Remus settled into one of the neglected-looking kitchen chairs and pulled his mug towards his chest, letting the porcelain both heat his fingers and form a protective barrier between himself and the conversation beginning in front of him. It was a sad state of affairs that even somewhere as decaying and echoey as Grimmauld Place was now a welcome sight. He had been on the road for too long. It had been weeks since he had felt anything close to warmth. Werewolf packs weren't driven to prioritise comfort when selecting their locations, and as an Omega, Remus had less choice than most over where he had been sleeping.

In bad moments, of which there were many, Remus had wondered if this war would finally kill off those of them that remained - what was left of the happy smiling faces that peered out at him from faded but cherished photo albums? As much as he could, he brushed the thoughts to the side. They wouldn't serve any purpose today. Instead, Remus pushed his shoulders back and let his muscles finally relax as he regarded two of the people he trusted most in the world, sat either side of him, locked in a familiar, silent standoff.

It was hardly the first time Kingsley and Sirius had attempted to stare each other down, it was a practice that had started while they were all at school, but it had been a long time since Remus, or he supposed anyone else, had seen it play out. They were both stubborn in their own ways, and though they had formed deep-seated respect for each other, their personalities were so different they often clashed. Sirius would argue that they always wanted the same goal, so why did it matter how they got there? Kingsley, for whom conduct was everything, vehemently disagreed.

Eventually, after the ancient hands of the hall's grandfather clock had ticked more times than anyone could count, Kingsley sighed and shook his head before sagging back into his seat. Sirius had enough good grace to hide his grin, almost, the upturn of his lips was just visible behind his glass from where Remus was sitting. Despite the early hour, Sirius had forgone the offer of tea and selected his much prefered amber liquid. Judging by Kingsley's pinched expression, he wished he had made the same call.

Kinglsey uncrossed his arms with emphasised reluctance and reached across the table. "Pass it to me then, Black."

Sirius drummed his fingers against his glass, regarding his sparring partner carefully. He reached inside the breast pocket of his shabby robes and passed an envelope and a small parcel into Kinglsey's waiting hands.

Remus bit back any inquiry he might have had, he knew Kingsley would ask, and it was best not to draw too much attention to himself. Sirius had been pissed at him for bringing Kingsley into the fold and had made his reservations known, but Remus hadn't seen another way around it.

Despite the seriousness of the world outside, and the overplayed negotiation occurring in front of him, he would have been hard-pressed to deny what he was feeling. He was enjoying himself. Sirius, though ornery and downright unpleasant at times, was beginning to show glimmers of who he used to be, before… well, all of it.

"What's in the package?" Kingsley asked, and Remus took a sip of his tea, glad his question had been presented for him. If only the rest of his life could be so simple. But Remus had learnt long ago that dreams and wishes were fairy tales to tell children.

"Well," Kingsley pressed in the silence and Remus averted his eyes. When Sirius had asked for his help, he'd only mentioned a letter, in his typically vague manner, and while the parcel wasn't large, the size wasn't the issue at present. The Order wasn't awash with high-level operators. Remus tried to see the good in people, but facts were facts. They had a number of people outside of their core team that could be best described as 'sympathetic to their cause', but of the soldiers and strategists, they were severely lacking. There were only so many hands communication could be entrusted to now. Practically only Kingsley or Tonks were able to use their resources to deliver something unseen. Remus had considered asking the younger Auror but, for myriad reasons, he had decided against it. Maybe he was a coward? Perhaps he didn't want her to take on the risk? Either way, he'd asked Kingsley rather than analyse his feelings.

Coward then, definitely a coward.

Sirius shrugged, a practised nonchalant movement that both the other men in the room knew was something of a tell. "A watch," he replied disinterestedly with a wave of his hand. "It's the present Hermione got Krum for Christmas."

Kingsley scoffed, and Remus wondered if it would be too obvious if he tried to shift his chair back a little. Sirius may have been labelled volatile as little more than a teen, but Kinglsey didn't get to where he was by being slow on the draw. When they fought, and they did, both magically and the Muggle way, it was usually fairly explosive, but over quickly and ended with a handshake. Remus felt they were all getting a little bit old for all that.

