Chapter 8

That night, back in England, Hermione found herself once more in an empty house. She didn't mind; she wasn't really ready to see Ron just yet. She wanted some time to think, about her life in general and about her encounter with Viktor. She sat at her desk, quill in hand, parchment in front of her: her very best thinking position. To her great surprise, her mind was full, but her parchment stayed blank.

After their strange conversation on the beach, they sat quietly for awhile, until it was time for her to go back to her hotel and get ready to leave. He'd walked along beside her, hands in his pockets, staring at the ground. In the lobby, he'd leaned against the wall and gazed at her for a long moment, finally asking if something was wrong.

She couldn't meet his eyes to answer him. "No," she told the potted plant nearby, "nothing is wrong. I just…I'm sorry my trip is over."

"You know, Hermy-o-ninny…Hermione, you are more than velcome to visit me again sometime."

She'd noticed his lapse with her name and glanced up sharply. Apparently he misunderstood the reason for her reaction, because he quickly added, "I mean, you can't haff exhausted Izbor's bookshops already. If, or vhen, you are back here, look me up. You can ask at Mayka's store; she alvays knows vhere I am." He smiled then, a sad, hopeful smile. Impulsively, she'd gone against her resolve and hugged him.

"I'll find you when I come back. I promise."

He'd kissed her hand, the perfect gentleman again, and said, "Goodbye, svetlina."

"Goodbye, Viktor," she'd answered, adding, in a whisper as he left, "Goodbye, Vitya."

She'd wanted to tell him about her problems with Ron. She still did. She couldn't decide if it would be acceptable. Viktor was, and had been when they were younger, the kind of friend that you could confide anything in.

Only, when she hugged Harry, the feel of his body didn't burn against hers hours later.

When Ginny joked, Hermione didn't feel her soul jolt as she laughed.

When Fred or George called her 'Mione (which she found rather annoying) or when Molly called her dear, the sounds of their voices didn't dance up her spine like tickling fingers.

She couldn't allow herself to think of Viktor as a man, as a potential partner, ever again. She couldn't tell him her secrets, could she? No, not when she had such a hard time thinking of him as simply a friend.

The shrill ring of the telephone, a convenience she was glad the wizarding community had finally adopted, sliced into her heavy thoughts. Glancing at the clock, she reached for the receiver. It was too late to be Ginny or Harry, and no one else knew she was home except Ron, and he never called.

"Hello?"

"Hi, I was trying to reach Ron Weasley." It was a high-pitched, girlish voice.

"I'm sorry; he's not in right now. May I take a message?" Maybe the quill would be handy after all, Hermione thought absently.

"Oh, sure, thanks! It's Karen, and he has my number already. Are you his secretary? I thought this was his home number."

She had an inkling of what Ron had been doing on her vacation. Surprisingly, she wasn't as upset as she would have expected. Still, this phone call could be interesting.

"Oh, yes, Karen, this is his home number. I'm his wife, actually."

"Wife?"

"Yes, dear, we've been married about ten years. I'll be sure and pass on your message. I hate to be so short, but the baby's just started crying and the twins are fussing and I think our oldest is calling me…"

"Oh…I…I…that's understandable. The message, it's nothing urgent. Thanks, bye." And Karen was gone.

Hermione sat for a moment, laughing. That had been fun. Still…Ron had been dating while she was gone, from the look of things.

Well, she had been too, in a way. Ron would see it as dating. If she even sent a letter to Vitya, (Viktor, she corrected herself) Ron would see it as cheating. He'd been jealous of Viktor long before she'd ever thought of Ron as a boyfriend. In light of that, Ron's indiscretions were forgiven. She wondered why it didn't hurt her.

Maybe she really didn't love him at all anymore.

She decided that she would tell Viktor about her failing marriage. She was still married, and expected to stay that way. She'd made a vow, after all. But she could confide in a friend. She could confide in Viktor.

After leaving the hotel, Viktor had gone back down to the beach and sat by himself in the sand, picking at the loose threads on the ankle of his jeans. Did she want to come back? She had seemed surprised when he invited her. He shouldn't have asked. But then, she'd hugged him, and said that she'd see him when she came back. When, not if. He shouldn't want her to come back. He couldn't have her. He was tormenting himself by spending time with her, but at the same time, knowing he could and staying away would be torture as well. He was a lost man, fighting a battle to the death of his soul.

He could see a shadow in her eyes, like a burned place in melted caramel. He knew she had a secret burden. He wanted more than anything to lift it away, but it wasn't his place to do so. It was Weasley's. Damned lucky man, Viktor hoped he knew how lucky. He had a hard time picturing the pouting redhead he remembered from the Yule Ball treating Hermione like the gift she was. But, people change. Possibly he did appreciate her; Viktor, however, doubted that anyone but him would ever value her the way she deserved. He scooped a rock out of the sand and chunked it into the sea. He wanted to give her everything he had, every shining drop of emotion his heart could produce, on the golden sands of some far-away paradise.

Splash. The sound of the thrown stone, sinking under the water, dark in the night. Dark, drowning, like the dreams of the boy he had been when he first loved her. The stone was impossible to reach now, no longer reality but a hidden secret…just like the love he still carried. He lay back on the sand, alone on the beach, and stared at the midnight sky, sprinkled with icy stars that felt more within reach than she did. His heart felt as if for one tiny instant he had stood beside the fire, and could have jumped into the flames; then that instant was taken away and there was no heat to be found. He was cold.

Viktor was still on the beach as the sun rose, and he was still thinking of Hermione. The warmth helped him to feel more alive, strengthening him. He would bury his secret more deeply, try to hide it, no matter how hard it was. When she came back…and she'd said she would, and she had only lied to him once, when she had said she would always love him…when she came back he would be here, as her friend. It would be so much easier if he could forget the way her voice sounded when she whispered Vitya.