A/N: Yea, I know it's been a while... but I'm going to try to get back on track with updates. A huge thanks to a friend of mine (she knows who she is) who read way too many drafts of this chapter and was invaluable when it came to getting both Viktor and Ron's dialogue as good as possible. Enjoy Chapter Four, and let me know what you think!

Hermione was never sure where to find Viktor. So far as she could tell he didn't keep to any kind of regular routine, and he would end up in the oddest of places. More than once she had combed the entire beach, where he walked occasionally, only to find him walking out of the forest, covered in mud almost up to his knees. He had probably explored it, in his few months here, more thoroughly than anybody at Hogwarts had.

He had told her once, in a rare moment of humour, that he explored so much because he "vos a Seeker, and a Seeker can never stop Seeking".

She knew perfectly well why he did it. It was for the same reason that Harry would sometimes walk the halls late at night under the protection of his cloak. They needed to get away from people. They were two of the most famous wizards of their age in the world, and wherever they went, for whatever reason, they attracted at best curious whispers, and at worst the unrelenting camera of Colin Creevey.

So Hermione was surprised, as she walked down from the castle towards the beach, to spot Krum almost immediately, standing by the bow of the Durmstrang ship, in the middle of a small crowd of his classmates, talking animatedly.

She didn't want to interrupt them, so she started to walk down the beach, away from the ship, figuring that she would do a lap of the lake. It might be useful, anyway. She had spent most of the walk down thinking about exactly how she wanted this conversation to go, but it wouldn't hurt to run it through in her head a few more times.

She'd start with small talk, some kind of stupidly idle comment about how sunny it had been lately. He would nod, or shrug, or something else vaguely non-committal. She knew he would be able to tell where she was going, what she was going to say, and he'd do his absolute best not to let it show, but she knew it would hurt him. It would hurt her too, to hurt him, but what other choice did she have? She cared about him, but the longer this kept going, the longer he thought that she cared more than she did, as much as he did, the more it would hurt. For both of them.

She would be gracious. Tactful. Just distant enough to make sure he wouldn't read anything the wrong way, but close enough to be compassionate, understanding. She would do everything that she could, but nothing could change the fact that she'd be driving a hot dagger up under his rib cage, through bone and muscle and tendons like they were nothing like paper, until the searing streak of pain pierced his heart.

She knew the feeling much too well. She still felt it every time she met those green eyes, those eyes that somehow filled her with both pain and life. But that wasn't his fault. He hadn't done anything wrong, he hadn't even known, but that hadn't changed how it had felt - how it continued to feel, even now.

And now she was going to subject Viktor to - not the same fate, she was sure, her ego wasn't big enough to think that - but some slice, some portion, however small, of the pain that she had experienced. She felt bile trying to rise in the back of her throat, but she forced it down. This wasn't her fault, or anybody's fault for that matter. There wasn't really anything she could have done.

She was more than halfway around the lake now, walking ever more quickly as her anxiety swelled, and soon she saw the dark shape growing as it came towards her.

She took three deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. She could do this. She had to do this. There was no avoiding it.

"Nice day, isn't it?" she said, coming to a stop a few feet away from him.

He shrugged. "Ven you're used to five feet of snow, almost everything is nice."

"I didn't mean to tear you away from your conversation," she said, trying to keep her voice from wavering too much.

"It's ok. They didn't have much to say."

There was silence for a moment, as she tried to find her place in the script. "I was expecting to find you out in the forest somewhere, fighting your way through a swarm of Acromantula."

"The Acromantula vere only vonce," he replied, the tiniest hint of humour in his voice. "Usually I valk a bit deeper, vere the Basilisks are."

Hermione swallowed, suddenly unsure how to approach this, despite all of her rehearsal. It was easy to say things in your own mind, where nobody could hear you, but it was an entirely different matter to say them to somebody who you knew would be hurt.

She bit the bullet.

"Viktor, I'm flattered that you invited me to spend some time with you in Bulgaria over the summer."

No that wasn't right. That sounded horribly horribly wrong. Her voice was flat, as if she was reading off of a teleprompter, and she sounded... she didn't even know how she sounded, but it wasn't right.

"But you von't be able to accept my offer," Viktor said, finishing her thought.

"It's not because of - I mean, it's not anything personal, but-"

She was starting to panic a little bit now, her breaths coming ever more rapidly, but thankfully Viktor took pity on her, cutting her off.

"I'm sure you haff your reasons," he said, and maybe it was just her imagination, or else a trick of the light, but for a split second it looked like the corner of his mouth twitched upward into a slight smile.

She nodded, grateful that he wasn't going to press her to explain herself, because she was pretty confident that she wouldn't be able to. She couldn't really put it into words, couldn't even put it all together in her own mind, but she knew that spending the summer with Viktor had never been an option.

"Good luck," he said, and now she was sure he was smiling, and there was a mischievous gleam in his eye as if he knew something that he wasn't telling her. "You don't need it, but I vill vish it to you anyway."

And then he turned away swiftly, the back of his robe swirling up briefly into the air before gravity caught up to it.

"Good luck with what?" she called out, but even though he was still close enough to hear her, he didn't respond.

