Chapter Three

"I just don't see why you're willing to move in with Krum and not me," Ron complained for the umpteenth time, carelessly dropping a box of her books on top of one that was marked fragile.

"Ron!" Hermione scolded, quickly levitating the box off of the one that held the few photos and mementos she had left of her childhood.

She knelt on the floor and untucked the flaps of the box to check the contents for damage. Pulling out a paper wrapped frame and hearing the rattle of broken glass, she felt her eyes begin to prickle with a burning heat. She gingerly unwrapped the antique frame that held her parents' wedding photo and took a sharp inhale at the seeing the cracked glass.

"Relax 'Mione, it's an easy fix for you," her boyfriend dismissed, resizing her bed in the middle of the room and flopping on to it. "Now as I was saying, it's just not-"

"Whether it is an easy fix or not, you still exhibit about as much thought for my things as a raging hippogriff," she snapped.

Tracing the willow wand that she had been matched with after the war over the frame, she gave a satisfied smile but irritated sigh as it was repaired. Tightly wrapping the paper over the frame again, she placed it back into the box and levitated it onto a shelf in her closet. Turning around to face Ron, she then flicked the elegant curving wand at her bed and shrunk it with him still on it, sending him crashing to the floor.

"What'd you do that for?" He whined, scrambling up to his feet.

"Because Theo and Draco are still packing boxes for me that you need to pick up and bring here. You did volunteer to help me move after all," she answered, returning her attention to trying different layouts for her furniture. "Also, you knew I had planned on moving to Falmouth once training camp commenced. In fact, if I remember correctly it was one of the things we argued about after my graduation.

"However, due to Marcus Flint's injury I needed to move here much sooner than I planned to oversee his recovery and rehabilitation. There wasn't a lot available that met my needs and Viktor had the space so he offered to let me stay with him till I found the perfect home."

Looking at the ocean view nook, she decided to place her bed opposite so that she could see the view first thing every morning. Levitating boxes around the room, she positioned her upholstered bed to fall center with the rounded bank of windows and resized it, placing the matching night tables on either side. From there everything else about the room fell into place. She arranged her shelves around the nook to protect her books from sun bleaching and placed her linen armchair and unleveled side table into the bumped out space. Her mirrored dresser was moved against the last free wall of the room, leaving her just enough bare space to hang a majority of her photographs.

As she began to unpack her books and send them back to their designated spots on the shelves, Ron came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, placing his chin on her shoulder.

"You could just as easily floo or apparate here from Chudley though," Ron pointed out, kissing her cheek. "And think of all the things we could do if you moved in with me," he suggested, moving his thin lips to her neck. Walking them backwards towards the bed, he continued, "All the chances we would have to…" his voice trailed off as he ground his hips along her bum, making her squirm and pull away from him.

Delicately removing his arms from her, Hermione stepped away from him.

"Ron," she started evenly but firmly. "We have already had this discussion. I am not ready to take that step with you. Furthermore, I do not think you realize how disheartening it is to hear that you want me to move in with you not because you love me and feel that our relationship has progressed to such a stage, but because you think it'll be easier to convince me to have sex with you if we are living under the same roof."

The cornflower blue eyes that she had been in love with since she was a teenager turned cold as Ron crossed his arms over his chest and straightened his back to look down upon her. The venomous look was one she had come to know all too well over their years of friendship and romance. It was one that he often wore just before his hair trigger anger erupted in response to some perceived injustice or insult that she had placed upon him.

"This is about Lavender again isn't it?" He demanded.

Canting her head to the side, Hermione stuttered, "What? I don't… I don't understand… What?"

"Oh come off it, Hermione," he scoffed. "You're still punishing me for being with Lavender after we broke up. It's been nearly a year, can't you just get over it already?"

"Excuse you, Ronald Weasley!" She shrieked. "First of all, whether I do or do not have sex with you, has nothing to do with Lavender bloody Brown and everything to do with you and me. I am not ready to have sex with you and therefore I won't regardless of your history with that cow or how many times you beg and plead with me to give in.

"Secondly, you weren't with her after we broke up. You were with her while we were still together, you arsehole! So if you're going to assume my not putting out has something to do with punishing you, at least get the facts of our history correct. You got pissy when I said I wasn't ready to have sex with you on our anniversary last year and left me in the middle of dinner. And where did you go? Down to the pub where you got so sloshed that you tripped and fell into bed with her."

