Chapter 18

Hermione was sitting in a Quidditch box chatting to Harry, wishing her stomach didn't feel quite so fluttery. She had forgotten about the game until yesterday, forgotten that Viktor would be in town today. After her last visit to Bulgaria, she had immersed herself in work, trying to keep her mind off of him. She had made whirlwind trips to Russia and Pakistan, and cried herself to sleep several nights. Now she was sitting in a stadium, where he would soon be flying. She tried not to think. Ana was on her lap, Harry to her right. On her other side sat Ron and Seamus, with Lavender Brown, Seamus' "date" (who had attached herself to Ron, coincidentally) between them. She wanted to be anywhere else in the world, but at the same time, she wanted to be right where she was, watching him in the air.

An amplified voice began announcing players' names. It was pure joy to watch little Ana cry, "Mommy! Mommeeeeee!" with the crowd's cheers when Ginny flew out. It was pure torture not to cheer when Viktor did. He looked toward her box. Did he see her? She thought perhaps he looked longer in her direction than he did elsewhere. Maybe he saw her. She shouldn't care one way or another.

She had no clue what happened during the game. All she could do was watch him fly. Speed, agility, aggression, and, of course, sex. Viktor on a broom was always sex. Even with her husband beside her, she could watch another man and think of nothing but being in his arms and his bed.

When Viktor caught the Snitch (and Hermione did see that part, at least, but only because she was watching him) she had to ask Harry the score, cracking him up. Bulgaria had won by a single goal. They left the box to meet Ginny for the party. Throughout all of this, Ron hadn't spoken to her once; Lavender was clinging to his arm. Hermione didn't care at all, except that they were in public. It was embarrassing, but this was the life she'd chosen.

Viktor sat against the wall of the club, slightly sulking. He couldn't think of anywhere he wanted to be less than at this party; his teammates had talked him into coming, to celebrate victory. Sitting in the dark, catching glimpses of Hermione and her husband at a table across the room through the dancing couples on the floor, he had never felt less victorious.

He felt, more than saw, his space invaded. He looked up and met with Potter and his wife.

"Krum," Harry said, putting out his hand. Viktor shook it, nodding at him. "Brilliant game. It's good to see you playing again."

"Is good to be back on broom. And this is your vife, the Chaser?"

"This is Ginny. We have a little girl; she's across the room with our friend Hermione; you remember her from school?"

He nodded tersely. He remembered her from school, from his dreams, from Izbor, and from his arms. How could he forget Hermione? Life would be so much easier if he could. After a couple more minutes of conversation, Potter and his wife moved onto the dance floor. Viktor looked through the crowd again, trying to see Hermione's table. Her husband was gone now, and she was talking to the miniature redhead on her lap, smiling her sweet smile. The tiny girl wrinkled her nose and burst into giggles. Viktor's scowl softened and he closed his eyes. The picture he'd just seen burned behind his eyelids, but the little girl had dark hair and dark eyes and a little nose just like Hermione's. He felt the old familiar ache in his heart for something he'd never have.

Viktor pushed those thoughts to the back of his mind as the song ended. He opened his eyes and watched her again. Potter and his wife were back at the table. Weasley was back, too, with a girl holding onto his arm. Weasley's friend was glaring at both of them. Another song started up and the girl pulled Weasley back to the dance floor.

Viktor fumed. He didn't exactly want to watch Hermione dance with her husband, but he was pissed that her husband was with another woman in front of her. Maybe he should ask him to step outside to…to discuss Quidditch, of course. He considered that option for a moment; it would feel incredibly good to bury a fist in his horsey face. Hermione wouldn't like it, though; besides, Viktor had enough class not to start a fistfight in public. At least, he hoped he did, but he had a suspicion that that man could drive him to it.

Hermione transferred the child to her mother's lap as Harry stood up, then she took his hand for a dance. At eighteen, Viktor would have burned with jealousy if he'd seen something like that between them. Now, he was still filled with envy, but it was a different kind: he wanted to be the man twirling her on the dance floor, the man making her laugh, the man sharing that animated conversation. If he were her husband, he wouldn't leave her side all night.

Her real husband was ignoring her. When the dance ended, Viktor saw him kiss the girl he was dancing with. Fool.

His eyes drifted back to Hermione, returning to his vigil. She, too, was watching her husband from her seat, with the Potters beside her. Weasley's friend was gone. Viktor left his chair and moved discreetly closer to her, wanting to see her eyes…wanting to know. Resignation. Disgust. A smidgen of embarrassment.

But no hurt. His heart leapt when he saw the lack of hurt in her eyes.

Damn it all. He was asking her to dance. He couldn't watch her across the room for another minute.

As he made his way to her, through the crowd, Viktor felt eighteen again. Slowly, casually, he approached her table, schooling his face to show nothing but polite, friendly interest. They looked up at him as he approached, and she smiled a smile that he felt was just for him.

"Potter, Mrs. Potter. Mrs. Granger. And little Miss Potter. May I sit?"

Hermione smothered a grin, and he realized that had been his opening line when he worked up the guts to ask her to the Yule Ball, the first time he ever spoke to her.

"Pull up a chair," Harry told him, and he did. Now how should he break the ice?

