Viktor had the odd sensation its many patrons, all in varying stages of intoxication, were avoiding acknowledging the new arrivals altogether. The cautious part of him hoped he wasn't succumbing to some sort of trick. But, after a moment of wading through the crowd, Ralph thumped him on the back triumphantly.

'There ya go,' Ralph pointed to a table at the very back of the pub where, below the low-beamed ceiling, the entire Wimbourne Wasps team and support staff, Coach and Healers included, were crammed onto two oak benches. Viktor's stomach had woven itself into a tight knot. If he wasn't mistaken, they were his welcoming party.

'Can I get ya summin? Dragon Barrel Brandy? Steaming Stout? Ogden's?' Ralph was leaning on the bar, his head turned expectantly in Viktor's direction.

'Whatever you are having.'

A sudden burst of recklessness overcame him as he took a steadying breath and marched towards his new team, his moment of reckoning approaching with every loping step. Wish me luck, dear Hermione, he thought to himself as he plastered a smile on his face and slouched into view.

…

Things were much worse than Hermione had feared, she contemplated glumly over breakfast on September nineteenth. The term couldn't have started out any more dramatically, what with Umbridge's arrival and Harry's subsequent ejection from their first DADA class, not to mention his getting detention every evening of their first week back. In the aftermath of that hoo-hah Hermione had debated all night whether to reach out to Viktor's father for more information on the Undersecretary. In the end she'd tip-toed up to the Owlery at four am with a note that she hoped he'd be able to decipher, painfully aware that all the post was being monitored; including the letters she sent to Viktor which invariably ended in Hermione telling him she missed him.

That morning, however, she'd given up hope of any reply from Krum Sr. Maybe he'd thought her enquiry to be unnecessarily prying, she wondered miserably, pushing a long-cooled piece of bacon around her plate.

'Happy birthday, 'Mione!' Ron gave her an awkward squeeze of the shoulder as he and Harry collapsed onto the bench opposite her.

'Thanks,' She said, brightening a little. 'Did you hear anything back from… Padfoot, Harry?' On her insistence he'd reached out to Sirius to mention the searing pains coming from his scar. His Godfather had been as suspiciously quiet as Illian Krum.

Harry shook his head and joined Ron in piling his plate high with sausages. Lately she'd noticed he favoured his left hand, hiding his right within his robes wherever possible. They ate in forced silence until Ginny skidded into view, a harassed look on her face and a soft wheezing sound emitting from her lungs.

'Slept in,' She said by way of explanation as she dropped down beside Hermione. 'Happy Birthday, by the way. Has the post been yet?'

'No…' Hermione said slowly. There was a twinkle of mischief in Ginny's eye that reminded Hermione of the witch's twin brothers. Something about her excitement made Hermione squirm in her seat.

The familiar sound of wings could be heard a mere two minutes later, and all four of them looked skywards in expectation. Hermione spotted Roderick almost instantaneously; his shiny black feathers and regal mien stood out amongst the medley of school birds. Ginny squealed as he landed, gracefully as ever, just millimetres from the butter dish. However, it wasn't the near-miss that had provoked her reaction, but instead the bouquet of roses he had deposited. Someone further along the Gryffindor bench wolf-whistled.

'How original.' She thought she heard Ron mutter, but she was too concerned with the blush that was spreading from the crown of her head and down under her robes.

'Ooh! Look, there's a note!'

Hermione shifted her gaze to where Ginny was pointing at a pristine white notecard on the thick flower stems. In Viktor's neat hand was written:

Happy birthday, my firecracker.

Aurelius will follow with your gift — watch out. He sometimes bites after a long journey.

xx

Sure enough, a minute later the family owl soared into the Great Hall, slightly lopsided for the package tied to its right leg. It made sense that Viktor's familiar would be the superior flyer, she thought with a wry smile. It fit.

Around them students were craning their necks to get a better look at the group of Gryffindors. Anything out of the ordinary always garnered a lot of attention, and as Hermione watched Aurelius' slow progress she noted that even her Head of House was eyeing the flowers with intrigue and polite interest. To her right, relegated to the end of the staff table, was Umbridge and the women's piggy eyes were currently watching Hermione with growing suspicion. As if to rile her further a low hum of whispers had broken out at the Slytherin table and Hermione caught Viktor's name on more than one pair of lips.

Roderick pecked irritably at the older bird the moment he had landed. Glaring beadily at the black bird, Aurelius stuck his leg out promptly to Hermione and helped himself to a crust off Ron's plate.

'Oi!'

As Hermione eagerly unwrapped the parcel she was transported back to the first time Viktor Krum had written to her. There had been a rose then too, and she'd been none the wiser as to its sender. Oh, how he must've thought sending her a Krum jersey would've dropped the bombshell, but she'd remained blissfully unaware of who was courting her attention. His English had improved exponentially since then, she thought as a note floated into her lap, followed by a tightly-wrapped newspaper. He'd signed off with the nickname Ginny had once given him, just like he used to — Mr. Tall, Dark and Dreamy — causing her mouth to spread into a goofy grin.

I know that you do not like gifts, but a witch is only turning sixteen once. You told me before you left that you were wanting to stay up to date with my team — I haff made a subscription to the Quidditch supplement of the Daily Prophet which will give you all the updates. But, that is not your gift. I haff made arrangements for us to have a date in Hogsmeade on fifth October. Look for me, but not the real me.

Yours,

TDD

'Get you a good book did he? Or a nice gift voucher to Flourish and Blotts?'

'Shut up, you git.' Ginny hissed under her breath.

A familiar bitterness had slipped back into Ron's voice. And, in that moment, Hermione was reminded why she and Ron would've never worked out. Thank heaven's she'd grown out of that crush.

'No,' She said bluntly. 'Something much better. Him.'

A/N: I am now working to a 1.5/2 week schedule for updates, to allow for the fact normal life is now picking up again. I'm a working Mum, so juggling writing and life is getting increasingly harder now lockdown is easing, but I have no intentions of abandoning this fic! For my new readers, you can always find an ETA for each update on my profile.

Lastly, thanks for staying with me! It's a joy to hear from you all with each addition to this story of mine. Please continue to give your feedback, I really do appreciate it.