He probably had his reasons.

She stood by the lake for a few minutes longer, watching as ripples would form in the water, spreading out as they moved, each following the same path as the last, until eventually each one would crash into the unforgiving shore and cease to be.

She didn't feel anywhere near as bad as she had thought she would. He had known what she was going to say, that much was obvious, and maybe that had helped him handle it as calmly as he had. Calm wasn't even the right word; he seemed, if not happy, then oddly satisfied with how things were developing.

And he had hinted at something, she had no idea what, but something that he seemed to know that she didn't. He had acted as if he had known her reasoning, even though she herself found it inscrutable. It was infuriating. She almost wanted to chase him down and drag the answers out of him, to have him explain to her this apparently obvious thing that she didn't understand.

He'd be fine, though, she was sure of that. Going in, she had thought that he'd need the tournament, that it would demand all of his attention for the next month or so, and without his even realizing she would gradually vanish from his mind, but now that seemed a naïve thought. She was already gone from his mind. She had been mistaken in her assessment of him, that much had become clear. He wouldn't need any distraction to forget about her.

She would, though. That was her problem. She was never distracted enough, and that was why the one topic that she didn't want to think about, the one topic that she knew was a lost cause, was one that seemed everpresent in her thoughts.

She had thought - just for the briefest of moments, a stupid, hormone-induced thought - when she had looked up from the previous night and seen his emerald eyes watching her, that there might have been something there. But there wasn't. Never had been, never would be.

She might have scolded Ron and Ginny at dinner when they had asked about Harry's 'type', but not because her curiousity was any less than theirs. It was just that she already knew the answer. His type was girls like Cho, girls who were tall, pretty and athletic.

Three things that she would never be.

Hermione forced herself away from the lake, walking slowly uphill towards the castle. She had to distract herself. She had become very good at using books and schoolwork to push him to the very back of her mind, but he never completely left.

Maybe plotting the demise of Rita Skeeter's career would help.

She could feel her frustration building as she walked through the Gryffindor Common Room, giving nothing but a cursory nod to the pair of third-years who greeted her. She had made the mistake of helping them with a particularly nasty potions essay the week before, and now they wouldn't leave her alone.

She walked quickly up the stairs to the dorm, closing the door firmly behind her. She rummaged through the trunk at the foot of her bed, looking for one of the jars of tooth-friendly nuts her parents had given her for Christmas. She had an empty one, fortunately (she had a weakness for pistachios, so that jar hadn't lasted long), and it looked to be just about the right size.

"Diffindo", she murmured, moving the tip of her wand carefully over the jar's lid, creating a handful of evenly spaced pinholes in the plastic.

She was admiring her handiwork when she caught sight of her watch for the first time since the morning. She had thought that she had plenty of time still, but she was already three minutes late for Care of Magical Creatures. She must have spent more time by the lake than she had realized.

Harry and Ron were probably still wondering why she had skipped Potions in the morning, and their concerns would be redoubled if she didn't show up for one of their favourite classes.

She quickly packed up her bag, making sure to take the jar with her. When she arrived at the field by Hagrid's hut two minutes later, out of breath from running, a concerned-looking Hagrid handed her a dog-sized creature with an exceptionally thin but mobile snout.

It was a Niffler, he explained, and excelled at digging up buried treasure. All she had to do was set it loose and watch it work.

She carefully took the Niffler from Hagrid, trying to smile reassuringly, and walked over to Harry and Ron, who were both standing with an armful of gold coins.

She tossed the glass jar to Ron, who caught it awkwardly, dropping a few coins in the process.

"And this is?" he asked, turning it over in his hand.

"Rita Skeeter's new home," she replied. "A little bit roomier than necessary, but we'll want her to be nice and cooperative, won't we."

Ron furrowed his eyebrows, confused, but as Hermione watched Harry she could see the exact moment when his brain clicked together the pieces of the puzzle.

"She's an Animagus," he said, lowering his voice as Malfoy passed behind them. "Something small and inconspicuous. Probably an insect. It explains how she's constantly in places that she shouldn't be able to reach."

"Water beetle," Hermione confirmed. "And now that we know this, silencing her quill will be a simple matter of waiting for her to show her face - or her antennae, as it were - and slipping her in here until she smartens up."

"Bloody brilliant," Ron said, handing the jar back to her.

"Thanks. It should be one less thing to worry about, at least."

They stood, watching the Nifflers retrieve treasure at an impressive pace, for a few minutes before Harry broke the silence.

"What aren't you telling us, Hermione?"

"About Rita? Nothing."

He shook his head, his eyes boring into hers. "You missed Potions this morning. The only times you've ever missed classes before were in second year, when you were Petrified, and last year, when you had burned yourself out with the Time-Turner. I don't believe that you would ever miss one voluntarily, and especially not for something as comparatively minor as quieting Rita."

The cruel thing with Harry was that he always knew. He could always tell when something was bothering her. She could hide it from Ron, from Ginny, from anybody else who she ran into, but not from him. It worked the other way around, too. It was all too often that he was troubled by something, and every time she knew that he wasn't right. She could even find him under the Invisibility Cloak.

