Chapter 17

Viktor walked slowly up his driveway in the dark. His house, like always, waited empty, the windows like black eyes watching him walking to the door. He went inside, turning on lights, trying to chase away the chill the night cast over his home. Her blanket was still on his couch. He had left it there, just the way she had folded it, so it would hold her scent as long as possible. Her pillow only smelled like his shampoo now. He scooped up the blanket and took it to his room, then stripped off his clothes to get in bed, sending a shower of sand to the floor. He'd never get his sheets clean if he went to bed like this. He pulled off his boxers and tossed them on top of the pile on the floor, then strode nude into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Viktor stood in front of the mirror, gazing at himself, doing inventory. She wanted him, wanted his love; he had no doubts about that, even if she wouldn't leave her husband. But that kiss they'd just shared had told him she wanted more than just his emotions.

Viktor had never thought of himself as sexually desirable. Fans chased him, yes, but they were interested in the fame, he thought, not in his body. He was interested in seeing what Hermione saw. His hair had sand in it; his eyes looked…confused. They were tired, sad, happy, and halfway aroused. How intriguing, that his eyes showed everything he was feeling, all at once, there in the midnight brown. He wondered if she could read everything that easily in his eyes. And how had he gotten sand in his chest hair? He ran his hand over it, brushing it out. His hand was large; he held it up and looked at it. It was the same hand he'd always seen, the same hand that had caught numerous snitches, but tonight he pictured it cradling her breasts, skimming over her hip, pulling her against him. He thought it would be a good hand for those things, along with its partner. The muscles in his arms, chest, stomach, and legs were well-defined from so many hours on a broom; that appealed to women, didn't it?

He ran his hand over his abs to cradle himself. There was sand there, too. He had a sudden image of her in her hotel room, brushing sand out of her crevices the way he was. He had been at half-mast since that hot kiss on the beach; that vision brought him fully erect. He moaned and slid his hand down the length.

Seldom did he allow himself to fantasize about her; it was painful. Usually, when Viktor touched himself, he thought of blurred images, nothing real or concrete. Tonight, he wanted—no, he needed—to think of her. He wanted to imagine her in the shower with him. He wanted to imagine himself washing her back, then she would turn around and he would wash her front.

Viktor stepped into the shower, letting the steam roll around him, and thought of her, eyes closed, using his hand. With soap clinging to her body and water pounding on them both, she would press against him and kiss him, just the way she did on the beach tonight, a lover's kiss. He would lift her legs around his waist and lean her against the wall, sheathing himself in her body, and they would both be lost. Lost in each other, lost in love, lost in hope for the future. At the moment he came, a sob racked his chest. It was an intense sensation: the purest physical pleasure mixed with his deepest emotional hurt. The few times he'd thought of her, it had always ended this way. He wished desperately as he washed himself that someday she would choose him.

When he was clean, dry, and sand-free, Viktor slipped into bed, skin against clean sheets dappled with moonlight, and curled up with her blanket like a child with a lovey.

As he drifted to sleep, he wished, once again, that Hermione was here instead of the blanket, to be his lovey forever.

The next afternoon, after she'd gotten her book, Hermione found herself in the Quidditch stadium again, watching Viktor's junior team's last match. He hadn't been able to meet her for lunch because he was practicing with the Bulgarian team. Last night, at parting, they had resolved to keep things platonic, casual, even though neither of them wanted it. She had a strong suspicion that that resolve wouldn't hold very long; every time they were alone, they were drawn to one another.

She was glad when one of Viktor's kids, a beaming girl of ten or so, grasped the Snitch and landed. She watched Viktor laughing and congratulating his team as they bounced around and pulled on his Quidditch robes. He was terrific with kids; she could easily picture him as a dad. He escaped the exuberant bunch and made his way to the stands, plopping down on the seat in front of Hermione.

"That bunch exhausts me!" She laughed along with him, neither of them noting the short lady making her way toward them with smoke seeping from her ears.

"They are making me take them for pizza, to celebrate. Vould you like to come?"

"Sure," she replied, "but I have to go home soon afterwards."

"Viktor Lyuben Krum!" They both jumped at the shout from behind them. "Vhat do I tell you! And you, girl!"

"Mayka," Viktor replied calmly, "Vhat did I tell you?"

She glared at him. "I tell you leave married girls alone!"

"Ve are friends, Mayka; that is all. Vould you like to join us, and the kids, for pizza tonight?"

Hermione was slightly horrified; she was a just a wee bit terrified of Viktor's mother. She supposed it would a proper way to prove that they were just friends, though. Mrs. Krum was still glaring at her.

"I go vith you to make sure you behave properly. I think I raise nice boy. You are shaming your mama."

Viktor's glare softened and he stood up, hugging his mother and whispering to her. After a moment, her eyes softened as well. She patted Hermione's hand and said, "I sorry, dear. Did not realize you haff so much trouble finding vay around. My nice boy, to help girl in new country."

Viktor grinned at her sheepishly over his mother's head. Trust him to come up with something to sooth his mother's feelings. And it was true, in an odd sort of way. By spending time with Viktor, she was seeing what she considered to be Bulgaria's very best attraction.

He sat with his mother during dinner, with Hermione across the table, and they chatted amicably about books and Izbor. His mother told her a couple of stories about Viktor as a boy, which caused his face to turn pink and Hermione to giggle at Mrs. Krum's dramatic antics. She was rather fun now that she didn't think Hermione was out to corrupt and break her son. Mrs. Krum left early, reassured that Viktor had no interest in married women, to play cards with her friends. Viktor and Hermione waited around until the kids and their parents were all gone; most of them came up and talked to Viktor before they left. Hermione was glad when the evening finally ended.

They walked along the sidewalk, chatting about simple, easy things. Hermione was teasing him about his middle name.

"Where did they get Lyuben?"

He chuckled. "From my grandfather. Could be vorse, though. My other grandfather was named Zhivko. Besides, I vould think you vould like Lyuben."

"Oh? Just because it's yours?"

"No, silly girl. I think you like it because it means love."

The atmosphere changed between them with that one word. The night that had been so easy seconds before was suddenly pressing in upon them. Love. Such a simple word, four small letters, one easy syllable. This one tiny word had set Hermione's life spinning, twirling in circles, until she landed beside this man once again, this wonderful, perfect man that she couldn't stay with. Viktor's smile faded to a deeper, more serious look, and his hand grazed her cheek.

"Hermy-own-ninny…" His voice caught in his throat as he stumbled over the name he usually said so close to perfectly.

She turned her head and brushed his fingers with her lips. "Vitya, I have to go now. Maybe I'll see you when you come to England." With one last longing look into his eyes, his broken, sad eyes, she Apparated, leaving him standing alone in the dark yet again.