Thank you for all the love for C33. I feel like I've got a bit of my mo-jo back writing wise, and I'm looking forward to you all seeing where this goes next.

For those who've been keenly waiting to see where things diverge from canon; this one's for you.

Mature warning for midway through this chapter — skip Viktor's POV if that's not your thing. And, if it is, please enjoy this as a peace offering amongst all the angst.


'Where's Ron?'

Hermione peered around Harry's slumped frame. His robes were crumpled and his hair was flat on one side. The proceeding look he gave her told her everything she needed to know.

'Err —' Harry avoided eye contact as he slung his legs over the Gryffindor bench and began to ladle porridge into a bowl. 'He's refusing to come down this morning.'

Slowly, and without breaking her fixed gaze upon him, Hermione closed the page she'd just been reading in the Daily Prophet. According to an over-enthusiastic young reporter, Viktor had 'squashed' the opposition 160-10. Therefore, the reason for Ron's presumably foul mood came as no surprise.

'It doesn't sound like Viktor to me,' Hermione said quietly, her voice low so that Seamus and Dean, also discussing the match, couldn't hear. 'Last time he wrote he said his intention was to let things run on a bit; he wanted to see how the team performed, and how he fit into that dynamic on the big stage.'

Harry finished a mouthful of porridge and pointed his smeary spoon at the newspaper in front of her. 'We've learnt by now you can't plan for everything. Maybe the Cannons' seeker was better than he was expecting.'

He looked at her somewhat dubiously, but covered this by gobbling down another spoonful of porridge.

'That's rubbish and you know it Harry,' Hermione whispered tersely and pushed the paper across the table towards him. The page she had been reading floated open and she jabbed a finger at the post-match debrief. 'Read that.'

'"A select few Wasps' fans were thrilled to meet the seeker himself after he secured the win for their team—" Hermione, what's the point of this?'

'Keep going!' She hissed and jabbed her thumb over the next line.

'"However, reports suggest it wasn't the dream meeting they'd all expected. One fan, Daniel from Tincleton, Dorset, commented that Krum "looked like he'd swallowed a bludger" and refused to speak to any of the fans", leading this reporter to wonder if Krum has yet to pick up any of the local lingo"'.

'See,' Hermione frowned and tugged the paper from Harry's grip, folding it once more before anyone could see which specific article they'd been reading. 'That's not Viktor at all.'

'Bad day?'

Hesitating temporarily, Hermione ducked her head and Harry copied her so that their foreheads bumped together. 'I don't believe it. You could argue that he's new to that, I guess, as his previous Coaches kept him from meeting fans at events like that because he was a minor. An agreement with his Dad, I think. But… look, when we were in Bulgaria he was approached by this child who wanted his autograph… and he was so patient, even though it was obvious he found the whole experience uncomfortable. And we all know that stuff about his English is nonsense. Something had to be really wrong for him to act like that.'

'Yeah…' Harry said, all of a sudden weary. He scrunched up his face as he pondered her story. 'And that interview he did in summer was like him trying to get in everyone's good books. Doesn't add up.'

'Exactly.'

'So…'

'There's no letter from him this morning either.'

Ginny chose that moment to flop down beside Hermione. They both jumped guiltily and she looked from Harry to Hermione and then the newspaper, her expression suspicious. Wordlessly, Hermione slid the Daily Prophet Quidditch supplement over to her friend and mouthed the page number. She waited impatiently as Ginny's eyes flittered over the article about Viktor, her brow crinkling as she read the words that had left Hermione with a leaden weight in her stomach.

'What's up with Vik—'

'Shh!' Hermione's hand flew to Ginny's mouth.

'Sorry,' Ginny mumbled, continuing in a whisper. 'That doesn't sound like Mr Charming.'

'That's what I've just been trying to tell Harry.'

Hermione sighed and dragged a hand through her hair, recalling the last time she'd seen Viktor. Their goodbye kiss in the shadows behind the Hog's Head had seemed to last for hours, and yet was still over too soon. On stepping away from him, their fingertips touching unless the very last moment, she'd wished him luck for his match and he'd grinned goofily at her. That first match meant everything to him.

'Right,' Hermione stood abruptly. 'Harry, fetch Ron and meet us in the library in ten minutes.'

'But we've got History of Magic now!' Harry said, shocked.

'To hell with History of Magic. This is more important.'

And with that, Hermione gathered up the newspaper under her arm, tugged Ginny to her feet and marched out of the Great Hall, her thoughts consumed by Viktor Krum.

