Author's Note:

So this is a story that came to me and I've been playing with on and off for the last couple of months. After writing Finding Home, I really wanted to write a longer, more in depth Viktor/Hermione story and I was surprised at how quickly the ideas started bouncing around in my brain. And this is the result of that plunny. I've got roughly 15k written for this story already and I'm guestimating that this story will finish somewhere between 40-50k.

This is a slightly slower pace for the romance side of the pairing with a much heavier plot than you would have read in Finding Home. I hope that it's still enjoyable for you though!

I am slowly working through new material for The Voice and Simon Says but I'm having a pretty determined block at the moment so I am shifting gears to work on stories that are actually flowing at the moment. When my muse for one of the other two decides that it's time for me to work on these two, I'll absolutely get new material posted.

I hope you enjoy and look forward to seeing what you think!

Always,

ABD

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Chapter 1

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Doctors Nicholas and Anna Granger had always been so very proud of their only daughter. They worked their hardest to ensure their daughter would have everything she needed to be able to succeed as she grew older. They weren't the sort of parents to pamper or spoil their child.

She grew up in a comfortable but modest home with exacting but so very loving parents. Her toys in the early years were always both stimulating and educational, as she grew older books of all sorts replaced the toys. She was given additional tutors before and throughout primary school. Her parents insisted upon exemplary grades in both traditional schooling and her additional education. When she did well, she was rewarded with additions to the family's ever-growing little library. Though, Hermione Granger very rarely didn't do well. More than anything else in her whole little world, she hated disappointing her parents and endeavored to not give cause to see that heartbreaking expression on her papa's face.

Her parents had raised her to be multilingual from the start, which was to be expected. At eleven, she was fluent in English and Russian and had begun learning French when she was five, though only the former two were normally spoken in Granger household. French had been chosen due to the Granger family's love for vacations to the continent when they could manage it. Additionally, her parents had her taught traditional etiquette, comportment and self-defense lessons. Hermione understood that her parents insisted that they were necessary. That didn't mean she liked them. She absolutely did not. She had tried to argue it a few times throughout the years but quickly learned from the stern lecture given to her by her mother that it was not up for debate and that, apparently, Hermione would thank her someday.

She was sure that someday she might thank them. But while going through primary school, she found it difficult to be so very different from her peers in so many ways.

The Granger parents had instilled a love for learning and the written word into their daughter from a young age. The other children didn't seem to quite agree with that. And they made sure that she knew it. If it wasn't the books they were teasing her for then it was her slightly overlarge teeth or her wild, untamable hair. If it wasn't that, it was the funny way she and her family spoke. Or it was that her family was different. How many times had the other children cruelly told that the Grangers ought to just go back to where ever they'd come from? Hermione had lost count.

Hermione knew that her parents truly only wanted the best for her and did not want her to struggle in the ways that they had. They had had to work so very hard to get where they were. Having escaped to England from the Soviet Union during the height of the Cold War, her parents had faced innumerable odds. Though they didn't talk about it much, at least not to her directly, Hermione knew that when they left their home in Russia they had left everything, including their names, behind. From what little she had learned about the region through school, she knew that they had done so for their own safety and by extension, her's as well.

Some days, Hermione found it odd that she had no idea what her parents' birth names were but there were other times where she was rather afraid to know anything more than she already did, what little it was. Like the many times throughout the years that she would come home from school and see a pair of well-dressed men sitting across the table from her tense parents. She would see her mother's hand tighten around her papa's as soon as she peered into the room and her papa would give her a silent, pointed look. That look, she knew, was an urgent warning to head to her room and stay out of sight. Even with the weight of her curiosity weighing on her, she knew better than to attempt to eavesdrop. Those men had frightened her more than once.

She remembered the one time, not long ago, when the darker haired of the two men had shown up at her school during her lunchtime. Her parents had been incensed that the school had allowed him to speak with her privately. Hermione shuddered remembering the way the tall man hovered over her, demanding answers to questions about her parents, their routines, and relationships before the questions became invasively about herself. It was only when the man had roughly grabbed her arms to shake the answers he wanted out of her that Mrs Weizner had decided to call the questioning to an end and phoned her parents at their practice.

Papa had arrived at the school in less than a half hour and Hermione was certain she had never seen him nearly as angry as he was that day. She had stubbornly refused to cry, despite how afraid she had been, when that man had been in the room with her but the moment she saw her papa all of the emotion rushed out of her in an instant. As soon as she was safely ensconced in his arms her body shook with the force of her sobs.

The bullying and harassment from her schoolmates had been nearly unbearable for weeks following the ordeal. Even worse, most of the teachers no longer stepped in to help her. That she was privately questioned in the manner that she had been seemed to have instilled a belief that something was wrong with the Grangers. Hermione had come home from school more often than not bruised and bleeding with most, if not all, of her belongings in various stages of destroyed during her last month of school that year. It had been heartbreaking for her parents to see and utterly devastating to the young girl.