"You do realise I'm the most successful Auror in a generation?" Kingsley asked. Despite the accolade, he gave the words little emphasis. His eyes held a bored intensity that Remus wished he could emulate. Unfortunately, given the wolf that lived inside him, he wasn't able to affect boredom. He was either all the way intense or intensely tired, and there was no in-between.

"So what?" Sirius replied flatly. "I made a flying bike when I was seventeen, is there some award I should get? Or should we all just get our cocks out and see who's in charge? Though, frankly, I don't think this room is warm enough to do me proper justice."

Kingsley's fingers bit into the side of the table. "You know what I'm saying, and don't play dumb, I've known you far too long for it to be believable. I'm asking that you appreciate what I'm risking here mate."

Sirius gritted his teeth and whisky sloshed onto the table as he slammed his heavy-bottomed glass down. "Well, some of us would love nothing more than to exercise a little risk, but some of us don't have any choice. Some of us have to stay here and rot while the rest are out playing at soldiers."

"Sirius," Remus said warningly, and he watched his friend sag as his compassion caught up to his temper. The worst thing was, he knew Sirius didn't mean it, he had the utmost respect for Kingsley, he always had. It was just this war, his confinement, prison… everything had recked with his head. Remus had found if he left him too long, or allowed him to get too worked up, Sirius could begin to go off-kilter. He was determined not to let that happen again.

Sirius grabbed the bottle he was working on, and with jerky, rough movements wrenched it open and poured himself another glass, giving himself a chance to lose the clouds from his eyes. In the quiet, Kinglsey turned the package over in his fingers and then pushed it inside his robes, shaking his head.

The decision was apparently made. Remus breathed out a sigh of relief and drained his mug. At least it hadn't been a completely pointless endeavour.

"So, just making sure I've got everything clear. Between work commitments and my increasing obligations to the Order, I have little free time. Am I now to spend the precious moments I get to myself ferrying love notes between teenagers? That's imperative to you?" Kingsley's brow raised in question, and after a couple of moments deliberation, he leant forward. "Screw it," he muttered and plucked the bottle off the table to pour himself a glass.

Remus knew what he was asking. Why did Sirius want him to do this? But Remus knew Sirius wouldn't answer, not in any real way. He had already said that he had made Hermione a promise, and he would not be drawn on further details. It was one of those pureblood honour things that Remus had seen so much of before. Though Sirius had done his utmost over the years to distance himself from his upbringing, some things are woven into the very fabric of who you are. He would have advised him not to indulge the children so much, but he had seen the way Hermione's prodding had brought some emotion to Sirius, granted not always a positive one, but it was something. Remus wasn't keen to discourage an association that was helping his friend. Did it really matter if any of them understood it? For himself, he was just pleased to be able to help deliver on a request that Sirius had made, if only by proxy.

Sirius smiled in his crinkly, charming way and raised an eyebrow. "Playing owl getting in the way of an assignation, is it Kings? No wonder you're so pissing cranky."

"Fuck you, Black," Kinglsey spat and took a big sip from his glass.

Sirius kicked back in his chair and put his feet up on the table. Master of all he surveyed. "Temper temper. You're kinda proving my point."

"And I suppose you're just drowning in witches while you're here in this shithole, aren't you?"

Sirius smirked. "At least I've got the excuse of being locked up here."

"Have I told you lately that you're fucking insufferable? Because I feel like I should have been sharing that more."

"Go get some Kings," Sirius retorted, making a shooing motion with his free hand. "It will do us all a favour if you find a pretty witch, with a good grip, that can remove that stick wedged deep up your arse."

"Could we all be reasonable?" Remus pleaded though he was fully prepared to go unnoticed.

He felt bad for getting Kingsley involved, a victorious Sirius was nothing to be taken lightly, and the man did have other commitments. But Remus hadn't thought it was wise to try and take on the task himself. He was pretty sure he was being tailed relatively effectively, and while he could shake them off now and again he wanted to keep his movements to a minimum while he remained in the UK. After weeks of facing off against the Werewolf hierarchy, he needed a break.

Sirius huffed and rubbed his palm against his stubble. "It's a one-off," he said nodding towards Kingsley's pocket. "She's writing to him to tell him not to send any more notes. He should know not to respond."

"You haven't read it?" Kinglsey asked incredulously.

Sirius shrugged. "No, I haven't. It's personal."

