After suffering through the first couple of weeks of term - where time seemed to move slower than Kreacher with a duster - Hermione had come to love the weekends. The two days of respite afforded her a chance to avoid the looming threat of Umbridge, Harry's temper and her distraction over Viktor. At the weekends, she could daydream to her heart's content without being terrified of missing some salient point during a lesson. After all, it wasn't as if she had friends she could copy notes off.

On that particular Saturday, Luna and Hermione were on their way for breakfast in the Great Hall - predictably, Ginny was still asleep - when they came across Filch doing something slightly more unusual than normal. Without spoken word agreement, both girls paused, watching as the ancient, curmudgeonly caretaker made his way up a small step ladder, balancing a large frame and a heavy hammer in his grasp.

By the time Fred and George appeared on either side of her, Hermione's brow had pinched, and Luna had opted to sit cross-legged on the floor, with her pale cheek resting against her hand.

"What's going on here then?" Fred asked, folding his arms across his chest and elbowing Hermione's side. As if she had somehow failed to miss them looming over her.

"It's not like you to be loitering, Hermione. Is it Fred?" George chimed in, coming to a stop and checking the placement of his feet to avoid Luna's crumpled form.

"I'll say it's not George. I'll say it's not."

"We're observing," Luna replied dreamily, before getting to her feet in one smooth movement and dusting herself off. "That's allowed, isn't it?"

"For now," Hermione murmured. As Fred's eyebrow rose with intrigue, Hermione pointed and quoted from the newly framed official-looking document on the wall. "Educational Decree No. 1. The use of spell check quills is forbidden. Any students found in possession of such quills will be punished."

"Punished, how?" Luna asked, but nobody answered. Hermione imagined that the new adornment to the hall was a threat slightly more significant than detention.

"I think it's time to step up the madness, Forge."

"I think you're right, Gred."

"Do I want to know?" Hermione asked though she had already resigned herself to what was to come. In many ways, the Weasley brand of chaos - that only the twins could provide - was the much lesser of the current evils.

Fred grinned. "No, Prefect girl, you really don't."

Hermione sighed. "I think I'm going to go to the owlery. Sorry Luna, for some reason I've gone right off my breakfast."

Luna nodded in an unconcerned way and skipped off out of the corridor. George, however, stepped to block her path.

"Can't miss those letters from the Bulgarian bonbon," he teased.

Fred grinned. "Have to get them while their hot."

Hermione felt her cheeks heat, and she did her best to hide her embarrassment behind a glare.

"Don't call him that," she insisted.

"Can't help it, Mione," Fred shrugged.

"When you are given a gift - such as that nickname is - it would be almost a crime not to use it."

"Scandalous some might say, brother."

"You're right there."

"Oh for Merlin's sake," Hermione complained, but neither boy paid her any attention.

"Skeeter might be a nightmare-"

"A pimple on the arse of creations."

"-but she knows her way around a memorable alliteration."

Hermione felt the need to rub her temples, which only intensified when Fred's eyes took on a particularly knowing gleam.

"What happened to her by the way?"

"What do you mean?" she stuttered.

They were interrupted by a large, reverberating clanging sound and they turned to see that Filch had somehow dropped his hammer while trying to come down the steps without injury. The caretaker did a double-take when he saw the boys and stared at them accusingly. Fred gave him a mocking wave, and he returned to packing up mumbling something about how times were changing and respect owed.

Hermione tried to walk away, but the twins weren't entirely done.

"Hold your horses, Hermione."

"We were just asking a few questions."

"About what?" Hermione snapped, and instantly she knew she had made a mistake. She should have feigned indifference, pretended their questions were beneath her notice. They would not ignore a show of emotion.

"Skeeter," George prodded again. "We want to know what happened."

"Nothing happened," Hermione tried one last time even though it was already too late.

Fred snorted. "She writes a load of nasty crap about you, and then it just stops… Seems a bit strange to me, doesn't it you George?"

"I would say it does Fred."

"Maybe she just had an attack of conscious?" Hermione said, fiddling with a button on her jumper.

Fred smiled an evil smile. "You're a terrible liar, Mione."

George wrapped his arms around her shoulders and guided her towards the owlery. "It might just be our favourite thing about you."