That evening Hermione laid out her writing kit on the bed and stared at the empty slip of parchment balanced on her knee. Crookshanks was curled by her feet, his purring rhythmic in his slumber. Viktor had commanded her thoughts all day and she'd been distracted to the point that Professor Babbling had held her back after Ancient Runes to question her health. It wasn't often that she trusted the Daily Prophet's word on anything, but the article about Viktor had deeply unsettled her. After his revelations about his father her mind had jumped to an extreme conclusion — something had to have happened to his family. Ana's correspondences had slipped lately, though Hermione hadn't questioned the reason until now; Ana had said she was travelling for a research project. Could it be that Sofija and Ana had been forced into hiding?

Outside the protection of her four-poster, the curtains drawn, Hermione could hear Lavender and Parvati clucking about Cho Chang. She'd cried in their DA meeting again, torn, no doubt, by the memory of Cedric and what she was learning. Forever bonded by what had happened in the maze, Hermione had spent most of the session sat cross-legged on the floor with Cho, reassuring her that Cedric had known what Harry was teaching them. It was no comfort to either of them that the outcome had remained the same — especially when Hermione's boyfriend had escaped alive, and Cho's had not. The truth was that it could've easily been Viktor who'd been transported to the graveyard with Harry. His fate had been in Barty Crouch Jr's hands.

Yes, but we're not going down that line of thought tonight, Hermione berated herself crossly. Tonight she needed to find a delicate way of enquiring whether Viktor had a secret to tell her, all while keeping to the riddles that prevented toad-face from invading their privacy. An audible grunt of frustration escaped her at the thought.

'Ooooh!' Came Lavender's voice from outside the curtains a mere moment later.

'What a beautiful bird!' Parvati echoed.

Instinctively, Hermione scrambled down from the bed and tore back the drapes. Expecting to see the majestic form of Viktor's own owl, she wasn't prepared for the sight that met her eyes. Hovering outside the window, his black eyes focused on the bed from which Hermione had just appeared, was none other than the Headmaster's own familiar. Fawkes' crimson wing feathers were undulating in the evening breeze, whilst the swathe of crimson covering his belly glowed faintly in the darkness. He was carrying a letter in his beak.

'Girls,' Hermione said abruptly, rushing to the window to let the phoenix inside. 'This comes under the DA's strict privacy agreement. If you spill a word…'

'Yeah,' Lavender said miserably. 'Spots. We got it.'

There were only two words on the neatly folded scrap of parchment. Pepper Imps. Harry had told her and Ron about Professor Dumbledore's fondness for sweet treats and they'd laughed together at his previous choice of passwords. Tonight it just felt ominous. She never had liked Pepper Imps.

A few minutes later, Hermione was tiptoeing down the staircase and into the common room. It was empty, except for a house-elf who was busy folding the knitted blankets that were usually draped over the various armchairs and sofas. It squeaked at the sight of her and vanished in an instant.

'Single-handedly liberating elves. That's my witch.'

There had been amusement in Viktor's eyes when she'd revealed to him what she'd been doing, and yet he'd chosen not to bring up old disagreements. It made her think evermore fondly of him as she squeezed through the Fat Lady's portrait, careful in her movements as not to wake her. What would she do if Professor Dumbledore had bad news for her tonight? In the middle of DADA that afternoon she'd made up her mind to apply for a bereavement absence if the worst had happened… her friendship with Harry and Ron had made it easier to bend the truth. If Viktor needed her, for whatever reason, then she'd get to Wimbourne no matter what it took.

The corridors were empty that evening, and cooler than usual. Absentmindedly, Hermione reflected that winter had come early this year, and it was even less appealing than normal to be out of bed, past curfew, wandering around the draughty old castle.

It took Hermione a long time to reach the Headmaster's Tower. She'd had to stop frequently to check the Marauders Map Harry had lent her that morning in the library — at the time he'd claimed he wanted her to monitor unusual activity around the Room of Requirement, but now she wondered if it had been in reaction to the news about Viktor's father. It was his way of telling her he forgave her for her secrets, as though he knew there would be a time, soon, when she'd desperately need the aid of the map. Behind the recent bouts of hot-headedness he was still Harry: her oblivious but faithful best friend.

There could be no coincidence on Dumbledore's timing. On the day that she'd read about Viktor's odd behaviour and revealed his father's task to her closest friends, the Headmaster had invited her to his office for the very first time… without Harry. Whatever he wanted to discuss was for her ears only…

A sheen of cold sweat covered her by the time she came face to face with the gargoyle that protected access to Professor Dumbledore's office.