Kingsley ground his teeth and loomed forward. "Sirius, this isn't a game, if she's said something that could endanger-"

"She's said nothing," Sirius interjected. "She's not silly that one, she understands the stakes."

"She's a kid."

"So were we."

The proclamation was met with silence as so many of Sirius' accurate ones often were and as it continued Remus stretched out to grab the bottle himself. If they were going to reminisce he was going to need to be a hell of a lot less lucid, no matter what the hour was. It was one of the many reasons he never saw fit to bug Sirius about his drinking. Though he appreciated it didn't help an already complicated situation. Remus had lived through this before, and functional alcoholism was how most of them had survived. It was self-medicating at its most base. But it worked, in a fashion.

While he poured his drink, Remus studied Kinglsey properly for the first time since he'd got there - he was so used to watching Sirius, for signs of improvement or decline that he hadn't noticed the hard set of Kinglsey's mouth or the dark shadows under his eyes. He looked worse than the last time he had seen him, and while he imagined that was the same for all of them, it was unusual to see Kingsley looking so affected.

"Kings is everything," Remus trailed off. Asking if he was okay was ridiculous in the extreme, none of them were okay. None of them would likely ever be okay. "You seem grim."

Kinglsey drummed his fingers on the end of the table and regarded him thoughtfully. "Somethings coming."

Remus felt a chill move down his spine, but it was Sirius who spoke.

"How bad?" he asked, his early humour forgotten.

Kingsley shrugged. "It's quiet, too quiet, which means they're planning something. We are keeping tabs as much as we can at the Ministry, but I've seen how that side of things plays out before, it's something else, something big. But none of our intelligence is coming up with anything."

"Snivellus not playing ball?" Sirius sneered, but Kingsley only rolled his eyes at the show of teeth.

"Let it go, Sirius, it's been way over a decade."

"Never," Sirius responded immediately, and Remus knew he meant it.

Sirius had many faults, most that were obvious as soon as you met him but some you only learnt when you had known him for a lifetime. Implacable resentment was near the top of that list, Sirius would never trust Snape as long as he drew breath and Remus imagined the feeling was mutual.

Dear Viktor,

I don't really know how to write this letter. I'm sure you know me well enough by now to realise that when I have something difficult to say I always require time to perfect my articulation, sadly, time is not something I, or really we have at the moment.

Firstly, the situation that caused my plans changed over Christmas is now getting better and, though I cannot discuss it much here, I wanted to tell you there is no need to worry, especially given the opening of this letter. We are all safe and mostly well.

I have been told that - for various reasons - it is best that we stop writing to each other for the foreseeable future. I have tried to think of a softer, more measured way of writing that but, honestly, I'm not feeling very measured about it at all at the moment, so I thought it might be best to get it out there straight away.

There are concerns - there seem to be nothing but at the moment - about everyone's safety and so, I am not allowed to write to you.

I've tried to think of ways around it. I know that is not a particularly mature reaction to an express order, but it's what I have been doing. The only thing that has stopped me from researching any more solutions is the assertion - repeatedly given - that there is a chance that my letters may somehow put you, or your family and friends, in danger. As much as I can't bear the thought of not receiving your messages, that would be so much worse.

Over the last few months, your letters have made me feel happy, at a time when everything seems too bleak to mention. I want to say they were an escape, but that does them - and you - a disservice, they were so much more than that! They were reminders of our happy summer and the promise that maybe someday there will be less fear, less distance and more time.

I'm not very good with this sort of thing, as you know you're my first boyfriend, and well, I loved the bracelet, and I hope I understood what you meant. I haven't been able to decipher all of the Runes yet, and I envy your education! I think I will be able to figure out the remaining ones when I get back to Hogwarts but… Maybe not having time to worry about writing this is a good thing? It certainly removes some of my anxiety in saying something I might not have been brave enough to if I knew I would get a response. In case I don't get a chance to say this for a long time, know that I love you.

From one gift to another, if Snuffles has been able to pull off getting this to you, there should also be a small package containing your Christmas present. I'm sorry it's so late. I am once again envious of your extra years of schooling as it took a little longer to put together than I would have liked. As you know, I don't want to admit when something has bested me, but this nearly did - until I got some outside help. I've added a sheet at the back of this letter with more information, but don't look at that until you open the gift! Hopefully, everything you need will be there, and if it's not, I suppose you will have to rely on your superior knowledge ;)

I had hoped to be able to talk it over with you, some of the Charm work involved, without giving too much away, was fascinating and I imagine you would have had a much smoother time of it than I did. I will miss learning from you. I will miss how you make me laugh at myself. I will miss everything.