When Hermione escaped the clutches of the twins, distracting them by asking if they knew about some theory of Luna's that had the potential for 'explosive botany', she climbed the stairs to the owlery, looking forward to the peace and quiet she hadn't been able to obtain on her way to the Great Hall. However, it was not destined to be her morning, as, after climbing the seemingly endless stairs to the top of the turret, she found the room was not deserted as she had so fondly hoped. In the far corner of the stone, circular space stood Cho Chang; her small shape silhouetted against the large archway.

Hermione stilled for a moment, cursing herself for disturbing the solitude of someone who's need of it was greater than her own. She knew she didn't have the stealth, or the footwear, to sneak off quietly and she didn't want her turning and 'running away' to be misconstrued as avoidance rather than a hoped-for act of kindness. So, after coughing softly to make sure she was noticed, Hermione walked into the owlery and gave Cho a small wave.

"Hi," she said, and after a couple of moments, she continued over to the resting owls. She had intended to check if there was a letter for her amongst the stack for Gryffindor Tower. As it was still early, there was a considerable pile.

The elves brought the letters that arrived for students overnight to their dorm rooms in the morning. If it were during mealtimes, the owls would make the deliveries themselves. But Hermione had started coming up to the owlery earlier and earlier each day, as part of her own private little ritual.

If she had time before classes, she would get herself a cup of tea and read what she could of Viktor's letters before the rest of her house woke up. It was far better than stuffing them into her bag during meal times and then having the folded parchment burn a hole in her mind for the rest of the day. There were too many prying eyes to read it out in the open, even if it was torture to wait.

"Hi," Cho replied softly without looking around.

Hermione nearly asked how Cho's summer had been, but she swallowed back the accidentally unfeeling statement. After a long break, it was what you said to everyone. It became a social reflex where you could almost wholly rely that the people conversing were not actually listening to each other.

After a moment's indecision, she settled on the equally banal, "How are you?" instead.

"I'm," Cho began, turning her head so Hermione could see the side of her face. Cho was fiddling with the end of a frazzled braid and staring as if she was focused on something miles away. Hermione waited her out until Cho's hands fell lifelessly to her sides and her shoulders sagged. "I'm pretty crappy actually."

"That's understandable," Hermione murmured, and she leant against the cold wall.

Cho laughed, and the short, bitter sound reverberated off the low roof. "Is it? You wouldn't think so from the way people behave. It's amazing how quickly pity can turn into exasperation. As if I have somehow exceeded some timeline for this type of grief that no one told me as I was supposed to adhere to. How was I supposed to know that my time was up? It's as if my sadness is somehow a burden on others. As if it is heavier on them than the loss of him is on me."

Hermione watched a giant Eagle-owl swoop through the open arch as she considered what to say. She had the impression Cho had wanted to say those things for a long time. Hermione had never experienced anything like what Cho was feeling, and she didn't want to patronise her by offering words of hollow advice. What could she say that would honestly make it any better? In many ways, even without knowing all the particulars, Hermione agreed with Cho. She'd never known much of tolerance from other people, but then her retaliation had always been obstinance. Somehow that didn't seem like the type of girl Cho was.

"I don't think people mean to be unfeeling," she said finally. Hermione thought of the group of friends that usually circled Cho - smiling, laughing and happy. "They don't know what to say. Death is a hard topic for adults; it's not one we should have been dealing with yet. What happened to Cedric… it was… dark. When things like that happen, people want to forget about it."

"That makes sense," Cho agreed with a sniff. "But what about me? What do you do when your the reminder people don't want? When you don't want to forget?"

"You're a person, Cho, and you're allowed to grieve for however long as you want."

"I just can't… I can't switch it off." Cho pressed her palms over her eyes and then gathered herself up. "I'm sorry Hermione, I always seem to be crying on you."

"I wouldn't worry about it," Hermione replied with a shrug. "I assure you I've been caught crying in this castle more than once, and I had nowhere near the reason you have."

Cho nodded, though Hermione had the distinct impression Cho was no longer listening. "In any case, thank you."

"You're welcome."

Cho gathered her cardigan around her and padded towards the exit. Hermione listened to the sound of her steps and stayed still until she couldn't hear her anymore. She sighed and looked again at the owls, sleeping peacefully. Hermione wondered how many secrets and confessions they had borne witness to over the years. One of the slumbering balls of feathers peeked one eye open and then shut it again, snuggling back down between its neighbours. Hermione wondered how much they understood.

Hermione resumed her sorting through the Gryffindor letter stack, laughing to herself as she saw one neatly written letter from Mrs Weasley to each of her young brood. At the bottom, she finally saw the familiar writing and snatched the parchment up with haste.