'Pepper Imps,' She whispered through dry lips and watched in silent awe as it stepped aside to reveal a circular stone staircase.

On more than one occasion she'd imagined herself climbing these steps to receive the Headmaster's praise for something or other, especially in her first year. Nowadays she craved that recognition less — Viktor himself had shown her the dark side to being singled out for special attention. Instead of elation, it was with dread that she climbed the staircase.

In the time it took for her to pause at the door, her fist raised to knock, the heavy frame had swung open to reveal a beautiful, if cluttered, office. A faint medicinal aroma hung in the air and the only light came from the fire, in front of which stood Professor Dumbledore. His back was to her and he was hunched as though squinting into the flickering, golden flames. Above him the portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses were either empty or their inhabitants fast asleep, their faces slack and peaceful in repose. Hermione had the unsettling sensation of walking in on a deeply private moment.

'Good evening, Miss Granger.' Dumbledore said softly, turning to face her as he did so. His hands remained clasped behind his back and he observed her evenly.

'Evening, Professor,' She said tentatively, unsure whether she should seat herself by the huge, claw-footed desk, or in any number of the weathered armchairs.

'Please, do sit down,' Dumbledore gestured to a seat closest to the fire and she eased herself into it, jumping in surprise when the air whistled out of a cushion she hadn't spotted. It was the same colour as the chair. The Headmaster's eyes twinkled momentarily, and then he looked at her with sober consideration. 'Thank you for coming so late in the day. I confess that I did not realise the hour when I sent Fawkes on his little errand.'

'Sir?'

Dumbledore was now gazing up at the ceiling, a faraway glint in his eye. To Hermione he seemed distracted, not wholly in the room with her. She wet her lips to speak again, but Dumbledore beat her to it.

'I wish I had called you here under different circumstances, Miss Granger. I have been meaning to thank you directly for your loyalty to Harry for a long time. He has found a steadfast friendship in you and Mr Weasley.'

'Oh. I, er. He's my best friend. That's what friends do.' She said, shuffling nervously in her seat.

'Indeed.'

Dumbledore considered her through his half-moon spectacles and the weight of his gaze only increased her need to fidget.

'Sir, if I can ask… is Viktor okay?'

'Viktor?' Dumbledore weaved his fingers into the tip of his silver beard and nodded thoughtfully. 'I'm afraid I have no news for you there.'

'But —'

'Hermione, I must ask you to do something for me. I must place a burden on you, in hopes that it is not too late to rectify the foolishness of an old man —'

Professor Dumbledore, foolish? It was folly that a wizard as clever as the one stood before her could think himself foolish. But… hadn't her own Dad once told her that the most intelligent of people could also be the most stupid, at times? The lesson there had been not to grow complacent of her intellect… yet that didn't apply here. Hermione frowned at the Headmaster.

'Let me first explain. Illian tells me that Viktor is aware of the mission he was assigned by the Order?'

'Oh, yes, Sir…'

Dumbledore waved a hand and smiled. 'Do not worry. Illian speaks very highly of you, and it is a father's choice what he tells his son. Mr Krum is a not a man who would do so lightly, and without full awareness that the information would make its way back to you.'

Hermione felt guilty nonetheless. It was surreal to be sat here with the Headmaster speaking about her boyfriend's father and his secrets — it was surreal, above all else, to consider the Headmaster might know more about the Krums than she ever would.

'Now, where was I… Cocoa, Miss Granger?'

Inwardly, Hermione acknowledged the change of address. Curiously enough she was Hermione when he was asking a favour… and now she was back to being his student.

'Please.' She said, for lack of anything better to say.

'I will be plain with you then, Miss Granger. The task given to Illian Krum came with great risk, and he accepted that knowingly. There is no greater wizard for the job — and we must respect his choice there.'

Hermione peered down at the rich, chocolatey liquid in the mug he had just passed her. It was as though Dumbledore had read her mind; her thoughts had turned defiant, and she'd been about to demand how he could ask that of anyone. Chasing Death Eaters and their lackeys was tantamount to suicide.

'Sir, why are you telling me this? Not that I'm not grateful for the… insight.' She added quickly.

'Because the time has come to deliver a message to Illian Krum, Hermione.' Dumbledore glided past her armchair and to his desk, returning momentarily empty-handed. He looked distracted again.

