Chapter 15

Viktor stepped out of the shower, toweling dry. His muscles ached with every move after spending all day on the broom, and the touch of sunburn he'd gotten when the mist burned off didn't help matters any. He doubted he'd be able to move in the morning. He had hoped the screaming ache from his limbs would be enough to drown the sad song in his heart, but it wasn't. When he'd come in the back door and seen her coffee cup in the drainer, something inside of him had clenched. He'd gone through the living room and seen her blanket folded neatly on the couch with her pillow on top of it; he'd felt a knife to his heart. He knew they would have her scent on them. He wished the pillows and blankets on his bed carried her scent instead.

He heard a knock on the door and hastily pulled on his jeans. He hurried toward the door, water drops across his shoulders and back, frustrated at having his shower interrupted. It wouldn't be Hermione; she wouldn't be back soon like this. Maybe she wouldn't be back at all.

Before he could reach the door it popped open and his mother stepped though. She spoke to him in Bulgarian, beaming at him. "Oh, Vitya, there you are. I wondered what was taking so long. You shouldn't go around without a shirt; you'll catch cold. I brought you a plate of dinner. You don't eat properly."

Viktor ran a hand through his damp hair. "Mama, what are you doing here? I can dress myself and fix my own food, you know." It was unusual for her to act like this. He knew she loved him, but she didn't become obsessive about taking care of him unless something was going on.

"I don't know what you mean, Vitya. I just want to make sure you're taken care of. What were you planning to eat tonight?"

"That's beside the point. What's up?"

She gave him a look that could melt steel and brushed past him to slide the plate into the refrigerator. Then she bustled into the living room, stopping short when she saw the pillow and blanket on the couch. He hadn't been able to bring himself to move them. She spun around and planted a small finger in his chest.

"Viktor Krum! That girl slept over last night, didn't she? I raised you better than to mess around with married women! I saw her this morning, oh yes I did! With her clothes and hair rumpled! I guessed where she'd been, and I gave her a piece of my mind! Now you're going to get a piece of it as well!" Her face was pink with fury and the Bulgarian words were pounding him like darts.

"What did you say to her?" he exclaimed, embarrassed and angry that his mother would take it upon herself to run his love life, or utter lack thereof.

"I told her to leave you alone, that you deserve better! That's not what's important. You know better than to sleep with married women!"

"Mother! Calm down! If I'd slept with her, the pillow and blanket wouldn't be on the couch, would they?"

She paused at that, giving it thought, and then starting back up again. "Still, you shouldn't have married women sleeping over, period."

He sighed and sank down onto the couch. He'd been afraid she would become overprotective after his father passed away; she just wanted to be needed. But he wasn't a child and she needed to know that. "Mama," he said, tenderly, gently, "I know you mean well, but I am all grown up. I make my own decisions now. I will go without a shirt if I want to, and I will eat ramen noodles if I want to, and I will sleep with half of Europe if I want to, regardless of marital status. My diet and my sex life are my business."

She sat down on the sofa beside him, looking distraught. "But…Vitya…"

"Mama, I am a grown man. I love you, but please remember that."

"But this girl! She hurts you!"

He sighed. She certainly did hurt him, and he was beginning to feel masochistic. "I can, and will, take care of it. Trust me. And don't scold girls in my place anymore, ok? Now, what did you bring me to eat?" He grinned at her and received a smile in return. She started chatting about cooking and her bridge partners and the bookstore, more like one of her typical visits. He leaned back against the pillow Hermione had used and let his mother talk. He was engulfed by Hermione's scent; it was frustrating, soothing, and arousing all at once.

That night, after his mother had gone, he switched that pillow with the one he usually slept on. He wanted to feel her close for as long as he could, even though he couldn't have her.

"Hermione, we need to talk," Ginny said, leaning against the kitchen counter. She'd come by to bring the tickets for the Cannons game for her, Ron, and Seamus, and tossed in an extra one so Seamus could bring a date. She'd stayed to visit, while Ana gleefully emptied the pots and pans out of the cabinet.

"Hmmm?" Hermione murmured, distracted by the cookie dough she was rolling out.

"You're acting incredibly odd, and I'm pretty sure it's not just Ron."

"How so?" she replied, paying attention now.

"There's this spark…After you starting making trips, there was a glow around you that wasn't there before. Even after Ron's…um…infidelity, you still glowed. Now you aren't."

That was true; Hermione didn't feel particularly glowy. In fact, she felt rather down and out. She had cried several nights since she left Viktor's the last time, missing him, hurting for him, and hating herself for the way she'd treated him. If anything had doused her spark, it had to be his absence in her life since she had rediscovered him in the bookstore.

"I don't know, Gin," she said, fibbing. Ana tugged on her skirt and Hermione handed her some cookie dough. Ginny cocked her head and gave Hermione a scrutinizing look.

"I hate to sound presumptuous, and forgive me if I'm completely off the mark. Have you been seeing someone else too?"

"What?" How had she guessed that?

"I don't know, really; you just seemed really happy for a bit, but now you're moping around. I can't really come up with anything that different about Ron. Are you seeing someone?"

She had been, she supposed; after all, she had kissed Viktor. But she wasn't seeing him now. She didn't want to see that hurt in his eyes or hear his voice go low and pain-filled anymore. She was staying away. "No," she answered Ginny, "I'm not seeing anyone."

"I wouldn't blame you, not after the way my idiot brother treats you. I still think you should leave him." Hermione gave her a pointed stare and handed Ana another glob of cookie dough. "I know; I won't touch that topic again. Oh, I almost forgot to tell you! The stadium manager has rented a large room at a private club for after the game. Since it'll be the first game of the season for both teams, we'll all be there. We've been told to bring guests. How about it?"

Hermione wondered how well that would go over. Quite possibly, if one team was beaten badly, a fight could break out. She knew Seamus would love to go, though; depending on his mood, Ron might, too. "Ok, I'll talk to Ron and Seamus; we'll probably go."

"Harry and Ana will be there; families usually go to these things. Oh, and the only club they could rent happens to be a Muggle club, so just wear nice Muggle clothes to the game."

Hermione laughed. "They're having it at a Muggle club? I can just imagine some of those rowdier Quidditch fans at a Muggle club."

Ginny joined her laughter. "That's why it's teams, friends, and family only. Hopefully we'll be less obvious."

"Yup, until someone blasts off a buttock," Hermione answered, quoting Alastor Moody. She and Ginny dissolved into giggles, and she handed a sticky Ana one last handful of dough, and then put her cookies in the oven. She would be alright. She could live without him. She had her family, who were her best friends. She would make it, she decided, even as that tiny green thing inside of her struggled to live in the darkness she surrounded it with.