Judging that this was the best she would get in terms of relative privacy, Hermione only momentarily regarded Viktor's letter before ripping into it. It was heavier than usual, which was soon explained. Along with his diligently written out note, he had sent her the list of recommended books she asked for. Viktor had started his mastery work, and despite Hermione's aptitude and enjoyment of the subject, she hadn't been able to comprehend some of the terms he was using. She hoped she could get a firmer understanding by looking up what he had sent her.

It was just one of the many ways in which he had left her behind. Not intentionally, of course, but all the same. Hermione found she didn't like to feel as if she was in the 'slow' group, academically speaking or otherwise.

As Hermione turned the pages over in her fingers another, smaller, envelope fell out of her stack and hit the dusty floor. Only her name was on the cover, but it wasn't in Viktor's handwriting. Knowing by now that she would never find any answers by staring at it, Hermione opened the envelope to find a short and very elegantly written note from Viktor's mother.

Sofiya's first paragraph seemed to have been written for Viktor's benefit. She explained that she had wanted to contact Hermione previously but hadn't wanted her son to feel as if she was contacting his girlfriend 'behind his back' and so she had asked Viktor to include it with his next message. Hermione could picture Viktor rolling his eyes at that!

Sofiya's principal interest in writing seemed to be to sharing her lament that Viktor had left the family home. While it was clear she was incredibly proud of her son - she mentioned so no less than three times - Hermione could feel her sadness in every word.

Sofiya went into detail about the new apartment he had brought - believing that Viktor would have missed most of the salient information out - and then gave a very funny account of a function she had attended for a children's hospital where there had been hushed, passive-aggressive argument between the sisters who had organised it about the appropriateness orange roses as table decorations.

Hermione went back to Viktor's letter and moved to stand against the archway Cho had been staring out of. There was something about being high up with the breeze on her face that made her feel closer to him. Granted she had both feet on solid ground, but for a moment or two, she could understand the freedom Viktor loved while he was on a broom. Though, she could only do so while being safe enough so that her focus wasn't entirely on her heart threatening to beat out of her chest.

Viktor's note was far more cheery in tone. There were details of his upcoming matches and stories about his teammates. Their Chaser - who was something of a legendary hypochondriac - had announced that his wife was pregnant, and it was now an almost full-time job for the rest of the team to stop him from nervously looking things up on medical directories before he convinced himself that something was wrong with either his spouse or their expected child. Hermione remembered him as the same player Viktor had introduced her to in Bulgaria. Once he had walked away, Viktor had whispered that the Chaser had once thought he would need to have his foot amputated after dropping a trunk on it before a game.

Hermione carefully folded the note twice and then pushed it into the back pocket of her jeans. She leant against the window and watched as the castle came to life.

She was lucky to have someone like Viktor, at the end of a quill, a faithful and interesting penpal. His written words were so much like his conversation that it was almost as good as seeing him regularly. At least that's what Hermione told herself after each letter she gobbled up and then wished she had savoured.

Hermione reached up and wiped away tear tracks that were beginning to cross on her cheeks. She pretended that she was enjoying her morning and not imagining Viktor's arms around her, pinning her to his chest as his chin rested on top of her head. Making her feel safe and loved and… home.

Viktor felt the beginning of the 'the wall' building up brick by brick in the front of his mind. As a professional athlete, the belief that he couldn't possibly go one more step was achingly familiar to him, as was smashing through it. His first-ever coach had taught him that all of his dreams were waiting for him on the other side of that imagined wall. Behind every sacrifice and hardship would be a reward. In reality, it hadn't exactly been an equal ratio of pain for prizes, but Viktor still counted himself as winning overall.

Viktor had been running at full tilt for the best part of half an hour, and his brain had seemingly just realised that he intended to do far more. He panted for breath before coming to a much-needed stop. He rested his hands on top of his knees while pulling in breath after breath through his teeth.

Milenka, who had dutifully been keeping up pace beside him, saw her opportunity and scampered off to chase after a squirrel that had been flitting about by a tree. Viktor envied her boundless energy.

He'd only been stopped a few seconds when he heard heavy footfalls beside him, and Mikhail appeared, jogging on the spot and urging him to get upright.

"Come on, Viktor! I shouldn't be able to catch you," he chastised with humour and Viktor wanted to swat him away. He might have tried if he hadn't already been starting to feel the lactic acid biting at his joints.