And then one day during the summer that followed, a strict looking older woman by the name of Professor Minerva McGonagall had appeared on their doorstep and announced to the small family that Hermione was different, special even. She was a witch. Hermione had inwardly grimaced as she remembered the way that Louise Melvin's face broke out in grotesque pustules immediately following yet another round of cruel bullying harassment during that month of terror following her questioning. Or the way that Paul Davis seemed incapable of walking without tripping over his own feet after shoving her down onto the hot pavement earlier that week.

She hadn't wanted to be more different, at that point she only wanted to be left alone.

But now, she had the opportunity to go to a new school. One where other children would be just as different as she was. Hermione held her breath as she eyed her parents. Would they let her go? Would they give her the opportunity to actually be accepted by her peers? To actually have friends? Please, please, mum, papa, please! She begged mentally, knowing better than to display such behavior aloud in front of company.

To her everlasting joy, they had taken their daughter's magic in stride and loved her still. Had they been asked, they were admittedly very wary about sending Hermione away to Hogwarts for the majority of the year for the next seven years. There were many, many contributing factors to their hesitation, most of which would be understandable for any parent of a young child.

Still, they couldn't keep her from her magic, as much as both of the Granger parents often wished that they could. Anna especially wished that her girl had been born without magic. Hermione's eagerness for a new world and new subjects to absorb was enough, some days, to break her mother's heart. Anna wanted to keep her daughter close. To keep her safe and hopefully shield her from at least some of the cruelty that the world had to offer. She knew she couldn't. Her baby was growing up all too quickly and had already experienced more than her fair share of cruelty at the hands of her peers. Regardless of their hesitation, the Granger parents stood supportively while their daughter ran headfirst towards-and disappeared through-the solid brick wall at the train station.

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Those first few months of her first year were by far the worst for both parents and child. No parent wanted to read that many letters stained with their daughter's tears. Especially when their girl was so very far away and they could do very little to comfort her aside from splurging a bit on their occasional care packages from home. But then suddenly, the letters changed and the inclusion of the two boys she had befriended lightened the weight on Anna's mind, though her husband was decidedly less impressed much to her amusement. The absence of tear-stained letters was enough, for the time being, to override his fatherly concern about his daughter befriending two young wizards.

Letters came throughout the years, though neither of her parents was so naive to believe that they had not been heavily edited. Several long weeks without a single letter from their daughter or her school near the end of her second year had Nicholas bordering in an anxiety fueled rage wishing that he knew how to get to the school and check in person that Hermione was well or at very least that the family had gotten an owl where they could write her if she had gotten overwhelmed and simply forgotten to write. When she arrived home for that summer, Hermione had carefully dodged every one of their direct questions. Anna and Nicholas had each managed to glean some additional details out of their daughter through careful conversation. Neither was pleased with the picture that was being painted.

That their little witch was entirely too thin and had grown up far more quickly than what was normal for a fourteen-year-old girl went unnoticed by neither of her parents when she returned home after her third year. Nicholas had carefully held his wife's hand in the crook of his elbow, his opposite hand over hers to help to ground the radiating anger that he could see boiling within the woman. Their girl was growing up entirely too quickly as it was. Whatever that school was playing at had altered her. It all kept coming back to those two boys. Neither could find it in themselves to be disappointed in their daughter's staunch loyalty to her friends but they couldn't help but wish she had chosen less troublesome ones. Anna resigned herself to a mother-daughter shopping trip that summer to obtain clothes that better fit the girl's rapidly maturing figure.

When Hermione wrote home her fourth year with a happily glowing letter about a Bulgarian Quidditch player who had apparently taken a liking to their daughter, Anna had been surprisingly quiet. Nicholas knew, though, that it was fear that kept his wife quiet. While they were both pleased-Nicholas was admittedly less so-that a young man had finally shown their beautiful girl the attention that she deserved, both were worried about what the Bulgarian boy would have in store for their daughter. It was too close. Far too close to their former lives than either of them would ever truly be comfortable with. Their responses were carefully worded and full of love and support, neither daring to voice their concerns lest their stubborn girl stop sharing altogether.

She was a smart girl. She would know to keep herself safe.

Both had been admittedly surprised to have received an owl just before Hermione was meant to return home for the summer. That the letter was written in their native language had them even more so. Nicholas carefully opened the letter and spread it out on the table between them as they usually did and the Granger parents leaned forward to read.

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Hermione found herself in an interesting situation and she wasn't quite sure what to make of it and if she were honest, she wasn't sure that she truly wanted to question it. She was in the library, which in itself was in no way unusual. What was unusual was the boy sitting across from her at the table.