'I don't wish to be rude, Sir, but aren't you better placed to do that?' She glanced in the direction of the portraits, and then the fire.

Dumbledore chuckled at this. 'I'm afraid not. My friendship with Illian is no secret, and the Ministry's grasp on Hogwarts is increasing. The walls here have both eyes and ears, and nowadays they follow me everywhere. I have my means, but we cannot afford the slightest chance that our High Inquisitor, for example…'

'Say no more,' Hermione muttered. 'Ok, so it has to be me. Fine,' She rummaged in her jeans pocket and produced a crumpled slither of parchment. It was covered in calculations from her Arithmancy homework; she turned it over and was poised to write. 'Do you have a quill, Sir?'

Dumbledore was standing directly in front of her now, and as she made to repeat her question, he reached out and folded her hand over the parchment with his. Tapping it lightly, he pointed to her temple.

'Your time is up.'

'Sorry?'

'That is the message. Inform Illian that his time is up.'

A tense silence followed in which Hermione simply stared at the Headmaster. Illian's time was up — what did that mean? The preoccupied expression on Dumbledore's thin face didn't match with the foreboding nature of his words, and for the briefest of moments his movements were wearied, and then the dreamy twinkle was back in his eye.

Surely he couldn't mean that Viktor's father's life was in imminent danger, she debated in a rush of consternation.

'I'm afraid I cannot tell you any more than this, Miss Granger,' Dumbledore said softly, reading the alarm in her body language. 'The less you know, the safer you and young Viktor will remain.'

'And how —'

'The less I know about your plan to get this message to Illian the better.'

'If I were to need the day off…' Hermione murmured aloud, a skeleton of a plan forming in her mind — getting this message out under Umbridge's nose would be both risky and thrilling.

'Madam Pomfrey informs me the Hospital Wing is already bustling with the first bouts of seasonal flu,' Dumbledore said merrily. 'Minerva is already five students down.'

The Headmaster filled the silence that followed with pleasant small talk, mostly about the changing seasons and his eagerness for the festivities of December to begin. If Hermione didn't know better, she would've said he was carefully giving her time to mull over her plan before he dismissed her. He did so, at length, as an otherwise invisible clock struck midnight.

'Oh ho! Come, to bed with you Miss Granger. A well-rested mind is a keener one.'

And I need all the help I can get, Hermione added privately. She got to her feet and, leaving her mug next to an empty phial that appeared to be steaming still, shuffled towards the door. On an impulse she glanced over her shoulder as her fingers wrapped around the shiny brass handle, meeting the expectant gaze of the Headmaster.

'Sir… Can I ask… Did you know Viktor's grandfather?'

'Georgi?' Dumbledore said sharply. He pronounced it as Viktor did.

His bright eyes were now levelled on her in a way that made her skin prickle. That one name had broken him from his earlier, almost dream-like state, something she had always thought was a mechanism to lull others into underestimating the Headmaster.

'No. I'm sorry I don't know the other one's… name.'

'Vanko,' Dumbledore said matter-of-factly. 'Yes, I was well acquainted with both Mr Krum and Mr Kostova.'

'Viktor said that his Grandfather, Mr Kostova, died personally at the hands of Grindelwald,' To her surprise Dumbledore showed no emotion at the name of the powerful wizard he'd defeated in battle. In fact, his even expression never faltered. 'I was wondering… I was hoping I could put his mind at rest. He doesn't know how, or why he died. And, well, I've done some digging and it's not in any of the books in the library.'

'I'm afraid, Miss Granger,' Dumbledore resumed the position he had been in when she had arrived almost an hour earlier. She wondered if he was hiding his face from her. 'That I cannot ease Viktor's suffering. There were no witnesses that we know of to Vanko's murder and… rumours that he was one of Grindelwald's closest advisors have never been confirmed with solid proof. It would be best, perhaps, not to dwell on this, especially when more pressing matters are at hand.'

'Right. Er, goodnight Headmaster.'

'Goodnight Miss Granger.'

However, as she slipped away she couldn't help shake the feeling that Professor Dumbledore hadn't told her the whole truth.

Hermione had multiple false starts in shaping her plan in the days that followed. The night she'd departed the Headmaster's office she'd been prepared to leave the very next morning on an impulse, but had talked herself out of acting rashly as she lay in bed mulling over their conversation.