His friend was right. Mikhail wasn't an intense cardio person, and if Viktor wasn't making it difficult for his friend, he wasn't on full form. The late nights catching up with his mastery work after gruelling days on the pitch as they prepared for their first matches were beginning to take their toll.

"I know," he agreed breathlessly. "It's just getting so fucking cold." Viktor blew out a huge gust of air that appeared as a white cloud in the frost of the morning, proving his point on both the weather and his exhaustion. Mikhail merely raised his eyebrows.

"Really? Colder than at school?" he asked incredulously. "You're getting soft."

Viktor used their relative positions to take advantage and tackle Mikhail around the waist before getting him in a headlock. "Fuck you," he laughed out as Mikhail groaned. Feeling the blood racing back to his limbs, Viktor released Mikhail quickly and took off back down the path.

Milenka did not immediately follow, but Viktor knew her well enough not to worry, she would eventually catch up, once her business with the squirrel was finished.

Viktor nodded his head at a curly-haired witch he saw on most of his sprints around the pack, unlike him she was walking, but she also had a dog in tow. He imagined she must live around there somewhere, but he had no real interest in sparking up a conversation to find out. He wasn't even sure if he liked seeing her or not. Sometimes it was a harsh reminder of his girlfriend that was currently so far away, and, if Viktor was any judge, unhappy.

Hermione's letters were full of little references and funny stories designed to show her time at Hogwarts in the best possible light, but Viktor could sense something else lingering behind her words, loneliness and worry that was beginning to eat at her more and more as the term continued.

Then there was the talk of the new measures being taken by the British Ministry. Hermione hadn't said much about Dolores Umbridge, but the few mentions she had made had been enough for Viktor to be concerned, which in turn had been enough for him to let his father know. Grigor had looked grave upon hearing the news and promised to find out what he could.

The fact that he could offer her no real comfort, outside of what he could write down on parchment, did not sit well with Viktor. He vowed that once he finished this unending run and got home, he would take another look at his calendar, finalise his required travel for the next few months and then work out what spare days he had. It wouldn't be much, likely it never would be for the next few years, but he hoped it would get them through.

As he turned the bend at the far corner of the park, Viktor once again heard heavy feet followed by an excitable bark. Mikhail barged him in the shoulder as he passed and Viktor laughed, shaking off his distraction and giving chase as he avoided Milenka's erratic paws.

The inside of Gringotts - not the ornate, traditional, public bank, nor the dank, drafty caves but he back offices used for workers - was nowhere near as luxe as Fleur had assumed it would be before she started her apprenticeship. While deep inside the bank, you could be forgiven for thinking that you were inside any office building in the world. That was clearly part of the Goblin design, to not tempt the staff they didn't completely trust, with the treasures they held so dear.

Along with weekly security screening, an expected part of the job for anyone that had worked there less than a year, Fleur also had to work around the incredibly confusing office layout. Fleur had been working at the bank for a couple of months, and she still had to rely on an escort to go from the employee entrance to the curse breakers offices. She was reasonably sure that whole corridors had moved during her time there, though Bill seemed to get around fine. Her mentor had built up a good relationship with their employers, almost to the point where they trusted him, or at least they joked that they might feel something close to it, in another twenty to thirty years.

The small office she spent her time in was blissfully deserted when Fleur entered that morning, and she took off her jacket before flicking through her letters and memos. One of the first tasks she had been given was to sort through all of the communication the office received and attempt to rank it in terms of urgency. Bill would then review and discuss her decisions and point out where he would have made different choices.

While applying a little red 'U' - meaning urgent - to an incoming request Fleur spotted a letter from Viktor, and after finishing up with her assessments, she broke open the seal to read it while she finished her morning coffee. The Goblins had coffee machines on the premises but, even if Fleur could find them, their beverage preferences tended towards caffeine that had a distinct petroleum-like consistency, which was frankly abhorrent to Fleur's refined palette.

She leant back in her chair as she caught up on Viktor's life, peppered - as it always was - by the usual references to Hermione that she had come to expect. She wondered if they were unconscious, or whether Viktor was aware of how much he spoke of the young witch. Fleur found it all rather charming.