I wish I had something to say, some timeline to give for when this might be lifted, but I have nothing to offer at present. I don't want to promise something I cannot hope to provide.

I will be following your progress as always. As I am not expecting a reply to this, maybe I can tell you that I sometimes feel embarrassed by how much joy I get from tracking your fixtures around the world? The boys certainly find my sudden interest in the sports section of the Daily Prophet amusing.

Please send my love to your family, Filip, Mikhail and Milenka, but mainly, I will be sending it to you.

Stay safe, and please, if only for me, try and stay on your broom!

Your Hermione

Viktor finished a second read-through of Hermione's letter, drew in a deep breath and then lashed out with his fist so hard and so fast that he almost punched a hole through the nearest wall. It didn't make him feel any better, though it did stop him from setting the parchment on fire. The plasterboard and paintwork had crumpled in, and he knew he would have to look up a spell to fix it, so it wasn't still there the next time his mother decided to drop around. Viktor doubted she would approve of his anger management technique or his blatant disregard for her decor choices.

Viktor shook his hand out as pain began to creep up from his knuckles and winced. As the red mist lifted, he began to feel rather silly. Still, it was better his hand - and the wall - than Hermione's note, which, despite the bad news it contained, was far too precious to be wasted, especially on an outburst that he should have been mature enough to prevent.

Should have been, but then, Viktor couldn't remember a time when he had ever been angrier at himself. He thought back to the white-hot rage that had coursed through his blood when Hermione had been selected for the Second Task, but somehow this was worse, because this feeling was directed inwards.

He should have seen this coming!

Hermione had been as explicit as she was able in her letters, Viktor had known the type of regime Umbridge was running for months. Hadn't his father taught him to consider the actions of those around him? Wasn't it always imperative to track events and analyse to prevent yourself from becoming boxed into a difficult situation with no reasonable exit? Well, now here he was, with no one else to blame but himself.

He was supposed to be the older, more worldly one, and he was supposed to be advising her of things to help, and yet he'd been blindsided. Viktor wished he was home, with his parents. It would be worth facing his father's likely disappointment to get some solid advice.

Viktor walked into his kitchen and ran his rapidly bruising hand under a stream of water in the sink. He must have hit the wall pretty hard if it was enough to draw blood. He didn't have much experience with such things. He'd never hit a person in anger, let alone a surface made of brick. Who knew it could hurt this much? There were a couple of small gashes between his knuckles where the skin looked pretty chewed up. If Coach found out, he would be doing additional laps around the stadium until he retired. Luckily, it didn't seem like he had broken it; he could still wiggle his fingers without feeling like he might be sick. It would likely heal quicker than the rest of the situation.

Viktor froze some of the gushing water and wrapped it in a tea towel to hold against his hand until the stinging subsided. Then he went and sat by the large window in the dining room, to stare outside while he thought. His shoulders sagged, and the endless stream of swear words ended in his mind as he considered how he was feeling.

Viktor stretched back over the table to grab the letter up with his good hand and re-read the bits about the bracelet. Hermione had spoken more freely in those few short paragraphs than she had in their entire correspondence and Viktor already knew that in times to come he would feel grateful for them. He briefly entertained the idea of highlighting the passages that brought him happiness so he could ignore the rest, but he quickly dismissed it. Not only was it borderline ridiculously self-indulgent, but also it would also be shutting out her pain.

Viktor traced his fingers over the 'I love you' that was written in clear, undeniable ink and wished his hand hurt more. He had wanted to be innovative and meaningful when he told Hermione he loved her for the first time. He'd had this idea that because they were going to be apart so much for the next few years, he needed to make it extra special, something she would remember forever.

Viktor had been planning the bracelet for months. The concept had come to him when he remembered how much Hermione had liked the chocolates he had made for Valentine's the year before. Jewellery was a traditional gift, but Viktor had worried Hermione might consider it impersonal, so the rune charms were decided on. After getting all the pieces together, the Rune for love had been selected, etched and attached to the chain before he had even thought about it.