She'd told Harry and Ron nearly every word of what had passed between her and the Headmaster, omitting only the unsatisfactory exchange about Viktor's grandfather. Instead of the reaction she'd expected, Harry had been level-headed and cautious, helping her to see through the cloud of impulsivity that had precluded her worry for Viktor. Ron was quiet throughout their whispered conversation in the common room, his expression stony at the idea that she of all people would be given a task on behalf of the Order.

'Well, you'll need to take my cloak, and the map.' Harry said as she concluded explaining her plan. She hadn't factored his cooperation into said plan, but it would help… in fact, it would make her whole plan possible. She beamed at him.

'I've just got to get to Hogsmeade and then I'll be good, as long as I keep the cloak on.'

'Use the tunnel then; the one straight into Honeydukes. Ron and I can make a diversion, can't we?'

And so it was decided. Despite a complete silence from Viktor since the article had been released, and not for lack of Hermione trying, she picked an owl at random and entrusted it with a note to Viktor. Beneath the riddle, she would expect him to meet her in Hogsmeade first thing Friday morning. No matter what was wrong with him, she had to hope that he would come for her. If not, she would risk everything for her plan to fall flat at the last hurdle.

He was back in the maze.

The towering hedges were encroaching on his space, enveloping him in their sharp needles and thick branches. His face stung were they tore at his skin. He could hear the whispering voice again, and feel the haze that had fallen over him as the bewitchment took control. Cedric was screaming somewhere in the darkness…

Viktor awoke with a start. His boxer shorts were sodden with sweat, and the dampness was rapidly cooling on his bare chest. Groaning, he reached for his wand and dried the evidence of his recurring nightmare.

His watch read two in the morning — he could've only been asleep half an hour. Before that he'd been tossing and turning, agitated by the note that had arrived from Hermione that evening after training. It was too business-like… too detached. It had immediately put him on edge.

'Pull yourself together Viktor.' He muttered to himself and rolled over onto his stomach, staring out through the open window that overlooked the stadium.

He shouldn't have delayed writing to her. But his head… everything had been so muddled since he'd discovered Grindelwald's symbol burnt into the wall beneath his newly installed name plaque. That plaque was supposed to have been their final welcome to him, on the day of his first match wearing the Wasps' colours. Coach had even agreed to take a discreet photo of him standing in front of it after the match to send to his parents. Whoever had done it had tarnished that moment forever for him.

Valentin had come searching for him after the match, a flask of rakija in hand and a grin stretched from ear to ear.

'There's a clue in the name, Vik. Friendly match.' He'd said happily and thrust the flask at him. Viktor had downed it in one.

Valentin hadn't said a word when Viktor had shoved him into the changing room and put him face to face with the symbol that both wizards had long associated with loss. Without attempt at comforting him, something that would've fallen short with Viktor at the time, Valentin had cast charm after complex charm in an attempt to get a reading off the faint hum of dark magic that still clung to symbol.

'Whoever cast this doubted themselves.'

'What?'

Valentin had tugged Viktor to his side and pointed to the sloppy lines of the carving. 'I think it was supposed to scare you… the signature doesn't suggest a real malice in their intent.'

'It's a joke?' Viktor had said harshly.

'It'd have to be a really shit one, so no. This wizard or witch wanted you scared.'

'Well, they succeeded.'

And from that moment on Viktor had seen everyone as a potential threat. His mind had seen the small group of fans that had swarmed in on him after the match as suspects of the crime, and he'd wanted nothing more to be rid of their cloying demands. And then, to make matters worse, Coach had interviewed each and every one of his teammates, as well as the support team that had access to the changing rooms before the match, and had told them why that symbol was so haunting for him. His trauma aired like dirty laundry for the whole team to see. As if they didn't already know, he'd thought bitterly when Ralph had told him.

Viktor hadn't told his father. He'd sworn Valentin to secrecy, and passed the next evening in a busy bar in Wimbourne, glamoured and eavesdropping on the locals. He was the topic on most people's lips after his quick and humane despatch of the opposition, but the story of the symbol had yet to leave the grounds, it seemed.

That fact was less comforting than he'd expected it to be, and now he was dealing with the consequences in the form of his sleepless nights. Whoever was tormenting him was either closer to him than he wanted to accept, or they were powerful enough to slip through the copious layers of protection around the club's grounds.

It wasn't the first time that a deluded Grindelwald fanatic had terrorised his family. But it was the first time it had felt personal.

'Fuck it.' He pulled himself into a seating position and scribbled out a second response to Hermione's note.

I wish you were here. You would know what to do.

