(Disillusioned) Gour de Tazenat, Puy-de-Dôme, Massif Central

Hermione woke gradually, awareness coming back into focus as she felt the warmth of the day shine down on her aching body; the gentle breeze that swept through the grounds made the heat pleasant enough on her skin. Unfortunately, it didn't relieve the dull tenderness on her lower abdomen and back. She tried to pay it no mind as she picked herself up to stretch out her arms and legs, doing the Seated Forward Bend while she's at it, and rotating her neck slowly to get rid of the stiffness there, grimacing slightly at the odd spasms below her ear.

She contemplated if it was worth going out of the cabin today as she massaged the side of her neck, thinking of how grueling it will be to walk back dragging her various summer assignments with her. Looking around, she picked up the tome near her hip again, brushing it off with a practiced stroke, remembering it as the recreational reading she brought along for a break from answering a word problem in Transfiguration.

Ever since Hermione held her first book, she wasn't the type of person that would leave a story unfinished; any work left undone. She tends to build a sense of anxiety that she knows will grow and become invasive in her everyday life, manifesting itself in the form of a badgering little voice that makes her forget to sleep or eat if no one checks in on her.

It was a near thing at school sometimes – usually when exams hit – if not for Ron nagging at her to eat her food and not her quill, or Harry's gentle admonishments through Hedwig, who gently peck at her curls if she didn't head off to bed at a reasonable hour.

But today she feels so incredible lethargic to the point of carelessness – but not so careless as to compromise her safety. That's always a priority. But she did have little sleep last night, mostly trying to suffocate herself with a pillow since it wasn't possible to sink through the floor while her parents' kept teasing her. It's not at all because she was stressing about not stressing about what she should wear today – why should it matter?

But then the cramps came in the early hours of the morning, feeling more painful than the last time she had them. Hermione gave herself a blank stare on the antiquated looking glass while she was brushing her teeth, knowing the futility of trying to go back to sleep now especially when she thinks she'll have to deal with this while meeting up with –

Who is she kidding? Maybe yesterday was just an accident. One of those coincidental events that has been happening to her ever since she came to know she has magic coursing through her veins; ever since her first meeting with Mr. Weasley and her parents about receiving another type of education. Maybe what she said at lunch the day before was true, him humoring a little girl that didn't attempt to snatch up his clothes to be sold to the highest bidder – honestly, obsessive fans of celebrities are just as nutty as people during sale events at the shopping centre, whether in the muggle or wizarding world.

Absolutely maddening.

And speaking of mental, if his fans are as rabid as he says they are, it means he's more of a superstar than he lets on, especially taking into account Monsieur Lucien's commendation of his prowess in the high-flying sport. Even though she gave her word to meet again, she doesn't really expect him to come back when she's positive he's busy doing …whatever well-known people would do. He may be young, but she's aware that famous people tend to mill about with like-minded people.

Harry doesn't count. He's treated more like a cautionary tale most of the time than not.

Anyway, it's none of her concern. He can go do whatever he wants. She doesn't have to care what he thinks of h–

Oh, this is so ridiculous! Her hormones are so ridiculous. She absolutely hates being on the rag. She can't do anything productive and her moods are monstrous. Even her parents know to keep their distance when this happens.

Huh. Monstrous. She wonders if she should take Care of Magical Creatures in the coming year. She couldn't quite place where lessons are held – outside most definitely. Although she can't imagine an ordinary classroom holding a menagerie – or can it? In the magical world, anything seems possible. Mr. Scamander's book is quite fascinating all on its own but does Hogwarts allow some of the actual creatures on school grounds? Some of them perhaps – the benign ones preferably; something similar to the unicorns running about in the forbidden forest. That sounds lovely. Maybe they'll focus on the local wildlife?

She's so hungry now. But she just ate breakfast. What time is it? Oh right, she has a watch. Lunch is so far away. Maybe she's actually thirsty? She knows she brought a thermos of tea. But it's going to be too hot. The day isn't that hot though, so a good cuppa is a good thing, right? It relaxes the muscles and increases blood flow for –

"Hermione? Are you not well? Hermione?"

Said witch snapped her eyes open, realizing she subconsciously placed herself in a fetal position while her mind was all over the place; her arms were wrapped around her legs, knees bracing her chin. She blinked rapidly, reorienting herself while trying to place where she's hearing a voice.