"Well if you wouldn't have completely disregarded my needs at every turn I wouldn't have had to!"

"Disregarded your needs..." She repeated in a mutter. Louder she questioned, "I disregarded your needs? You're the one who could never understand that after doing a twenty-four hour rotation at Saint Mungo's that the last thing I wanted to do was go have a family brunch with your disapproving mother. Who, by the way, still makes digs about me having a career as if being a healer is somehow less noble than your sister's damn quidditch career. Or how leading into exams I needed to be as relaxed as possible to revise and prepare so that I could do my best. Not traipsing all over Britain to follow your matches because if I missed a single game you wouldn't speak to me for days afterwards! And never mind the fact that in three years you've only ever socialized with my friends twice."

Sputtering, he retorted, "If you weren't going to give us a fair chance, why did you even take me back? What, wanted to prove to everyone that you're just as plain and desperate as Skeeter says you are?"

Turning around at his slicing words, Hermione tried to cool her rage and hurt before things got out of control again, but then she saw the heavy paperweight that held Viktor's '94 World Cup snitch. Picking it up, she whirled around and hurled it at Ron's head. The orb went wide and completely missed his face but his gaping mouth and wide eyes were just as satisfying.

"I think it is time you leave, Ronald," Viktor rumbled from her doorway, casually tossing the orb into the air. When her boyfriend didn't make a move, Viktor ceased tossing the orb and stepped into the room, growling, "Now."

Glaring at her, Ron muttered, "Yeah, whatever," before storming out of her room, his feet purposely walking as though they were made of lead.

After they confirmed hearing the sound of the floo roar to life and die out, Viktor walked the snitch back to her shelves and commented, "You're very sentimental, Hermione. Always holding onto things from your past that you've clearly outgrown."

Not wanting to open the door to his perceptive nature, she murmured, "Thank you," and went back to putting her books on the shelves.

"I'll get the rest of your things from London and then order us dinner," Viktor said, briefly wrapping an arm around her and kissing the top of her head.

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, she opened another box and continued unloading her books. When his soft footfalls disappeared down the stairs, Hermione stopped levitating her books and picked the snitch back up. Twisting it in the warm glow of the evening sun, she watched the glittering gold sparkle and glint and replayed Viktor's words in her head.

Always holding onto things from your past that you've clearly outgrown… Have I outgrown Ron?

Startled by her question, she slammed the door closed on it. It would do her no good to evaluate something of that magnitude fresh off the heels of yet another fight with Ron. As the question whispered from the back of her mind again though, she promised herself that once her head was clear and rational she would unpack the thought and give it proper attention.

The following morning, Hermione sat on a stool at the kitchen island, reviewing her notes over Marcus's injury while Viktor tended to breakfast at the stove. Catching him turning around with the pan from over the top of her charts, she moved her arms back to free up her bowl.

"What is this?" She asked with excitement, dropping her files to pick up her fork instead. "I was expecting something like porridge or a scramble."

Sitting down beside her with a bowl that was near overflowing with at least a double portion, he answered, "Smoked salmon breakfast bowl. Brown rice, spinach, mushroom, potatoes, obviously the salmon, poached egg, and a drizzle of lemon dressing to tie it all together."

Moaning as she took her first bite, she looked at him with pleased eyes and groaned, "That's it, I'm never leaving. Cissy and Draco used to stock our fridge with prepared meals every few days that were absolutely delicious, but Merlin Viktor… This is to die for."

"The Skopsko Stia's healer heavily regulated our diets and often held cooking demonstrations along with our weekly meal plans," he explained. "I still have all the plans and recipes and before you ask, yes feel free to look through them for inspiration for your own plans for us."

"Wonderful," she sighed both in response to his offer and the food as she took another bite.

Shuffling through her papers while she chewed, Hermione pulled out a print of Marcus's injury and held it up for Viktor to see.

"What do you make of this?" She asked, reaching over him to try a sip of his smoothie. "Mmm, that's good too."