Roderick hooted sleepily and fluttered down from his perch and onto Viktor's bare thigh to receive the note. He stroked the bird's soft feathers before tying the parchment to his leg and lifting him to the open window. Viktor remained there for quite some time, simply staring up at the crescent moon and emptying his thoughts. Only when he began to shiver did he climb back under the covers and close his eyes, but not before bidding the photo of Hermione on his nightstand goodnight. She'd looked exquisite the night of his mother's gala.

Hermione's bright, intuitive eyes met him in his dreams. She was stretched out beside him in the very same bed, the creamy skin of her long legs exposed and inviting. He ran his fingertips along the goose-pimpled flesh, behind the dip of her knee and up over her thigh. Shuddering at his touch, she brushed her lips over his and a jolt of arousal fluttered in his groin. Bolstered by the perceptive glint in her eyes, Viktor skimmed his hand underneath her pyjama shorts — the same pair she'd worn in Bulgaria — and let out a low hiss when he discovered she wasn't wearing underwear. Friction… heady, intoxicating friction; he was rocking himself unconsciously against her thigh as his fingers found her heat and, on feeling a silken wetness against his index finger, she whimpered. That sound would drive him crazy.

'I miss you so much, and I miss this.' He murmured to her dream form.

'Then please don't make me wait.' She whispered back, her final words muffled by a drawn out groan that made him scramble to kick off his boxers and pull her flush against him. Soft fingers wrapped around him, pumping him expertly, and then she was lining him up with the juncture of her thighs, the wet heat there making him dizzy with anticipation. So close…

A clatter from outside his bedroom window wrenched Viktor from his blissful state and back to the reality of his quiet room, a straining erection tapping his stomach the only reminder of the brief escape he'd found. A cat was howling somewhere in the trees, mocking him.

'Can't I get any peace?' He cursed and threw his pillow angrily at the window.

On Thursday night Hermione was a nervous wreck. She and Ron had been bickering all day; his grouchy mood and snide comments had resulted in a heated argument in Potions that landed him detention, and Gryffindor twenty-points poorer. Harry was still refusing to talk to either of them.

Yet again, Ginny had been her sanctuary. The youngest Weasley had accompanied Hermione to the library after dinner and had remained glued to her side since, refusing to let her skulk up to bed under the pretence of an early night. It was for that reason Hermione found herself perched on the end of Ginny's bed, painting the other girl's toenails as she read aloud a letter from Molly and Arthur.

'Hermione?'

'Hm?' Hermione blinked sheepishly and looked at her friend. 'Oh drat! I'm so sorry! I've painted your skin by mistake.'

Ginny smirked. 'No harm done,' She tapped the offending paintwork with the tip of her wand and it vanished. 'Now come on. What's on your mind — you're not worrying about my idiot brother are you?'

'No, 'course not,' Hermione muttered darkly, resealing the Burgundy nail polish and stowing it safely on Ginny's bedside table. 'It's Viktor.'

'Still not written to you?'

'Worse.'

Hermione filled Ginny in on the letter she'd received from Viktor not long after sunrise that morning. Roderick had been pecking at her pillow impatiently when she awoke, as though he'd been there for a while. The contents of the note he'd brought hadn't done anything to calm her nerves.

'He could just mean he's finding it hard settling in?' Ginny suggested.

'Maybe,' Hermione agreed doubtfully, 'But I just can't shake the feeling that it's a cry for help.'

On Ginny's request Hermione shuffled around to present her wild mass of curls. That summer they'd discovered a mutual interest — Hermione was soothed by having her hair combed and plaited, and Ginny found it cathartic to do just that.

A strong herbal smell accompanied the pop! of a lotion bottle being opened, and then Ginny was massaging Sleekeazy's Hair Potion into Hermione's hair and scalp. Her shoulders sagged almost instantly, and she let out a long, contented sigh.

'You're the absolute best, have I told you that?'

'Many times,' Ginny said cheerfully. 'Alright then, I think it's time for a happier topic. Let's talk about Christmas.'

Hermione groaned.

'What? You're not looking forward to Christmas!?'

'It's not that,' Hermione grimaced. 'Drat, I'm sorry Gin. You're making all this effort to lighten the mood and I'm being a right grouch!' She picked absentmindedly at a hangnail while she spoke. 'I just mean that I hadn't thought about Christmas because there's so much going on… and I'm rapidly realising that I'm going to have to juggle my time even more this year. My parents will be expecting me home after last Christmas, and of course I'd like to visit The Burrow for a while… but now there's Viktor and his family to accommodate. How am I going to find the time?'