"Who…?"

A deep chuckle sounded from above.

She craned her head up and saw a pair of long dangling legs covered in what seem to be brown robes. It's only when she strained to look higher among the foliage was a pair of gleaming yet concerned dark eyes.

"Oh. It's you again." Hermione said tonelessly, blankly staring back at the unexpected sight.

Is he part cat? Cats enjoy keeping an eye on everything below their perch, last she heard. Is being on an elevated place the same for Quidditch players? Is it a common practice for them so they can feel confident in the skies?

The teen rumbled another chuckle before calling out a warning he's coming down.

Hermione just stayed where she was, pulling her basket close – freeing up space and putting her books out of the way – figuring if he was able to get pass her while she was napping, he'd be able to do it again. She doesn't remember seeing anyone when she arrived, double-checking it with approved spells from the Delacours.

That's one of the loopholes Hermione found out in the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery in the UK – she had to read about it again after Gabrielle's revelation. As long as she doesn't perform any magic in front of a muggle aside from her parents – which she's lease likely to encounter on a wizarding family's property that has various repelling charms all around, according to Fleur – and that she restricts herself from using her wand. The Trace seems to tap into the wand being used by the witch or wizard not yet of age.

She was disrupted from going on a tangent about impressing her teacher with an improved wandless magic aptitude by the unexpected sight of Viktor Krumov crouching low near her, kneeling on one leg, and moving quick, assessing eyes all over her. He was so focused he didn't notice his duffle bag dropped haphazardly next to the tree she's leaning on. Hermione noticed the smell of his clean skin – and is that…is that olive oil? She didn't think there was soap made from that. No doubt he took a shower after a training session. She still remembers how Harry and the Weasley twins have always smelt niffy after coming back from Captain Wood's notorious practice games, needing to shower at the boy's side of the Gryffindor dormitories since the school's Quidditch stadium didn't have showers in the locker room – probably figuring it's not worth the effort when the structure is so close to the castle anyway.

Reeling suddenly from her thoughts, Hermione knows she would have blushed again in Viktor's presence for noticing such a thing about him if not for the blood she's already losing at the moment. She'll just settle with raising a brow, silently inquiring what on Merlin's name is he doing craning his head like an owl.

"Yes, me. Hallo. You…sad? Have wound anywhere?"

"No. Not quite. Just feeling under the weather thank you," she said softly, trying to give off a calm facade. One of her eyes twitched though as she placed a hand subtly at her lower abdomen, feeling a sudden flair of pain. Her body seem to be protesting that she indeed is wounded but not because of any outside force.

"I am not understanding. Can I bring you relief? Anything need?"

The corner of Hermione's lips twitched in amusement, trying not to embarrass him for the unintended innuendo – honestly, you can't avoid learning all these strange things if the girls in her year didn't start hanging out with the fifth and sixth years over bodily changes, and how boys went from icky and revolting to fetching and irresistible. "I don't think so, Mr. Krumov. Unless you have some chocolate stashed away on you, that would be nice and – wait, you seriously have some? Are you even allowed to have it? Aren't sportsmen under some strict dietary requirement?"

"Mm-hm," he sounded lightly, winking conspiratorially before finally prying out the long searched for treat from his bag. "Mama would give in secret for practice, for big matches. Say to keep me alert and for kŭsmet. For luck," he explained as he opened part of the wrappings, and held out the end with it still on. "And you are forgetting again. Call me Viktor."

Overlooking the 'suggestion', she broke off a piece while eyeing him curiously, "That last word you used. It sounds like 'kismet' – it means 'fortune' or 'fate' doesn't it? Oh! It has lemon." Hermione took a bigger bite with a pleased sound.

The older boy smiled crookedly, taking off his robes and putting it on one arm – the revealed shirt he wore looked charming on him. "Bulgarian language has many Turkish words. I not surprise. And yes, gives you energy, no?"

"Are having lemons in your chocolates a specialty?" Hermione asked as she nibbled on another piece.

"No. Just have many flavors. Next time, you try rose oil dark chocolate."

Hermione let a breathy chuckle after a hearty swallow, "Next time? Are you going to be my supplier for all this? I don't think I can just casually drop by your country to get them. Tea?" She stretched to get her thermos and offered it to him, gesturing to it as an exchange for the chocolate.

