Chapter 12

Viktor sat on his huge plushy couch all alone and cried. He knew he shouldn't have said anything about loving her. He should have been a friend, a shoulder to cry on, and nothing else. He had hoped, desperately hoped, for a few minutes that maybe, possibly, she could be his. But no, she wouldn't allow herself to love him. She would stay with her husband, even though she didn't care, and all he did was hurt her. Damn Weasley! Viktor wanted to tear him apart like a gingerbread man. He had everything Viktor had ever wanted and he threw it away. The man was an idiot; he always had been. How could he have her and throw her away? It was beyond Viktor's comprehension. If she were his, he would cradle her in his heart like a priceless jewel.

Viktor got off the couch and went to his bedroom. He undressed and slid between the cool sheets. Blue moonlight came through the blinds, leaving stripes across his pillow. He lay on his stomach, staring at the stripes, tracing one with his finger. He felt as though his entire life was like the pillow. It was darkness, with strips of light in it, like his mother and his kids' team and professional Quidditch. But even those stripes were only pale, diminished light compared to the sun that wasn't shining in his life. His sunshine had given him hope again, made him think that maybe he had a chance to see golden light filling his life again. For a few brief moments in time, he'd felt the warmth on his face, but then he cooled again, and his sunshine, his light, his svetlina was gone. He was left in night, with a few soft streaks of cool moonlight. Viktor curled up, lonely in his king-size bed, and went to sleep with tears on his eyelashes and visions of her on his mind.

Hermione pushed open the door to her home on a Saturday afternoon, weary from a week of work and emotional confusion. Voices from the living room told her Ron was home, and she wasn't up to dealing with him right now. She slipped in, quietly, hoping she would be ignored. Seamus came into the hallway, bottle in hand.

"You had an owl earlier. Ron wanted to read it, but I didn't let him. I put it in your office; I don't think he's been in there since."

How sad that her husband's drinking buddy cared more about her than he did. "Thanks, Seamus; I really appreciate it."

She was expecting the letter to be from Tiddlywink, asking about her trip. She was surprised to find the parchment covered in the Cyrillic alphabet, instead. Who else could it be from but Viktor? She hadn't expected to hear from him unless she went looking, especially after the way she had run away on her last visit. She pulled out her parchment to translate; he had been clever to write it in Bulgarian so Ron couldn't read it.

Hermione,

I am sorry about the way I reacted when you told me about your husband and your marital problems. I have cared about you for years, since we were kids at Hogwarts. It tears me up that Ron has something I value so much as you, and he doesn't treat the opportunity as a privilege. I understand that you want to keep your promise, even if he did not. I do not understand why, after everything he has put you through, but if you say you must, then I accept that. I apologize for my declarations of love, although I can not and will not take them back. If you want nothing more than friendship, I will accept only that. Just understand that I would not hurt you for anything in the world, and I am very, very sorry if I did.

I will be in England in three weeks for a Quidditch match. I would love to see you then, if you wish, or any other time.

Viktor

She was still gazing at his letter, re-reading it, when Ron called from the living room, "We're going out!"

Suddenly, she realized she didn't want to be alone. She picked up the phone and dialed Ginny's number. Soon her friend arrived, with a bulging bag of goodies. "Harry's keeping Ana tonight," she informed Hermione. "I thought we could use a girls' night."

Later, beneath a mud mask, Ginny told Hermione that she seemed different. "What's changed?"

How should she answer this? She didn't want to tell her sister-in-law about Viktor. Somehow, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't place him firmly in the 'friend' box. Instead, she told her about Ron's escapades with the ladies, which had also changed her life, although not quite as strongly as Viktor's reappearance in it had.

"That bastard!" Ginny cried, horrified. "Is that where he is tonight?"

"I expect so," Hermione replied.

"How can you stand it? I would kill Harry! And then I'd withhold sex for the rest of his life!"

"Honestly, Ginny, I don't care. You can't understand it, because you and Harry still love each other. Ron and I don't."

Ginny sat up and looked her in the eye. "Hermione, you are unhappy, both of you. Everyone knows it and we all see it. You should leave him. He's my brother, and I love him because of that, but he's not a good person anymore. Just let him go, and make yourself happy."

"Gin, I can't. I made a promise."

"The only thing stopping you from being happy is your damn pride. So you made a promise, big deal! So did he, and he's broken it. The first women he touched released you from any obligation. Swallow your pride and break the damned promise."

"That's pretty much what Vitya said," Hermione murmured, more to herself than to Ginny.

"Who?"

"An old friend I ran into on one of my trips."

Ginny gazed at her for a long moment, eyes filled with skepticism. "We all want you to be happy. The way I see it, your pride is the only thing stopping you."

"Let's drop it, ok? I'm staying," Hermione said sharply. Ginny shrugged and started talking about Ana.

The phone was ringing. Hermione groped in the dark for it, wondering what kind of emergency it was. Groggily, she answered the phone. Ron's voice came on the line, so slurred she couldn't understand him.

"Where are you?" she asked, trying to hear background noise. Then a stern voice came on the line, informing her that Ron had been arrested and she needed to come pick him up unless she wanted him to spend the night in jail. She wouldn't have minded, really.

When she got down to the station, Ron was snoring in his cell. After paying his bail, she asked why he was there. She was shocked to find out that he'd tried to put his hands in a waitress's skirt and succeeded in getting one in her top. She woke him up, trying to get him to come with her. All he did was pull her down onto the cot beside him. "C'mon Tiffany, c'mon ba'y, less go right here ri' now, on the fl'r." He was reaching up her blouse. She wrenched herself away from him, disgusted, and turned, face red, to the police officer waiting by the cell door.

"Do you think perhaps you could help me get him to the car?" she asked politely. He gave her a sympathetic smile and obliged.

After she had dragged Ron inside and deposited him on that lumpy old couch, she went into her office and cried. She couldn't handle this tonight; she needed to talk to someone. Who could she go to at this time of night? The parchment with the Cyrillic letters caught her eye. He wouldn't mind. He would be there for her any time she needed him. He would willingly be her rock.

Moments later, her feet crunched down onto the gravel of Viktor's driveway.