"Ah, get your own," he scolded, snatching the glass back and summoning the blender's pitcher over to her. Taking a hold of the print, he quietly examined it before handing it back to her and stoically saying, "You're going to have your work cut out for you. For anyone, but a chaser especially, this is the worst injury to get. The way the bones shatter, it imbeds into the muscles, ribboning them upon removal."

"Thank you, I did just finish spending three years in the healer's program you know," she snapped.

Lightly jabbing his elbow into her side so that it tickled more than hurt, he retorted, "Yes I'm aware. What I'm saying is, no matter how great your skill and reputation are, Flint is going to be a problem. He knows no one ever fully recovers from this, so he most likely has already resigned himself to the fact that his career is over. He won't want to accept the hope that you may get him back on his broom and in the game. Working with that mentality is going to be even more difficult for you than healing him. In order for you to succeed you'll need to change his attitude and that really could be impossible. Even for the 'Golden Girl.'"

Scraping her fork in the empty bowl to pick up the last of the egg yolk and rice she said, "Well it's a good thing I'm used to dealing with stubborn wizards."

Flicking her wand at the stacks of paper, they organized themselves back within her folders while she leaned over the counter to rinse her dish in the sink. Kissing Viktor's cheek when she was done, Hermione collected her things, placing them into her oversized brown leather satchel and hopped off the stool.

About to walk out of the kitchen she turned around and asked, "Do you think I look alright?" Gesturing towards her sand colored twill shorts and pink and white button down shirt. "I'm really only used to wearing training robes and scrubs."

"Trust me, no one is going to care how professionally or casually you're dressed, especially considering more often than not you'll probably be wearing athletic wear with the rest of us. But yes, you look more than alright," he assured. As a teasing after thought he added, "In fact, with all that tan leg on display, Flint may just become more malleable than I originally assessed."

"Oh shush," she admonished, swatting her hand through the air in dismissal.

Stepping into her boat shoes, Hermione called out, "Goodbye," and stepped outside onto the wrap-around deck, the sounds and smells of the beach filing her senses. Behind her, she could hear the rolling waves as they lazily flirted with the sandy shore while above her in the warming sky, the call of seagulls greeted her morning. Taking a deep breath, she sucked in the crisp smell of wet salt and seaweed, a smile stretching across her face as she put on her sunglasses.

She had never given much thought as to where in Britain she would settle down and plant roots to call home. Since leaving Hamsptead behind, she viewed most places as somewhere to merely sleep with a convenient location to her friends and work. It was assumed that once she had finished the program she would either remain in London near Harry and Theo or move to Chudley once she and Ron had progressed back to where they had been. However as she trotted down the steps of Viktor's home getting wrapped up in the bright, welcoming embrace that was beach life, she couldn't deny that Falmouth was already beginning to agree with her.

Walking to the edge of the anti-apparition boundary, Hermione looked down the road and examined the spread out drives and thought, I wonder what homes may be for sale instead of lease…

Reminding herself that she was still not in a frame of mind to contemplate things that could negatively impact her relationship with Ron, she crossed the small magical barrier that obscured her from view. Taking a quick and unnecessary look around, she spun on her heel and disapparated with a soft crack, landing in the back alley of a pub on the high street that was managed by a wizard. The alley opened up to the vibrant pedestrian street that was bustling with morning activity. The town's fishermen were setting up their stalls with that morning's catch, drawing the attention of the passersby. Seeing a man flood a stall bed with crushed ice while two others began unpacking a crate of crabs, she checked her watch before approaching.

"Good morning," she greeted cheerily.

"Mornin' miss," the man with the ice buckets replied. "What can we do ya for?"

Quickly estimating the average size of the crabs and weighing it against Viktor's size, she answered, "May I have four please?" Silently making plans for their lunch later since he had made breakfast.

While the men weighed and packaged her purchase, she dug in her purse for her wallet that kept her muggle money.

"Whatcha up to this fine day?" The first of the two men who were unloading the crabs asked.

"Heading over to the stadium for work I'm afraid," she answered dejectedly.

"Really? You work for the Falcons?" The third man asked excitedly. "What do ya do for them?"

Seeing his weatherworn hat with the team's mascot, she answered, "I'm an injury trainer. I'm sure you've no doubt heard about Flint."

"Yeah tough break that. Ya think ya can get him back in for the next season? They ain't gonna do too good without him."