To her surprise, Ginny burst into giggles. Her hand slipped from the braid she'd been holding and Hermione's now-glossy locks slid from the position they'd been eased into. Ginny's snorts and laughter were contagious, and after a moment Hermione was giggling with her.

'What a problem to have!' Ginny said as her laughter finally subsided. 'Tough life isn't it? Just trying to squeeze time into the diary to pop over to Bulgaria to see my famous boyfriend…' Although Ginny's teasing words weren't delivered unkindly, Hermione flushed nonetheless.

'God, you're right. I probably sound just like Lavender!'

This only made Ginny laugh harder, and this time it was Hermione who had to fan herself to quell her giggles.

'Seriously though, I'm facing a logistical nightmare!' Hermione groaned again. 'Help me Gin.'

'Viktor's gotta come first — you see him the least.' Ginny said reasonably.

'Actually, I see Mum and Dad less —'

'They'll understand.'

Hermione's mind skipped to the last face to face conversation she'd had with her parents. Mum had promised her they could have a festive girls day in London after the train got in. It was tradition. It'd crush her if Hermione turned her down now.

'I don't think Mum will.' Hermione said sadly.

'Maybe Viktor could come to your folks this year then,' Ginny suggested, and then excitement passed over her freckled face. 'Or better still, why don't you guys come to us for Christmas! That'd solve it!'

'Yeah, and Ron'd love that!' Hermione snorted. 'At least you get to see Harry without having to work out a schedule.'

Ginny's cheeks turned pink.

'So what?'

'Well, y'know… You don't have to sacrifice something to see the guy you like whenever you want. Harry's always there.'

It was the first time Hermione had brought up her friend's crush to her face. She'd expected defiance, or for Ron's sister to shut her down, but curiously it was relief that Hermione saw in Ginny.

'Wondered how long it'd take you to work that out,' Ginny said, rubbing the back of her neck in the same manner Ron did when he was nervous. 'It's not that obvious, is it?'

'No…'

'You hesitated!'

'Not so obvious that Harry and Ron have cottoned on — they're totally oblivious when it comes to girls. You know that!' Hermione twisted back to face her friend, attempting a reassuring smile.

'And that's the bloody problem! Harry'll probably never realise, not that I want him to, unless I do something crazy like kiss him, merlin forbid…'

'Don't look to me for help,' More giggles threatened to burst from Hermione, 'My romance with Viktor was hardly a fairytale. We were both so awkward at first. I still think it's some kind of miracle we got together without magical intervention.'

There was a moment's silence and then Hermione and Ginny dissolved into giggles, and they didn't stop until much, much later.

Not a soul was awake when Hermione left Gryffindor common room the next morning. The sun was yet to rise, and a blanket of foreboding calm hung over the silent castle. Unlike her previous adventure out-of-hours, Hermione made quick work of navigating the eerie corridors and made it to the One-Eyed Witch just as the first sleepy signs of sunlight crept through the cloudy sky.

'Dissendium!'

The password seemed to echo through the entrance to the secret passage as she hastily clambered through and slid down into the shadowy tunnel. Inside it was arctic-cold and Hermione was grateful for having dressed in as many layers as she had. Tucking the invisibility cloak and map into her schoolbag, Hermione set off at a light jog that quickly became a fast walk. Viktor would've smirked at her lack her fitness, she thought — maybe it would've been better to stick to her plan of keeping fit.

Viktor certainly had. The thought of seeing him spurred her on and she broke out into another run, this time lasting much longer and maintaining a semblance of pace, even on the bumpy tunnel floor. A number of times she tripped in her haste, scraping the fabric of her jeans, but on she went, determined that something as trivial as her fitness wouldn't stall her.

What would she find at the other end? Harry had warned her to take care before popping up in the Honeydukes' cellar, but it wasn't an unwanted rendezvous with the proprietor that weighed on her mind as she ran. She was only half certain that Viktor would turn up; whatever was plaguing him could easily make it impossible for him to leave the club.

At long last Hermione came to the end of the chilly passageway. Her toes pressed against the first stone step, and she examined the climb awaiting her with trepidation. Hundreds and hundreds of steps seemed to be between her and freedom… between her and knowing whether Viktor had come.