Viktor Krum, Quidditch Star extraordinaire, had approached her several weeks ago in that very same spot and in fumbling English, asked if he could sit with her. Hermione had blinked in surprise but quickly reorganized the stacks of books and parchment that she had spread across the table to allow him room on the opposite side. He had offered a quiet thank you and a small smile before taking the offered spot and setting himself to work.

He had returned to the same spot every evening following. The first few days had been quiet with witch and wizard fully involved in the work in front of them. It was an oddly simple companionship.

Just a couple of days before, the large Bulgarian boy had muttered scornfully under his breath at the cluster of obnoxious, giggling girls peeking through the shelves. Without thought or looking up from her task, Hermione advised him to simply ignore the gawkers. It was only his sudden silence that caused her to glance up from her work. His surprised but curious glance reminded her that neither his grumbled commentary nor her response had been in spoken in English.

"You speak Russian?" he asked curiously in his usual stumbling way.

"My parents are Russian," she answered with a shrug, though she was sure that her face had begun to flush under his gaze when his expression morphed into a relieved grin.

Odd as it was, that exchange seemed to instantly thaw the simple yet awkward nature of their associations. Once the language barrier no longer existed, the quiet, shy boy seemed much more confident in his ability to converse with her.

And converse they did. Hermione was amazed and, admittedly, a little overwhelmed with how easy it was to talk to Viktor about anything and everything. She liked it. Quite a bit actually. She didn't think that she had ever had a boy's attention on her like this. The young witch found herself blushing when his typically stoic expression would evolve into an amused grin or his surprisingly boisterous laugh would draw Madam Pince's attention during their conversations.

Granted, their conversations had garnered more than a few odd glances from the other students, though Hermione was unsure if it was due to the famous Quidditch player speaking with the swotty bookworm of Gryffindor or the language that was foreign to most if not all of the Hogwarts population. Probably a combination of the two, Hermione decided.

Hermione leaned back into her seat, dropping her quill to flex her fingers that had stiffened from writing and watched the boy sitting across from her only to blush once more when she realized he had, in turn, been watching her.

"Alright?" She asked, foregoing English as had become their usual.

He nodded but looked decidedly nervous but followed suit and asked, "May I ask you something?"

"Of course," Hermione replied, immediately. "What is it?"

Viktor seemed to hesitate for a moment before carefully reaching across the table and taking her hand in his. "Would you accompany me to the Yule Ball, Hermyonee?"

Hermione felt her face warm and her breath catch and she smiled shyly, "I would like that, Viktor. A lot, actually. Are...are you sure though? That you...that you want to go with me?"

The wizard frowned and tilted his head to the side in question, "Why would you ask that?"

She lowered her gaze and made to withdraw her hand only to have his tighten slightly around it. Her eyes shot back up to his face and she shrugged awkwardly, "I know my faults better than anyone else, is all. I'm not really like…" her voice trailed off and she glanced sideways towards the group of pretty girls that had been hovering in the shelves once again.

A gentle tug on her hand brought her attention back to the boy sitting across from her, "That is exactly why I ask you. You're not like them. You...You are real."

"A real mess maybe," she said with a self-critical laugh.

Viktor chuckled and shook his head, reaching with the hand not holding onto hers to tug gently on one of her wayward curls, "You are true beauty, Hermy-o-nee."

Hermione looked at him in confusion, flushed and heart racing from the compliment. Drawing a deep breath to ground herself once more, she smiled warmly and squeezed his hand. Retaking her quill in hand she allowed her own chuckle to escape. "I think all those bludgers to the head might have messed with your eyesight. But flattery will get you everywhere in some circles."

He grinned at her and started back into his own work.

Neither withdrew their linked hands.

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There had never been a doubt that Viktor would have a career in Quidditch once he began playing and as much as Viktor loved the game-and he truly did-he had never meant for it to be all consuming. Early on in his career at Durmstrang, he had been a quiet, reserved boy dedicated to his studies and not making a name for himself. Enthusiasm and energy were only shown on those closest to him which were few and far between. He had always loved flying, of course, but his Quidditch tryouts had been done on a whim.

By the time he had reached the midpoint of his educational career, there had been scouts at their practices and matches. He hadn't really thought about a professional career at that point but when the scout from his home country approached, Viktor knew that he would not be able to turn down the offer. Even as a junior member of the team he would be paid well enough that, if he was careful, he would be able to retire before he was thirty and live comfortably on his earnings.

His parents, he knew, had been eager to send him to the school so far away from home. Not only for the educational purposes but also for his protection. Young he might be but Viktor had always been well aware of the political climate and regional tensions in his home country. His parents, his mother especially, wanted him as far from it as they could possibly manage without losing their son.