Exchanging her money for the bagged crabs, she said hopefully, "I'm sure going to try."

"Well if you do miss, know we'll owe you first pick of any catch you want for however long you want," the second man said.

"I'm going to hold you to that," she laughed, before waving and walking off towards the Falcons' stadium in the distance.

To keep in compliance with the Statute of Secrecy, the Department of Magical Games and Sports had crafted a tale that the quidditch team was in fact a muggle rugby team. From the large, burly men that made up the Falmouth Falcons and inhabited the town to the regularly boisterous sounds of cheering that would carry from the pitch, everything was easily and believably explained away. Even to the mass arrival of other wizards and witches to the town for matches, many of whom frequented the muggle shops, restaurants, and beaches. The magic around Falmouth was so encompassing, the muggles who lived there even cheered for the team themselves and often decorated their storefronts in support of their favorite players. Hermione found it to be rather ingenious and was quickly growing to love the way that wizards and muggles happily lived side by side in Falmouth.

Finally arriving at the stadium, she smiled at the old security guard who protected the offices, training facilities, healing and recovery rooms, and the practice lock room and presented her wand for entry.

"Good Morning, Barney."

"How are you, Miss Granger?"

Putting her hands on her hip, she scrunched her lips against her smile and chided, "I thought we made a deal when I was here the other day, Mr. Belittle. I call you Barney and you call me Hermione."

"You must forgive this old wizard, Hermione. You'll probably have to remind me at least once more. My mind isn't what it once was" he teased.

"Mhmm…" she hummed, not believing him for a moment as his creased eyes twinkled with mirth. Leaning over the counter that separated them, she folded her arms and asked, "Barney, will you do me a teensy favor since I have to meet with Marcus soon?"

"Your wish is my command," he shamelessly flirted.

Placing the packaged crabs beside her on the counter she asked, "Would you mind sending these over to Viktor? I couldn't help but buy some on my way in."

"You got it," Barney agreed, taking them. "Now go tend to our boy. We want that National team stacked with as many of our players as we can get."

"Aye, aye captain," she laughed, giving him a mock salute as she unfolded herself from the counter.

Walking around Barney's desk and through the wards he oversaw, Hermione made her way down the window lined corridor to her office. After Marcus's injury and her adamant belief that she could rehabilitate him in time for training camp, she had moved into the head healer's office and unceremoniously ousted the drunken wizard who had been risking the careers of the players. Entering the large office that was under construction so that it would share its space with the secondary training facility, she tossed her purse onto the desk and grabbed the stack of post that had arrived over the weekend. Quickly sifting through it, she dropped them all back into her inbox to open later, only keeping one from Mr. Mueller.

Ripping open his response to her facility requests, her eyes zoomed over his words. She gave an excited squeal upon seeing his agreement and already scheduled dates for installation of all the equipment she wanted added to her training and recovery space. Pulling out her file for Marcus's care she quickly worked in several sessions a week of hydrotherapy, grateful for the owner's open mind towards muggle practices.

"Good news?" Marcus's deep voice asked from her doorway.

"The best," she beamed. "Mr. Mueller approved all of my requests for equipment and you'll get to be the first to use it."

"Color me intrigued. May I?" He asked, gesturing into the room.

"Yes, of course," Hermione responded, swishing her wand over the stacks of papers on the seat before her desk. "Sorry about the mess, Healer Abernathy was…"

"An unorganized lush?" He offered, making her laugh.

"Well I wasn't going to be the one to say it but yes. I'm just happy he didn't seriously injure any of you this last season."

"Selfishly, I'm happy you were at the game last week. It may not exactly be comfortable walking around as I am but if there's even a chance that delaying my healing will get me back on the pitch in July, you won't hear me complain," he said, slowly lowering himself into the chair.

Groaning at the haphazardly stacked boxes in the other chair, Hermione moved them out of the way as she sat down beside him.

Grabbing her folder that detailed his healing and recovery plans, she canted her body towards him and clarified, "You're not going to put up a fight or be stubborn about trying my theories out?"

His grass green eyes met hers as he spoke earnestly, "All I've ever wanted was to play quidditch professionally. To be good enough to make the selection for the National team and hopefully win the World Cup. Without you, my career is definitely over and with it my dreams and everything I've worked for. With you, I at least have a shot, however slim it may be, at getting back out there and making that dream happen."