"I could now. Have many in secret places," he patted his bag and inclined his head in the general direction of the stadium. "But I try control eating practice for training. So you can have many as you can."

"'Eating habit'. And 'I can have as much as I can'."

"Yes. I agree."

"I was trying to correct you."

"I stand corrected, " he said, humor twinkling in his eyes, despite the neutral expression on his face. He finally took the thermos and poured some of the tea in the cup it went with. But as he straightened, he carefully placed it in her free hand and gestured for her to drink it instead.

Hermione furrowed her brow, recognizing that she's being managed, albeit in a very gentle way. It's as if he can tell she's –

She widened her eyes. "Do you have a sister?"

"Ne. Close like one though. Mira is like dragon on her 'time'. We call it 'Week of the Longhorn' – not something say out loud when she is near, of course; like dragon, she will stab and cook us first before ask questions."

Hermione became distracted from her sudden onslaught of giggles as he moved to cover her in his robes and went to drown her in it. "You I am thinking, like kitten. Need sun and warmth, yes? For relief?"

She sniffed, holding her head high as she controlled herself from bristling, proving his point…again. "Are you saying I'm weak?"

"I saying you much tired to try cook me, yes? You need many blan-kets to build den for rest. But reminds me, why you here if you not well?"

"Okay, fine. I do prefer that. Thank you for the robes; it is quite warm. I don't know why you bother to wear it in this weather – that is to say, unless you have an ability like foresight, having it with you here is good timing. And – well…I promised to be here. So…yeah."

-{-}-

Viktor was thoroughly enjoying himself, more than he could care to remember. Sure a few victories here and there at school and at Quidditch would expectedly give him a rush. But not like this; never like this type of light-hearted elation that is better than the feeling of wind running through his hair, and against his face during flight. He's honored by the thought of being the recipient of her selflessness, keeping a promise that others will easily break if they don't feel up to it. He has experienced this even with the burliest men at the field – whining like young mandrakes, wanting to be excused from being more active in play when they've barely experienced broken bones yet – not that he volunteers to be a recipient of bodily harm. Some team mates have come and gone because of this feeble attitude, getting an immediate boot off with plenty of colorful expletives from the combined efforts of their coach and Trainer Valkov.

His custodia on the other hand is such a gem – it's not official-official, he reminds himself. He has yet to report to his parents but details can wait. He knows he's presumptuous right now but she is so very adorable without intending to and he just has the great urge to tuck her in more and hide her from the rest of the world. He doesn't think his coat is enough but it's a start, especially when she started to pet at the furred collar inquisitively.

The longer he interacts with her, the more facets of her personality he can see, like the kaleidoscopic reflections of a polished garnet from the Rhodope Mountains. And like the color of the precious stone, she has such fire, such cheek – never backing down despite being on unfamiliar territory. He can tell she doesn't interact with males that often, or at least, not like this.

The thought made him both nervous and confident, oddly enough.

She must have been through an ordeal to have developed this kind of resolve. Was it a recent one or when she was younger? Or maybe she inherited her personality from her parents? Does she have her own mentor? Anyone would be glad to have her as an apprentice if the books she keeps carrying are anything to go by.

He just wants to learn everything…!

But, as he was taught, ladies' first.

"You have questions," he started, getting himself more comfortable beside her on the tree – their tree; he has to stop mentally correcting himself. But it's still their tree – "you say so yesterday."

She snapped her jaw shut, curiosity winning out over her ire, probably stopping a tirade about whatever it is he's done. He's used to it anyway. He could almost see smoke coming out of Mimi's ears when he's done absolutely nothing during her womanly time, even if it's just tripping on air and that somehow made her day a bad one. Thankfully, Gosho always gets the blame.

She tilted her head, eyes roaming his face while she ruminates. All he can do is give a small but sincere smile, basking in her attention, and waited patiently.

"Why did you seem so happy when you said you did not understand my emotions?"

Viktor was caught off-guard, leaning more heavily on the rough bark at his back. "Y-you…are very direct," he stuttered with a surprise chuckle. "Much smarter than I expect." Incredible. He never imagined she'd catch on to the heart of the matter so soon, not until at least he'd get to know her better, have more time with her, before he won't get to see much of her in the coming year.