Viktor had fantasies about her wearing it more times than he was likely ever to admit. In his favourite they were at some pointless ball, talking to dignitaries that didn't matter who, like him, had been drawn in by her sparkle. Someone would ask, when did you know he loved you? And Hermione would tell the story with a blush on her cheeks, before shyly raising her wrist and letting the bracelet catch the light. She'd be wearing a corsage he had given her, like at the Yule Ball and at the end of the night they would leave together. Leaving everyone else behind he would wrap her in his cloak and escape into the night.

Some of the runes had come easily; the rest had taken a good deal of thought. There were fourteen in total, seven for how he saw her and seven for how he viewed the relationship they had created and what it would be in time.

Intelligence, beauty, courage, warmth, passion, compassion and loyalty.

Love, fidelity, friendship, honesty, partnership, trust and devotion.

Viktor had been anticipating getting her letter in response, waiting to be able to tease her, to confirm wholeheartedly what his message had meant. Now that he knew they could not correspond, he wished he could have picked another way to tell her than for Hermione to discover the rune without context. It seemed cold, possibly even cowardly. If he'd known it was going to be his last chance he would have had so much more to say.

He knew Hermione could be hesitant and yet, in her letter, she had taken a leap of faith, she had trusted him. It was the best possible response, but it made it hurt all the more.

Viktor took a sip from his glass of water and unwrapped his hand, ready to perform the healing charms he would need. He wasn't great at them, but no Quidditch player worth his salt could fail at fixing a few bruises. Though, he wished Hermione was here to do it for him. Then again, if she were there, he would never have got in that state.

As he looked down, he remembered the package on the table and carefully removed the paper before staring at the watch he found for the longest time. He flicked to the pages at the end of Hermione's letter and read through the instructions as he sat back in his chair. It took a while, but understanding crept in. He placed the watch on his wrist and activated the charms she indicated and took a few tentative steps around his apartment. Viktor watched, with a growing smile, as the tracker ticked over to register them.

He felt a tiny bit of pressure against his pulse point, like a thumb being pressed against his skin, and suddenly there was a measure flashing for his heart rate. He was sure if it could take it again it would have risen. He sat back down again and quickly shot off the spells towards his hand so he could use both to flick through the neatly annotated pages. He couldn't wait to show his teammates this.

Viktor laid each piece of paper down on the table in front of him and gently tapped the face of the watch. He hoped Hermione knew just how bloody brilliant she was.

Hermione sat in the Great Hall in the middle of a near-empty bench and spooned scrambled eggs onto her plate. She didn't usually deviate from toast with butter or porridge in the morning, but today she was feeling flat and wanted a treat. She had a brief moment of wondering how sad her life was that eggs for breakfast were considered treat worthy before she forcibly stopped herself from further self-analysis and poured a cup of tea.

Hermione looked over at her open planner and tried to tell herself that she was preparing for her week and not counting the days since she had given Sirius the letter. If pushed, she could confirm it had been fifteen whole days, but she wasn't dwelling on it. Obviously not. Bugger.

If it had been hard to write that letter to Viktor - and by God, it had been - it was nothing to trying to get on with things in the silence that followed. Hermione knew he couldn't reply, that was the whole point, but it didn't mean it hurt any less when no response came, and it didn't mean that the nagging voices in her head stopped.

Would he understand? Did she manage to convey how sad she was? Was she too bold saying that she loved him? He'd said it, in his own way on the bracelet but… Would he forget her? Was all this too much trouble?

Sometimes it wasn't even the big things that occupied her mind. Hermione often wondered if he had liked the watch? It had certainly taken her long enough to complete.

Hermione had given up and pushed her half-finished breakfast aside by the time Harry trudged into the hall, looking as dishevelled and worn as she felt. Of course, she had more respect for the rules, the school as an institution and her teachers, to turn up to classes looking like she had just rolled out of bed, but then, she supposed being slightly rumpled at all times was part of Harry's appeal.

Hermione poured him a drink from the refilling teapots, and he managed a grunted greeting while sliding in beside her. They were silent for a while; both lost in their thoughts until Harry had finished putting a plate together.

"So, I heard about Viktor," he said eventually, resolutely not making eye contact and Hermione sighed.

