Chapter 16

Hermione was sitting at her desk at the Ministry, trying to catch up on paperwork. She had a lot of books that needed categorizing and a lot of write-ups she needed to do about her trips. Her inbox was full of scrolls from the shopkeepers she'd met on her trips as well. She was working her way through letters. Most of them were just compliments on the idea of the IWL, but a couple of them were book recommendations. She opened another, surprised to find Cyrillic letters, and immediately had to quash thoughts of Viktor. He was always so close to her mind these days. This wasn't his thick writing, though; the letter was from one of the shopkeepers in Izbor. He had found the second book in a three-part ancient charms set; she had purchased the first and third from him on her first trip. He would hold it for her for a week if she wanted it, but then it would have to go on the shelf. She glanced at the date: three days ago. She considered it for a few minutes, then hurried from her office. She really couldn't miss this opportunity; she didn't think she'd ever find that book again. Besides, she didn't have to see Viktor just because she was in Bulgaria, did she?

She was on her way to Ron's office to let him know she was leaving when Tiddlywink stopped her. His eyes laughed the way Dumbledore's had once upon a time; she had a bit of a soft spot for the old man. "Where are you off to in such a hurry?" he asked.

She grinned at him. "I've just gotten a letter about a book in Bulgaria I wanted. It's the second in an ancient charms trilogy. I have to pick it up in two days or the shopkeeper may sell it. I appreciate you letting me make my own hours ever so much."

He laughed and patted her cheek. "I know what kind of a worker you are, dear. Go get your book, and enjoy your trip." He walked on and she went to tell Ron about her trip.

She landed in Bulgaria just as it was getting dark. She had hoped to make it before the shop closed; now she'd have to get a hotel room for the night. She had forgotten about the two-hour time difference. She checked into her room, showered, and ordered room service. After dinner she sat looking out the window at the Black Sea. Before she knew it, she found herself walking barefoot in the sand, her light skirt swishing around her legs.

This beach was beautiful and she loved this town. What had Viktor told her its name meant? Choice, maybe. She'd have to ask him later.

No, she didn't plan to see him later. She couldn't ask him. She needed to stay away, or she'd hurt him. And quite possibly she would be attacked by his mother. She stifled a giggle at that, and walked down to the surf, kicking playfully at the waves.

"Hermione?"

She turned around and saw him walking toward her, bathed in moonlight. "Hello, Viktor," she answered.

"Vhat are you doing here? Are you here to see me?"

"No, not this time," she said smiling at him. "I came to pick up a book, but I got here later than I meant to and the shops are closed."

"So you came down to play in the vater?" He was smiling at her, hands in his pockets, keeping his distance, and he was beautiful. She wanted to go to him and kiss him, a soft, gentle kiss like the one they'd shared at this house the night Ron was arrested.

"I was looking out the window and it looked so beautiful. I love Izbor. What did you tell me it means?"

"It means choice. Vhen it vas founded, there vere two brothers. Each fell in love vith a girl, vone who lived here, and vone who lived in mountains. The brothers did not vant to live apart, and they haff to decide vhere to live. Finally they decide on coast, and settle here. Then girl from mountains decided to leave her family and marry her love. So they named the town Izbor, choice, because of the choices made then."

"That's a wonderful story."

"Is supposed to be true. I vanted to apologize for my mother's talk the other day," he said, looking uncomfortable. "She come to my house that night and giff me vone, too."

"Does she do that often?"

"Not usually, although more since Bashta died. I think she vants somevone to need her. She lecture me about you, about my diet, and about not vearing shirt."

Hermione giggled and sat down in the sand, leaning back on her arms and looking at the sky. "And did you listen?"

He sat down beside her, although still keeping some distance between them. She wished he would come closer. "No, I told her it vas my business, and I vear vhat I vant and eat ramen noodles, too."

She laughed at that. He reached out and tugged one of her curls. "I think your hair is getting longer."

"I decided to grow it out again."

"It is nice long."

This casual small talk felt all wrong between them, forced somehow. She knew they could do small talk; they had done it comfortably before. Tonight, somehow, the atmosphere felt as though they should be saying many, many different things, deeper things, more intimate things. She wondered if he felt it. She gazed at him in the darkness, and he lay back on the soft sand and stared up at the stars. She could see the tiny specks of light reflected in his dark eyes, and she remembered her fantasy of him in the sand. It felt ages ago.

His voice came soft and tender through the night, a pleasant interruption of her reverie. "I've missed you, svetlina. I am sorry I made you leave."

She sighed. "It's ok; I'm sorry I hurt you. So sorry that I've hurt you so many times. And I've missed you too, Vitya, terribly." She lay down on her belly, scooting closer to him. "You've been on my mind ever since I left."

His voice came again, soft, as though the night was filtering it. "Then vhy do you not choose me?"

She picked up a handful of white sand and watched as it sifted between her fingers. Then she picked up another and watched it, time slipping away. Was that what this was? Every day she was losing time she could be spending with Vitya. "I don't know," she whispered. Her voice sounded raw. "I wish I could."

Viktor rolled and raised himself up on one elbow. He studied her for a moment, then touched her cheek. "Svetlina," he said, his voice sounding lost once more, "I think perhaps you are too proud."

She didn't know who moved, or who pulled who close, but suddenly her body was tangled with his in the sand, and he was kissing her. She was eagerly, roughly returning his kiss, hot, passionate, under the cool Bulgarian moon. His large hand was on the small of her back, pressing her against his body, and her hand was threaded through his hair. She could taste his tongue and the butterbeer he must have drank earlier, but underneath that, she could taste him. He tasted powerful and raw and earthy, and gentle and loving and sweet. It was a heady mixture, a kiss to get drunk in. They rolled in the sand, never breaking the kiss, until she lay on top of his muscular body. She felt the strength in his hands, despite the gentle hold he had on her. They broke and she laid her face against his shoulder, panting slightly, feeling his heart beating beneath her.

She felt his hand in her hair, and he was purring soft words to her that she didn't understand. Then she was crying against him, and he held her tighter. Soon she stopped and lay there, wishing this would never end. He whispered into her hair, "Still, svetlina, you vill not stay. I know this. Let me haff this vone moment vith you, and then I vill let you go again. I am sorry."

"Don't be sorry, Vitya," she answered quietly against his neck. "I needed this moment too." So he held her until the moon was high in the sky, and then they both left the sand and went off into darkness again.