Viktor's not naïve. He understood from yesterday that she's only visiting for the game and he won't have the chance to meet her afterwards - whatever the outcome may be. But he's determined at least to get permission to write to her – if not outright visit near wherever she's studying or living. He better rearrange his calendar again, especially if he has to cross the seas. But he hopes he has inferred correctly from her accent and quirky inflections that she's within Europe, crossing out France already.

It looks like he'll have to consult Dietrich about efficient timetables after all.

"I get that a lot. And…you said I can ask," she said quietly, wrapping dainty fingers around her cup.

Viktor tilted his head up, choosing his words carefully. "And it is very good question. But explanation not enough for short time we have." As strenuous as it is to not lean closer, he was careful to keep a polite distance between them, less he makes her uncomfortable. He can feel her eyes on him though, waiting patiently for him to sort through his thoughts, and then translating them into something passably understandable. "I know not words to give better explanation but, I can feel…the feelings of others."

"You mean like empathy?"

"What?"

"It's the ability to understand and share the feelings of another. You can, uh, sympathize when they're sad about something, understand why they're mad, or share the joy that the other is experiencing. That sort of thing."

Viktor smiled, pouring more tea into her cup. "I can feel, what others are feeling. At a limited…dis-tance? Yes, distance. I can feel from limited distance. From women only." He explained succinctly, raising his brows in emphasis, waiting for the inevitable whirling of her intelligent mind to connect context clues.

If anything, that is what he can count on her for.

-{-}-

Hermione put down her cup cautiously, turning her body to face the mysterious teen, catching one sleeve of his massive robes before it fell from one of her shoulders. The warmth from it is would normally be excruciating to bear under the summer sun but her muscles are appreciating the security. Her fingers couldn't resist petting the collar again as she thought over what he's trying to say.

If she rightly comprehends the gist of it, he's saying he can literally feel another's emotion, especially from women. But she's –

Right. Right. Luckily, he can't feel hers. He's happy he can't feel hers.

She doesn't know whether to be relieved or irritated about that; relieved that he won't experience the crazy fluctuations that's been happening to her during her time, and irritated because he's doing a fairly good job of taking care of her like her parents would have to keep her calm – for a boy that is. Which begs another question, "How do you know what you're feeling is acutally yours and not another's?"

He hummed in thought, the low timber of it raising the hairs at the back of her neck in a surprisingly pleasant way. How strange. "When I was little boy, it is diff-i-cult. I understand mama gets mad when I do wrong, but I do not know if I should also be mad, yes? Or when Mimi – Mira, would be sad in her heart but does not show it. But she gets mad when I talk to her about it. From there, I start understanding what is happening in me."

"Is it hereditary then? I mean, does it also happen in others in your family?" Hermione blinked, thinking of all the inconveniences of not only growing up trying to decipher one's feelings but also getting them from others? That would surely be befuddling.

"It is unusual for many to have in a gen-era-tion. It can happen in other countries but we do not know. It is not to be known or else, we are take – taken advantage." He said, a more severe expression overcoming his face before he relaxed back again, turning back his focused gaze on her.

This made Hermione quiet again, grasping at all the possible implications. No wonder he said he felt safe around her. "Well, hiding out is not such a bad thing for you after all. I'd wondered why you didn't like the attention. You know, as an athlete. I usually see them enjoying the hurrah and hurray."

He guffawed, instantly cheering up, "I say before, there is no such thing as too much support. But you say you don't meet people like me up close – we all do not wish for attention. Those that want it prove to not much like the sport for itself.

My team likes sport, so we train for sport. The result of hard work is what you see in game.

Or…what you will see in game? Will you cheer for me?" He asked, perking up.

"I don't know. Ask me again some other time." What is wrong with her? Did she actually sound like a flirt?!

His answering beam had her forgetting her indignation. "I will. Make room in basket for the many chocolate."

Author's Note: I dedicate this to all of you that have been patient with me. Having to do some work from home until the weekend made it a little challenging to write this in between but I made it! (edited to fix up some sentences)

And thanks to the quirky algorithm of YT, listening to various 30s to 40s love songs motivated me especially for this chapter. Hope you enjoyed!

EDITED 11/15/2020 with Translation and Explanation:

On the rag - British slang for 'that time of the month for a girl's cycle'.

niffy - British slang for a 'bad smell'

Onwards!

Reine