Summary: A seeker from a Canadian quidditch team visits Bulgaria, and meets up with a certain Viktor Krum. Her odd quirks cause Viktor to befriend her quickly, and she swiftly notices his longing for a certain bushy-haired British brunette. Her mission is simple: get Viktor and Hermione to realize that they need eachother. Sometimes true love just needs a little help of the Canadian kind.
Disclaimer: None of this, except the actual story and any characters that never appeared in the book, belong to me. If it did, there very possibly would have been some differences. -cough-
Notes: Rated 'M' for possible mature content in later chapters. Now, please keep in mind that since this is fanfiction, some characters might be slightly off from what they are in the actual books, but I promise that I'll try to keep them as true as I can to the canons. Thankfully, since Viktor is somewhat a non-major character (-sigh-), I am allowed a few creative liberties. I will be exchanging 'w' for 'v' in this fic, but only to put emphasis on Viktor's accent. If you're noticing a distinct lack of 'v's where 'w's belong, then chances are he's not speaking English, but Bulgarian or Russian instead!
Reminder: The more you review, the faster I update!
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"Krum, are you even listening to me?"
The familiar voice of Viktor Krum's fellow Vrasta Vulture broke through his far off and distracted thoughts of brown hair and intelligent, warm brown eyes. Neither of which he'd seen in such a very long time. Not since the Triwizard Tournament, four years ago. But he was drifting again. He turned his own eyes up to Poliakoff, scowling. Being rather well-endowed in the eyebrow area, a scowl from him ended up being really rather intimidating. "No."
His teammate scowled right back, though it wasn't nearly as surly as Viktor's own glower. Giving up the grump contest, Damir Ivanova simply sighed disgustedly and repeated himself. "The Montreal Moonskimmers are coming for a friendly match in about a week. They plan to stay for a few weeks. Coach Levski expects us to train with them. Something about learning from one another."
Viktor's scowl became one of puzzlement. "Montreal? Isn't that a Canadian city?" Hrm. He supposed there must be some North American teams, but he really never thought of them. The Vrasta Vultures never really came up against them in any tournaments, so he hadn't made a point of looking them up. Why would Coach Levski want the two teams to meet?
"Yes. I think it's because of their new seeker. Apparently she's really something," Ivanova replied lazily, answering Viktor's unvoiced question. "She might very well give you a run for your money, Krum."
That last comment didn't really bother Viktor, but he leaned over and punched Ivanova on the arm, anyway. Ivanova yelped at the only half-unexpected blow, and got to his feet. Scowling once again at Krum, he left the changing room and headed out to the pitch to finally begin practice. Krum hesitated. He wanted to go back his his daydreams of before, but he knew he should really get out to the pitch to practice.
Heaving a deep sigh of his own, he picked up his broomstick set out beside him and wandered out the changing room door.
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Miss Hermione Granger sat down on her couch in her home, thinking. What did she want to do this year? Summer would be over in a few weeks' time, and she had nothing to do. She'd finished her final year in Hogwarts last year, just before the final battle against Voldemort, and now there was nothing for her to do. She hadn't realized just to what extent she had depended on Hogwarts for something to do. You don't miss the water until the well's run dry.
She supposed she should go into training to do some sort of profession. Harry was already an auror, as was Ron. But what could she do? She didn't think being an auror was quite to her tastes.
Thinking of Ron, she sighed. But not dreamily, not happily. The emotion behind the sigh was not quite clear to her, but it seemed the kind of thought that made her sigh. Her so-called 'boyfriend' was not all she had hoped, not in the romantic sense. For the longest time, she thought she loved him, but it turns out it wasn't really love. Just a silly crush. But they'd been together for almost two years now, and she hadn't the heart to dump him, no matter how lacking in spark their relationship was.
What made matters worse was that she knew Ron loved her. Not liked her, not had a crush on her. Loved her. It was stressful and sad. She really should dump him as soon as possible, so that it would hurt less than it would later.
'Ugh,' she thought, realizing her train of thought was a runaway. Looking down, Hermione realized that she had been wringing her robe. She let go, smoothing out the deep red material. She wore robes regularly now, having decided to move to an all-wizard community. The deep red material made her think back to four years ago, distant visitors to Hogwarts, the Yule Ball... she smiled warmly. She knew what she'd do. She'd write to Viktor. Ask for a bit of advice, maybe, on what profession she should start.
Having finally found a goal for the time being, Hermione cheerfully bounced up off her couch and practically pranced over to her study to get a piece of parchment, her quill, and a bottle of ink. Sitting down at her desk, she thought a moment then began to write:
'Dear Viktor,
How have you been doing? Sorry I haven't written lately. Been a little busy with family and thinking about what I should do with my life. Wow. That sounds really self-absorbed, but you understand what I mean, right? I only just got home from my parents' house the other day. But I have been meaning to send you a letter for a little while. I got an owl, recently, by the way. He's pretty big, and looks almost like a raven. Well, sort of. I named him Whistler.
Well, um, I'm babbling a bit, aren't I? Not really what I was intending to do. I was wondering, though, if you had any suggestions for what I should train for? I'd ask Ron or Harry, but... honestly, they'd probably just say "Be an auror" right away, and I don't know, but an auror just doesn't seem to be something I picture myself doing.
Write back soon, Viktor!
Love,
Hermione.'
She looked it over, then read the last two words again, blinking in surprise. Where had that come from? She must've let it slip, probably stopped thinking for a second, or forgot and thought she was writing to her parents? Whatever the case, she hadn't meant to write that. Nope.