Taken aback by how she didn't have to work to convince him to come around to her ideas, she cautioned, "It's going to be a lot of work. I mean we'll be together four to six hours a day, five to six days a week."

"Do you honestly think there's a chance?" He asked, gingerly moving his body to mirror hers.

"You'll probably curse my name and very existence within a week and by July hate me and pray you never have to see me again but yes, I really think there's a chance."

Marcus's face, which had been unsettlingly impassive since entering her office, brightened upon hearing her answer. The mischievous and charming glint that his eyes had in the locker room before his last match was back as he gave her a crooked, half smile that made her breath stutter. There were many words that came to mind on how to describe the fit man in front of her, none of them even remotely close to the cruel taunts he had received in school about having troll's blood in his family tree.

Merlin help me because if he ever fully smiles at me, Marcus Flint may just succeed in doing what Bellatrix failed at, she thought, swallowing as she tried to dispel the thought from her mind.

"Granger, you make it sound like spending near forty hours a week alone with you will be a chore that I'll have to endure."

"Hermione, please," she corrected. "After all it's like you said, we'll be together nearly forty hours a week, for the next two months. We may as well get on a first name basis."

"I can do that," he said, accepting the duplicated file she handed over to him. Picking up a blank piece of parchment from her desk, he asked. "Do you mind if I use this?"

"Be my guest."

"You know, you still owe me dinner," he commented, coloring the paper blue and turning it transparent before curiously laying it over her written notes.

"Actually, I never agreed to anything. You were going to continue trying to persuade me at the next break if I recall."

"Mmm… right. Then I had to go and take a double bludger to the side of my rib cage."

"Exactly," Hermione said, watching as Marcus's eyes slowly moved over her words, his lips softly reading them to himself. "What's the blue sheet for?" She quietly asked.

When he didn't respond, she leaned forward and said his name to catch his attention.

"Hmm?" He asked, distractedly looking up at her.

"The blue paper," she prompted.

"Oh, it helps me read. With printed words I can just charm the font into a script and size that makes it easier but I can't do that with handwritten words. Narrow, loopy letters like yours are especially difficult without the overlay. While I was playing in New Zealand I found out that I have-"

"Dyslexia," Hermione interrupted, already filing the information away so that she could make accommodations for him.

"You've heard of it?" He asked in surprise. Scoffing as though he just remembered who he was talking to he added, "You're a muggleborn, in fact you're the muggleborn, of course you've heard of it. I think only wizards are ignorant to the existence of such things."

"I didn't know witches and wizards could have learning disabilities," she commented wondering if Professor McGonagall was aware of such things.

"Yes, as it turns out I am not actually slow nor do I have a troll's brain," he laughed at the self-deprecating joke. "Since finding out about it, I've actually grown to rather enjoy reading and learning. My pace is still atrociously slow, but I made enough improvements while down there that when I came back after the war I decided to retake my NEWTs. My scores are nothing in comparison to yours of course, but it's nice knowing that I didn't fail the written portions the first time around because I'm too stupid to grasp the concept. It's also nice to know that if your plans don't work out, I have markings high enough to get a job within the Ministry or with the team administratively."

Not knowing what else to say and not wanting to draw more attention to something she wasn't sure if he was embarrassed about or not, Hermione replied, "It will work, Marcus. I won't accept any other outcome besides the one that has you starting training camp in July and on the National team next year. We are going to prove everyone wrong."

"When do we start?"

"As soon as I can get your shirt off and have you laid out on an examination table," she replied, instantly regretting her words as she began to blush at the image.

Barking out a laugh that made him wince and clutch his ribs, Marcus teasingly wheezed, "If you want to see me without my clothes on all you have to do is ask. And just so we're clear, that's a standing offer for you for whenever you decide to take it."

"You're shameless," she laughed, doing her best to help his tall and heavy frame stand with as little pain as possible.

"More like I just know what I want and am unafraid of going after it," he said with a cocky and self assured smirk.

"Good, we'll need that dedication for your recovery," she replied, deflecting from his implications even though she curiously found herself blooming under his implied words and attraction.