"This must be young lady you tell me about earlier." He lowered his face more to the child's level and asked softly, "Vhat is your name, little vone?"

She gazed at him with big green eyes, shy, and stuck her finger in her mouth. Her mother leaned down and whispered into her hair, and around the finger she said, "Ana."

"And how old are you, Miss Ana?" Eyes never leaving his face, she held up two damp fingers. "You are very pretty. Vould you like to dance vith me?"

The little girl let out a sudden giggle. "No! You old! On'y Daddy!"

Viktor laughed, and lowered his voice to a whisper. He shot a glance at Hermione and asked Ana, "Then do you think she vould dance vith me? I do not vant to dance alone." He pointed at Hermione as he asked, who had her fingers covering her mouth to hide her own giggles.

The little girl nodded vigorously, curls bouncing around her face. She turned to her aunt. "Go now," she said, with authority in her high-pitched voice.

"I don't really know if I should…" Hermione said hesitantly.

"Oh, go on," Ginny told her. "You need some fun, and, well…" she leaned over and whispered something to her. Hermione rolled her eyes, and then took Viktor's hand.

Pleased, he led her onto the dance floor. "You are sly, Viktor Krum!" she exclaimed, laughing. "You could have just asked me!"

"But if I ask you, maybe you say no, and I vant to dance vith you."

"Oh, ok. Where have you been all evening? I didn't even know you were here."

"Vant the truth?"

"Of course."

"Haff been hiding and vatching you."

Her eyes widened and her cheeks turned slightly pink, but she looked rather pleased.

"Now may I ask you question?" She nodded. "Vhat did your friend…Ginny? Vhat did Ginny say that made you dance vith me?"

"It wasn't what Ginny said. I just wanted to dance with you."

"Do you not vant me to know vhat she said then?"

"I don't care one way or another. She told me she thought Ron left with Lavender." She sighed. "I suppose I'll stay at Harry's tonight."

"Oh, svetlina…he brings them home vith you there?"

"Sometimes," she whispered, hot fury spicing the word.

"I vould not do that to you."

She laughed, a humorless sound. "You wouldn't cheat on me, in or out of our home."

Those words echoed through his mind. Our home. He gazed at her, imagining a word filled with home and her cooking and dark-haired children. It was a beautiful world, a world where everything would be perfect, because she would be there to help him weather the bad times and fill the good with memories.

"Svetlina...Do not go to Potter's house. Come home vith me tonight. Come home vith me for good. I could loff…love you so much; I vould treat you so vell."

The caramel of her eyes was desperate, torn between her desires and her pride. She didn't answer him, but he knew she wouldn't come. He hoped someday, maybe, she would change her mind. What did he have to cling to but that hope?

As he escorted her back to the table, he saw that her husband and the girl had returned; Ginny had been wrong. Hermione walked around to her seat, but before she could sit, Weasley grabbed her wrist, squeezing tightly, fury in his eyes. "So that's where you were! What the hell are you, a bitch in heat?" He laughed, and the other girl joined in. "Sit your fat ass down and stay there." He released her wrist and shoved her, pushing her into her seat. She looked utterly miserable. Potter and his wife were admonishing him, but Viktor didn't understand what they were saying. All he heard was his own anger buzzing in his ears as he made his way around the table and jerked Weasley out of his seat. "Apologize," he growled.

"Fuck off! She's mine and I'll treat her however I want!"

"I do not care if she is vife or mother or sister or complete stranger, a man does not treat a lady like that. Apologize."

"What, you want to fuck my wife? You wanted to fuck her at Hogwarts. Tell you what, for eleven silver Sickles you can fuck my wife." He laughed hysterically, and so the girl. Viktor shook him roughly, getting his attention again.

"Do not speak about any voman that vay, and do not use such language in front of child. Now, apologize, or I vill take you outside and pulverize you, you stupid drunk little boy."

Weasley shot a disdainful look at Hermione, whose eyes were huge, surprised, staring. "I'm sorry, dear," he said, using the same tone for 'dear' as he had for 'bitch'. Viktor gave him another vigorous shake, and he gulped. "Sorry," he muttered.

Viktor planted him firmly back in his seat. "Do not let it happen again, or I vill find you and finish the job." Weasley didn't answer him; he just sulked. A few minutes later, he and the girl left.

"Thank you, Vit—Viktor," Hermione murmured. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Vas my pleasure." Actually, knocking him unconscious would have been much more pleasurable, but he didn't tell Hermione that.

"I really think you should go home with us," Potter told her, looking worried. His wife was rocking the little girl, whispering soothing words to her. Viktor wished she hadn't had to see his display; he hoped she wasn't scared of him now.

"Well, I'm sure I can't go home. Lavender is probably in my bed by now, although I don't remember when I last slept there anyway. I feel more like being alone, though; if you don't mind, I think I'll just go to a hotel. I appreciate the offer, though."

With those words, a warm, renewed hope gushed through Viktor, like the warm sun shooting a rainbow through a misty sky. Could she possibly mean what he thought she did? Would she really come home with him this time? Surely, after her husband's behavior tonight, she would come to him. Surely she wouldn't force herself to live with that. The warm rainbow inside of him soared out through every vein. Surely, soon, she would be his.