Chapter 7

"Good morning, svetlina," Viktor greeted Hermione as she came in the coffee shop smiling the next morning. "Vant breakfast?"

"Sure," she replied, and gave the waitress her order. "What is svetlina? I could pull out my translating parchment, but it's easier to ask you."
"Is light. Like in English, to call someone sunshine," he answered, "because vhen you smile like that, it is like sunshine."

"I could use my parchment, if you would rather speak in Bulgarian."

"Am I that rusty?"

She laughed, "No, your English is wonderful. I just thought you might rather--"

"I like to speak to you, not to parchment. I vill speak in language you understand."

"Ok. I'll need to use it to understand the person at the bookshop, though, I suppose."

"She knows some English. Not so much as I do, but she can get by."

"Oh? Do you know her?"

"Yes, I know her very vell."

Hermione wondered who she was. He'd said last night he didn't have a girlfriend. Maybe an old girlfriend or a friend with benefits? Surely he wasn't celibate. He was too much man not to be sharing it with someone.

It slightly bothered her that she was thinking about Viktor's sex life. It bothered her more that she was a teensy bit jealous. She had no right to be.

A short time later, Viktor was pushing open the door to a small shop hidden in a nook of Izbor's Muggle section. The outside was dull and somewhat dirty, probably to deter Muggles from coming in. Inside, however, it was warm and welcoming, with chairs and houseplants. At the sound of the bell, a short, plump lady came out from behind a shelf. She had dark hair with white streaks and dark, flashing eyes. Hermione relaxed immediately.

"Dobro utro, Vitya," she cried, wrapping her arms around the much-taller man.

"Good morning to you too, Mayka," he replied, laughing and returning the hug.

"English, Vitya? Vhy? Who is guest?"

"Mayka, this is Mrs. Hermione Granger, from England," he told her. She noticed the lady's eyes widen a bit. "She is searching for books to buy. She is in charge of new International Vizarding Library the English ministry is building." He spoke her name slowly, clearly. He must have practiced it last night, she realized. Surely it had been years since he'd said it, until yesterday.

"Hermione," he said, clearly once again, "I vould like you to meet my mama."

After some polite (and somewhat nervous) conversation, Hermione excused herself to browse among the books and leave Viktor and his mother to their conversation. She was sitting on the floor in front of a shelf, using her parchment to translate some text, when she noticed an odd line. Vitya, is that the girl you fell in love with at Hogwarts? The girl that broke your heart?

She realized with embarrassment that the parchment was picking up the rapid Bulgarian coming from a couple aisles over, where Viktor was shelving some books while Mrs. Krum talked to him. She felt as if she was eavesdropping, but what could she do? She should have worked on the spell more, so it didn't pick up interference.

Yes, Mama, it is the same girl.

Why is she really here? I thought you told me she married someone. If I find out you are dating a married woman, Viktor, I am still your mama and I can still skin you alive if I want to. Hermione stifled a giggle and tried to read the text she meant to be translating.

The Tricumbulus Charm is very old magic that creates three Mama I am not dating her. I ran into her at Andon's shop when I picked up those books for you. We had coffee and caught up.

That sounds like a date to me.

It wasn't, I promise. I didn't even walk her home.

Why not? I taught you better manners than to let a lady walk home in the dark alone.

She has a husband. I am fighting a lost cause, am I not, you stubborn lady? I can do neither right nor wrong.

It is because I read your eyes, Vitya. You watch her as if you still care.

It was getting too personal. Hermione uttered the countercharm, turning off the parchment. She would have to do without translating for now. It wasn't long before Viktor joined her, offering his help reading the Cyrillic letters. Hermione was glad her blush was gone.

The day flew by, and before she knew it, it was time to leave. She was trying to fit her purchases into a large bag she'd brought with her. It was easier to shrink them, but with books as old and valuable as these, she didn't like to. Some studies showed that it could damage the books.

"Vitya, you not let her carry books to hotel herself! You help that girl. I raise you good," Mrs. Krum scolded.

"Yes, Mayka, I plan to carry them for her. I also plan to feed her dinner after making her vork all day. Vill you join us?"

"No, no, tonight is card game night vit other old vemon. Ve eat, ve…ve…pig ourselfs. Then I giff them cognac, then vin all the moneys. Sometimes giff them rum, too." She winked at him. "You kids haff much fun."

Viktor kissed her cheek. "Sounds like you haff the most fun of all. Goodnight, Mayka."

He hefted Hermione's bag over his shoulder and gathered up most of her other books in his arms. She picked up the rest, and then gave him a critical glance. "Maybe I'm overdoing it a bit."

"A bit? That is all?" he teased. "No, I am joking. You are not. You are building a library, almost by yourself, are you not?"

"That's true," she laughed as they left.

After that, Hermione only had three more days in Bulgaria. She had lunch with Viktor the next two, and on the third, since her work was finished, she let him take her to the shore. As they sat in the sand, watching the Black Sea lap at the coast, Hermione couldn't help but think how nice it had felt to laugh with someone again. She enjoyed her friends' and family's company at home, but it wasn't like this. Ron's shadow always hung between them, like a wall they could see through, and feel warmth through, but she could never really touch them, not even Harry or Ginny. She was never really happy. Viktor's company made her feel like a seed that had lain dormant for years, then sprung through the soil, uncurling and reaching for the sun and its heat. He was genuinely interested in what she thought, what she felt. He listened when she talked, and he had valuable input on her ideas. He cared about her, even though they'd only become reacquainted in the past few days. His friendship was a warm yellow glow. That warmth made her want to tell him everything.

A piece of her heart that she'd forgotten existed began to quiver. She felt that twinge, that tiny bit of life inside, and knew she had to quench it somehow. She couldn't let herself fall for Viktor again. She had made her choice a long time ago. She had married Ron.

Why couldn't she have married Viktor instead?

When this sentence fluttered through her mind, Hermione knew she had to stop thinking about it.

"Viktor," she asked suddenly, drawing his attention away from the water, "what does Vitya mean? The word your mother used? I asked my parchment, but it didn't translate it. Perhaps I said it wrong."

"I do not think it vould translate. Vitya is a…a proper noun. Is a name, a, how do you say it? A different name for Viktor. Like a sveet name, a love name? Vhat is vord for that?"

"I think you mean a pet name."

"Yes, a pet name, as if I am a puppy." He barked at her, and she giggled, enjoying his silliness, especially when he'd seemed moody all day. "You are velcome to use it if you like. No vone but Mayka calls me that now."

"Did I say it correctly?" she asked.

"Say it again," he commanded softly, staring into the sand.

She gazed at him a moment, surprised at the tone of his voice, a command that was almost a plea, as if the request hurt but he couldn't help making it.

"Vitya," she said, and then, in a whisper, "Vitya."

He looked up then, met her gaze, his eyes dark as coffee, jumbled feelings dancing through them. "You say it perfectly, svetlina," he answered.