Scratching it out and quickly replacing the offending word with 'Your friend,' Hermione folding up the note and looked around for Whistler. She spotted the large owl perched atop her dresser. For a moment she thought he might be sleeping, but then she noticed that his large amber eyes where open and looking intently as her. She held out her arm invitingly and he flew down from her resting place and onto her wrist. Using the unoccupied hand, she tied the note onto his leg and carried him over to her window. Opening it, she stroked Whistler's back affectionately. "Bring this to Viktor Krum, okay Whistler? He's in Bulgaria. I know it's far, but I'm counting on you to get it there quickly, alright?"
She stuck her arm out the window, feeling that brief pressure on her limb as Whistler took off into the night, his black plumage blending in perfectly with the surrounding darkness.
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Nearly a week after Hermione wrote her message, Viktor Krum was awoken from his dreams, though by what he hadn't the foggest notion of at first. He was groggy still, having not got to sleep altogether very long ago despite the late hour, and as such it took him several minutes to hear the tapping on his window and the two pairs of amber eyes peering irritably in at him. He reconized neither owl.
Viktor hauled himself out of bed, stretching as he did so. He used to be really very skinny, but he'd put on a bit of muscle since the Triwizard Tournament, though not enough to make much of a visible distance when he wore a shirt. Which he wasn't at the moment, not really. A white wifebeater and a loose pair of crimson linen pajama pants were what he prefered to wear to bed, or, in the warmer weather, in the nude, but we need not go into detail about that, do we?
Viktor shuddered as his bare feet touched the cold wooden floors of his room. He seriously needed to consider getting a carpet in here. Not like he couldn't afford it. He padded quietly over to the window and opened it, admitting the two reasonably large owls into his room. There was a black one, oddly proportioned and looking strangely like a raven, and a tawny one. Again the thought occurred to him that he reconzied neither of them.
Shrugging, he removed the letters from both owls, the tawny one promptly flew back out his window, but the black one stayed behind, watching him intently. Viktor stared back at the owl for a moment before unfolding the letter it had brought. Squinting down at the neat handwriting, a smile bloomed across his normally surly features as he reconized both the writing and the name at the bottom. It was his Herm-own-ninny.
He read it through a few times, before beginning to think of a reply. He shot a glance over at the strange owl, it must be this 'Whistler' that she mentioned, which explained why he hadn't reconized him. And she was asking for his advice as to what profession she should follow. She was asking him something she wouldn't even bother asking her two best friends, Potter and Weasley. That made him happy. He couldn't quite figure out the crossed out word just above her name and beside the 'your friend,' bit of the letter, but he supposed it was an error, and therefore unimportant.
He looked up at Whistler again, supposing he was waiting for a reply. Needn't ask him twice. He went over to his desk and seated himself, pulling out the required writing materials so he could get started on his reply. Whistler flew over and perched on the desk next to his arm. Viktor stroked him absent-mindedly as he pondered over a reply.
What profession would Herm-own-ninny be best at? She was such an intelligent girl- no, woman by now- and could probably do whatever she wanted. Medi-wizard? Teacher? Some sort of high-ranking job at her Ministry? To Viktor, these all seemed within Hermione's grasp. But what would she be best at? More importantly, what would she be happiest at?
'My Dearest Hermione,
I have been fine. It is so good to be speaking to you again, even if only by owl! I have missed you very much. But I do understand that you have been busy with your family. When you live away from them, you are feeling more needful to speaking with and seeing them than you would be at home, yes? But I am glad you wrote me a letter. Very much so.
Hermione, anything you want to be is within your grasp, but that is exactly what is making the decision so hard, isn't it? You aren't limited to a certain range of field. I picture you being a Medi-wizard or teacher, though. Helping others. Teaching or healing, they both involve helping of some kind, and that seems like the type of job you'd be best at. Only my opinion, however.
Love,
Viktor
P.S.: You should come visit me in Bulgaria soon! I miss our conversations about anything but quidditch. Here it's always quidditch, quidditch, quidditch. That's all I am, here. A quidditch player.'
Viktor read through it again, nodding his approval. His English was a bit awkward in some places, but she was probably used to that by now.
' Love, Viktor.' He wasn't hesitant about showing his affection for the bookish Brit at all, on the contrary, he showed as much as possible, hoping for some kind of response to it. It never came, but it's hard to convey one's feelings over mail, wasn't it? He sighed, he could make it blatantly obvious if he wanted to, but what if she felt pressured, uneasy afterwards? What if she didn't feel the same way? For one as daring as Viktor when it came to quidditch, he played it safe where his Herm-own-ninny was concerned.
He folded the letter up and tied it to her owl's leg, and he promptly took off to deliver the reply to his mistress. He ran his hands through his dark hair in an almost despairing gesture, when he remembered the other letter. He picked it up and opened it, scanning over it quickly. With a cry of distress, he dropped it onto his desk and rushed off to get washed and dressed as fast as humanly possible.
'Dear Mr. Krum,
I have sent this letter ahead to all the Vrasta Vultures as well as your coach. I am Jacob Corbett, the coach of the Montreal Moonskimmers. We will be arriving a few days earlier than expected, Thursday, July 31st, around 1:30 am your time. We will meet at your quidditch pitch as originally planned. My apologies for any convenience this may cause, but it really could not be avoided.
Sincerely,
Jacob Corbett'
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Well, that's it for chapter one, my friends. My apologies for the shortness. I'll try to update soon with a longer chapter. But remember, the more reviews I get, the sooner I'll update! Constructive critisism is welcomed and encouraged, but I'll eat flamers.