Unfortunately, some elements of his note where less pleasant. He wrote of the unfolding tensions at Hogwarts and Harry's continued rage. Fleur chastised herself for not acting before. She had thought of writing to Harry often, though she had put it off because of his behaviour. Fleur had assumed Harry felt too awkward around her to maintain any kind of friendship. Her overtures of thanks, repeated over the summer, had been met with blushing cheeks and shuffling feet. Fleur didn't want Harry to feel uncomfortable after everything he had done for her. Maybe she had made the wrong call?

Fleur glanced back down at the pages and thought of her relationship with Viktor. Friendship certainly hadn't been on her mind when she went to Hogwarts, and despite the propaganda of the competition she didn't believe that fostering international relations were high on the agenda of any of their school teachers either, except maybe Dumbledore, but then, he had other motivations for extending a welcoming hand.

Fleur's desire to keep in touch with Viktor had started as a mainly selfish act. After the events of the maze she had wanted to reacquaint herself with the kind, thoughtful boy she had seen glimpses of during the competition, and not the dead-eyed assailant who had set upon her with violence in mind. Viktor may never remember what happened that night, but Fleur did. It had been her practical attempt at curtailing her nightmares and, after a time, it had worked.

Of course, that was only how it had started. For a long time now, Fleur had wanted to continue their friendship because she genuinely enjoyed Viktor's company. Making friends had not always been a natural pastime in her life, and she would not turn her back on a good one - especially one with a girlfriend that had been kind to her, and had no objection to Viktor befriending her, part Veela or otherwise.

Bill entered the tiny office, tying back his hair and shrugging off his jacket as Fleur was enjoying her last mouthful of coffee and smiling at Viktor's report on his ongoing quest to improve his English.

"Letter from home?" Bill asked in lieu of greeting and Fleur, never one to miss an opportunity when it landed in her lap, rather deliberately bit her lip.

"Viktor Krum," she replied succinctly, setting her cup down and pulling her chair under the desk, making herself look ready and eager for the day. She saw a flash of something in Bill's eyes, and she suppressed her smirk. Fleur folded the letter in half and trailed her fingers over the pages.

"He sends you letters?" he asked, pushing his shirt sleeves back revealing long, pale, strong limbs that Fleur spent too much time thinking about. "That's… nice of him."

Fleur nodded. "Viktor is very kind."

Bill nodded stiffly and Fleur set the letter down. She thought about leaving it at that, but she had come to admire and respect Bill. Her initial attraction after meeting him during the tournament had morphed into something more heartfelt as they spent time together. While she had no problem teasing him, there were limits, and she was no game player.

"Though his letters are becoming a little repetitive," she said with a smile. "He is completely besotted with Hermione Granger and cannot go two paragraphs without mentioning her in some way."

Bill's eyebrows rose, and the tight line of his mouth relaxed. "Oh, I hadn't… well, shall we carry on where we left off?" Fleur nodded eagerly and swiped up her papers from the previous day. "I was thinking…" Bill continued, looking at a ledger in front of him with rapt attention. "If we make a good go of it today we could finish on time, then maybe go for a drink afterwards?"

His question was welcome but unhelpfully ambiguous. Bill had been nothing but welcoming since she joined, and Fleur knew her feelings were at risk if she were to misinterpret his intentions. Not to mention how awkward her working life would become if she made a pass at a man that was both uninterested and her boss.

"That is kind of you, Bill," she replied carefully, "but you do not need to take me out to show me London. I'm sure you have more important things to do."

"No, you misunderstand," Bill said, finally meeting her eyes. "I had hoped you… well, that you might be open to getting to know each other outside of work, on a more personal basis."

"To what end?" Fleur said, raising an eyebrow. She was definitely more pleased with the direction of the conversation now, but she wanted him to spell it out.

"To whatever end you would like," Bill said softly but with a hint of challenge that made his eyes sparkle.

"Then I accept your invitation," Fleur said warmly, thankful for the silk cami style top she had put on under her thick jumper.

"Good," Bill said in a relaxed tone but Fleur noted the hint of relief in his eyes. It made her smile more full. "Now, stop distracting me, Miss Delacour, we have a job to do."

"Yes, Mr Weasley," she replied brightly and got up from her desk to get on with the day. The sooner it started, the sooner it would finish.

A/N: Mutual pining sucks! Never fear, they will find a way, but I'm afraid it will get a little worse before it gets better. For all of you craving some more Vikmione in your lives, I have started a new fic, Vikmione Tales, which will be full of short stories and one-shots of one of my favourite pairings. As ever, thank you for reading x