He knew how to make her feel better, too, but that was exactly why she still hid things from him. Whenever that happened, whenever they talked about the various things that bothered them - either of them - and they debated and laughed and smiled she could feel the barriers that she had built to protect herself being overcome by a flood of emotions. She needed to keep them contained, because those feelings were the one thing - the only thing - that she had ever been able to hide from him, and if she failed in that regard, she would lose everything that they had.

She wasn't able to hide her feelings from him because they weren't strong, or because she had the self-control to avoid showing them - they were just as evident, she was sure, as every other emotion that she felt - but because he couldn't possibly conceive of her having them. He had never thought of her in any way besides a friend, and he was sure that she felt the same way, so the truth had never even come close to crossing his mind.

It was ironic, that someone who saw so much could miss the most obvious thing of all.

"You don't even seem particularly happy about finally quashing Rita, which is something you'd usually be ecstatic over." Harry continued, evidently determined not to let her be until he had answers from her. "Something's clearly upset you, so let us help."

"A Galleon says it's boy trouble," Ron said out of the corner of his mouth to Harry, probably thinking that Hermione couldn't hear.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Hermione asked, glad that she had an excuse to evade Harry's questioning.

"You know exactly what I mean," Ron replied, reaching down to give his Niffler an encouraging pat as it brought back a particularly large haul of coins.

"If you're asking whether I talked to Viktor, then the answer's yes, but I'm not at all upset by that. Our conversation went perfectly well."

"Knew it," Ron muttered, holding his hand out to Harry.

Harry shook his head. "Never took the bet to begin with."

Ron sighed, pulling his hand back. "So what did you and Vicky talk about? If it was talking that you were doing, I mean."

"Honestly, Ron. If you must know, we discussed an invitation he had extended to me yesterday. A generous one, to spend the summer with him in Bulgaria."

Ron raised an eyebrow at her. "Haven't fraternized with him enough in your own country?"

Hermione sighed. "He's hardly the enemy."

"He is until June. But anyway, what did you say to him?"

Hermione didn't respond at first, her mind elsewhere. She was looking over Ron's shoulder, watching Harry, who was reclining on the grass, propped up on his elbows, the pile of coins beside him growing at an astonishingly quick pace.

He had left the conversation when the topic of Krum had come up, seemingly content to let Ron continue his interrogation. It was hard to tell from a distance, but his eyes seemed almost glassy, as if he wasn't expending the effort to focus them on anything, and he didn't react at all to his Niffler, no matter how many coins it found at a time.

Something had to be bothering him, and it had just started now; he had been himself when talking about how he thought she was upset. She'd have to talk to him later, weasel it out of him, if he didn't seem better soon.

She looked back over to Ron, who had been distracted by Neville's Niffler, which had escaped the latter's grasp and was trying to steal coins from Ron's pile.

"I told him that I was flattered, but that I couldn't accept. I just wasn't ready to take that kind of step. Not with him, anyway."

She saw Ron out of the corner of her eye as he scooped up the rogue Niffler and handed it back to an apologetic Neville, but her focus was on Harry as she spoke. Maybe it was just a coincidence, but when his Niffler came back a few moments later, despite the fact that it only had two coins trapped between its paws, he sat up and gave it an affectionate pat.

His eyes were bright again, a lighter green, not the duller forest colour that she could swear they darkened to whenever he was upset. He seemed to have recovered from whatever had been bothering him, and it had happened so quickly that it was almost miraculous.

Her subconscious made the connection for her, whether she had wanted it to or not. Harry's sudden indifference had started when the topic of Krum had arisen, and it had ended when she had mentioned that she had refused his offer.

It could have been a coincidence, but for once the logical half of her brain was in sync with her emotions. They were both screaming the same words inside her head, so loudly that she almost feared that others would hear.

Maybe, just maybe, there was still hope.

She broke out into a sudden smile, startling Ron, who was in the middle of self-importantly congratulating her for finally seeing Krum's true colours.

She forced the smile off of her face, but for the rest of the class, despite the miserable performance of her Niffler, she could feel her happiness bubbling up inside of her. She didn't suppress it, she let it blossom, and she'd probably regret that later, when something happened to disillusion her, but for now she let herself enjoy the feeling.

It was only when she was lying in bed later that night that the euphoria began to wear off, and she remembered that this was far from the first time that she had felt like this, far from the first time that she had thought she had spotted something, something that had given her hope.

That emotional high had never lasted before, and there was no reason to expect this time to be any different, but as she thought back to what Viktor had said to her, when he had wished her good luck, she couldn't help but wonder. He had thought that Harry was a rival, she knew that from Harry's account of the conversation that the two of them had had. And it was just one possible interpretation of his frustratingly cryptic words, but maybe that was what he had been referring to.

Maybe he had seen what nobody else had, maybe, as improbable as it seemed, he had been wishing her good luck with Harry.

That wasn't all that he had said though. He had said that he didn't think she needed it.

Green eyes flickered in her dreams, one dark and one light, one sparkling and one dull, one full of life and the other overflowing with loss.

She just wished that she knew which one was real.