She was wheezing by the time her forehead bumped a wooden trapdoor, and the layers she had previously been grateful for were now shrunken and stuffed into her bag. A chill was coming from above. Hermione remained stock-still on the last step, her ears straining to pick up any motion inside the cellar. After what felt like an hour, in which she barely allowed herself to breathe, she nudged the trapdoor with a trembling hand and it shifted a fraction. There was no shout of surprise, no voice asking who was waiting below… so, with all the strength in her body, Hermione shoved.

The trapdoor shunted aside and allowed her slight frame to squeeze through into the dark cellar. Someone had been there recently as a tidy stack of boxes had been opened and were waiting at the bottom of a rickety wooden ladder, waiting for the first re-stock of the morning. Hermione crouched behind a densely-packed row of shelving for long enough to be sure they weren't coming back.

Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as she took the rungs of the ladder one by one, her breathing now even shallower than when she'd been running. Only the image of Viktor waiting anxiously for her on the other side of the door made her take the last step and push open the cellar door.

The lights were on inside the shop, but no one was on the shop-floor. Whoever had come to open up had now returned upstairs, and Hermione knew she only had a tight window of time to escape unseen. Feeling as though she were fleeing, Hermione scuttled across the linoleum floor and came to skidding halt at the locked door.

'Alohomora!' She hissed. 'Alohomora! Please!'

It wasn't going to work. Panic washed through her and for a split second Hermione considered a more drastic, muggle resolution. Hadn't she read about an out-dated, emergency unlocking spell somewhere, she thought, desperately trying to calm herself down enough to think logically. Yes, but…

It was this or heading back to Hogwarts without accomplishing her mission, she reasoned. Hermione breathed deeply and pointed her wand at the lock on the door.

'Portaberto!' She whispered, flinching as a flash of light erupted from the tip of her wand and splintered the lock from the door with a loud crack. With her heart in her mouth, Hermione wrenched the door open and flew out into the cold, pausing only to repair the damage as best she could before setting off at a pace that made her eyes water. She didn't dare to look back to see if anyone was following her.

Hermione forced herself into a walk the moment she was certain her frantic eruption from Honeydukes hadn't drawn any unwanted attention. Even though she wasn't in her school robes, it wouldn't do to give anyone reason to look too closely at the young witch making her down the main street. She'd come too far to be caught now.

Madam Rosmerta was stood outside The Three Broomsticks as Hermione passed, and she mumbled a good-morning to her mid-yawn, which Hermione returned in a voice four octaves higher than normal. Creeping behind the pub to where she'd told Viktor to meet her, Hermione's heart sunk.

There was no one there.

While her brain started to process Plan B, Hermione began to pull thick outer layers from inside her bag, resizing them as she went. Tears welled in her eyes as she tugged Viktor's sweatshirt over her head. She might've planned for every eventuality, but she hadn't actually believed that Viktor wouldn't turn up.

However, the mission Professor Dumbledore had given her was more important than Viktor. He'd trusted that she'd find a way to get his message to Illian, with or without the involvement of his son, and now Viktor had made that decision for her. Although the urge to dissolve into floods of tears was strong, Hermione made herself think past her growing worry for Viktor. That would have to come second.

It was time to regroup and move on. Now she just had the small task of finding a wizard who didn't want to be found… a wizard who, according to Ana, had once had the balls to turn down Voldemort himself and lived to tell the tale. She hoped her unspoken agreement with Professor McGonagall would last long enough for a speedy trip to Bulgaria.

Madam Rosmerta had disappeared by the time Hermione slunk back onto the high street. Past the post-office she walked, speeding up when Ambrosius Flume emerged from Honeydukes and waved jovially at her, and along the pathway that led up into the mountains. Up there she would enact Plan B: a portkey. At the time of her internship she'd created them under supervision for all the incoming guests, and her past-self could've never imagined she'd been trying such complex magic under the current circumstances… but she could do it. There was no other option on the table.

'Hermione?'

Hermione had just passed Dervish & Banges when she heard her name being called. As though in slow motion she turned.

'Are you going somewhere?'

It was Viktor. It was really Viktor. No glamour, no blonde hair. Dark circles stained the skin below his eyes and his hair was dishevelled. He looked as though he hadn't slept in days. Underneath her shocked scrutiny he shuffled from foot to foot, seeming more like the Viktor she'd first met — shy and unsure of himself.

'I'm sorry to be late, I couldn't get away —'

Hermione smothered his words with her lips.


I know this chapter was very conversation-heavy and less action, but the characters had a lot to say this time. It's also the biggest challenge I can give myself, as I've always struggled with dialogue. Hey-ho, I hope you all enjoyed it!