He had been reluctant to attend the delegation for the Triwizard Tournament. Not that he was given any choice in the matter. Viktor would have been just as pleased to remain at the school and focus on passing his exams but it was not meant to be.

Now though...even with the events of the final challenge...Viktor couldn't bring himself to be upset that he had been forced to attend. Forced to participate.

The Yule Ball had been a dream. Truly.

That little witch. Viktor was sure he'd never felt his magic within him stir the way it did when he was in her company. He wondered if she felt the same. The flush on her cheeks when he touched her made him believe that she did. Though being raised in a home without understanding of these things she might not understand what it was she was feeling.

She doubted herself so. He hated it. He hated that those she surrounded herself with, devoted herself to, could make her feel less than she truly was. Viktor scowled as he slipped as quietly as he was capable through the Hogwarts corridors. A quick glance around told him that he was in the right place. With a quick but thorough glance either direction up and down the corridor, Viktor leaned back against the classroom door, his right hand turning the knob, pushing the door to what he had been assured was an abandoned classroom.

She sat shyly on the desk on the opposite end of the room. Dust had settled throughout the forgotten room, the only clear spots were from her small footprints and the spots along the desk where her hands had fidgeted across the surface before his arrival. He noticed that her expression brightened when he closed the door softly behind him. The small, automatic change brought warmth to him that he was unfamiliar with.

"You came," she said quietly, her shyness seeping into her words. Viktor couldn't help the rush of affection for the young witch. They had been circling this...whatever this was for the majority of the term.

"For heaven's sake, Ron, he's only a Quidditch player."

Some in his profession, he knew, would take stark offense to such a phrase. But Viktor had always felt himself to be a simple man. When he wasn't upon a broom with people who didn't know the last thing about him cheering him on, he was in the woods around his parent's home enjoying the actual peace and quiet. The connection.

She'd dismissed his role out of hand. This witch. She wasn't to be impressed by how deep he could dive his broom. He actually got the impression that such a stunt would scare her more than entice her. She didn't care that his person was moulded into merchandise. To this witch, this girl, he was but another boy. His academics, his mind, attracted her to him. To her, he was just another eighteen year old boy who happened to hold a popular profession. That was it.

Viktor had immediately understood why a boy like Harry Potter would cling to such a witch.

He hesitantly approached the girl seated on the desk, waiting for him. His hands rested on her slim waist as he stepped carefully between her thighs. He fought down a shiver as her hands ghosted over his chest and up around his neck to tease gently at the fine hairs.

They had kissed. Several times at that point. Viktor had found solace in knowing that he had given her first. He resigned himself to knowing that he would be her first but probably not her only...but if he was lucky and Magic was truly on his side, he would be her last someday also.

She was so naive. So ignorant to her power. Especially her power over him. Viktor had never known himself to submit to any sort of pressure. But in less than a year this little witch had him bound more tightly than he had ever known was possible.

This wasn't just adolescent lust. It wasn't fleeting. Whether she knew it or not, this was beyond adolescence. This was beyond passing lust. Vikor knew his magic and his magic was telling him that this was something more.

His magic uncoiled within him when he kissed her gently and when the exchange heated as it usually did as of late, he withdrew slowly, resting his forehead against hers to calm the churning tide within him.

"I wish you didn't have to go," she admitted quietly as she too fought to control her breathing.

Viktor sighed and straightened himself up before wrapping his arms around her shoulders and hugging her to his chest, smiling slightly to himself when hers moved snugly around his waist with her head resting comfortably over his heart. Fitting, he supposed. "I know," he agreed, resting his chin against the top of her head. "Maybe we might plan a visit over the summer?"

"I would like that," Hermione agreed with a sigh. "I would have to arrange it with my parents."

"Do you think that they would allow you to come to Bulgaria?" he asked curiously.

"I don't know, honestly. I think they would be hesitant to allow me to go but more because of the location than anything else."

"I understand," Viktor nodded. And he did. If her parents had fled Soviet Russia it was likely for good reason. Sending their daughter so close to potential danger would concern any parent. Let alone so close to danger to visit a boy. "Have you told them?"

"About you?" At his nod, he felt her smile against his chest and she returned the gesture. "I have. Mum says that Papa is a little less than pleased but she said that it's just Papa being Papa."

Viktor sighed and hugged her tighter, "I wish I could take you away from what is coming."

"Even if you could, I probably wouldn't let you."

"I know."

"You promise that you'll write?" she asked after several moments of silence.

"I promise."

The rest of the evening was spent in conversation and hushed confessions of hope for the future broken up by a handful of kisses. He was reluctant to leave her with the rest of the delegation from his school. Once they finally parted for the night, Viktor slowly made his way back to the ship only to pause before exiting the castle. After a moment's hesitation he turned around and began climbing the staircase once more. There was one detour he had to make before he left and there would be no time come morning.