"Yes," she replied. She wondered when Harry had been told. She supposed Sirius must have let him know before they came back.

"It's shit," Harry said, and Hermione nodded.

"Yes," she agreed, again, and Harry bumped her shoulder. There was nothing else to say, and he knew that. She wasn't about to spend her morning crying over him because, frankly, Harry had bigger things to worry about. His simple acknowledgement had been enough. No more letters to Viktor for her meant no letters to Sirius for Harry and as such, no letters to the last hope he had of some kind of family. The whole situation was beyond unfair, and if Hermione hadn't already loathed the ground Umbridge besmirched with her very existence, this situation would have been enough to make hatred fester in her heart.

The two friends exchanged small talk that touched on none of the real issues they had - even for Hermione, it was far too early for melancholy - while the rest of the student populous filtered into the hall in varying degrees of readiness for the day.

Hermione had just been thinking about what she could do to lift this endless fog when Ron walked in, scruffy as usual, with his tie loose around his neck and a couple of buttons undone at the top of his shirt. She was about to chastise him for the state of himself - really she had been dying to snap at someone since Harry strolled looking like the walking dead - then, there it was, glinting in the low light, and turning off her frustration as quickly and effectively as if there was a switch in her brain.

Ron stood opposite them, and she could see it better. Nestled against his clavicle, a large, thick gold chain with the word 'Sweetheart' resting against his freckled skin. It was breathtaking in its awfulness. Like a car crash, so awful she couldn't look away.

Hermione had left Muggle education long before computers became a part of the required daily study, and while she didn't find herself lamenting it often, she did then. If only she had a name she could give to the cartoonish, ballooned up, all caps font that made up the lettering.

Hermione almost forgot how to breathe when she remembered her conversation with Lavender before Christmas. How in a fit of malice she had told her how Ron just loved big jewellery. Yet, somehow, maybe she had been closer to the truth than she realised? He was wearing it, after all. Would she have worn a bracelet from Viktor if it had been awful? Hermione looked down at her wrist and suppressed a mean little smirk that Malfoy would have been proud of. She supposed she would never know.

Ron sat down, and as he did so, he finally seemed to notice where his friends were looking. He flushed lightly, and Hermione realised with a bit of shock that he was embarrassed. Did that mean he realised it was hideous? Or he was just wary of being caught adorned with a love token?

"Nice… necklace?" Harry said as if the words had been drawn out of his throat against his will. Hermione was glad he had opted to speak because she didn't think she had it in her to say anything other than 'what is that?' and she doubted that would have made for a pleasant conversation starter.

"Thanks, mate," Ron replied, rather sheepishly. "It's from Lavender… for Christmas."

Hermione bit her tongue, though she couldn't wait to ask Ginny about it. She sat quietly while Ron explained the finer details of his gift exchange with Lavender and stared slightly over his shoulder. Ten minutes passed before she could make her exit from the hall, and when she did, she was glad of an empty corridor so she could dissolve into the laughter that had threatened to make her laugh in the face of one of her closest friends.

It was unkind, and it should have been beneath her, but it felt bloody good to laugh.

A sharp jab to the side made her aware that Harry had caught up, and Hermione wiped her eyes with the back of her hands as they headed back to the tower.

"Meanie," he said with great affection almost successfully stifling his own giggles.

Hermione tried to speak but was overcome again as they made their way through the halls. "Sorry, sorry," she said eventually, holding her hands out in submission. "I know that's not very nice of me. It's just-"

"It's the worst thing you've ever seen?" Harry interjected, and Hermione smiled.

"Yes."

"I suppose it could have been worse."

"Really?" Hermione replied with astonishment. "Do you want me to put a word in, with Cho? Valentine's is coming up. You and Ron could have a matching set."

Harry looked vaguely sick for a moment, but he recovered quickly. "Excellent idea, do you think 'Chosen One' would work? Perhaps hyphenated?"

Hermione burst out laughing again, and Harry dropped an arm around her shoulder. "Good to see you smiling again, Mione."

"You too, Harry, you too."

A/N: Hello lovely readers, well the world has changed fairly dramatically since I last posted! I hope you are all keeping well! In the next chapter: Hermione gets caught spying - allegedly, things take a bit of a dark turn in Bulgaria, Luna makes an appearance, and we hear from Ginny! Thank you for your continued support!