A/N: So this chapter was supposed to be posted immediately after the last, as it's a continuation of the Yule Ball bit, but then real life got in the way and I was forced to postpone it. And then I got sick. To the lovely people that reviewed: I am so sorry I didn't reply to any of you! I feel horrible and just plain rude for not even saying a quick 'thank you', but please know that I am very grateful and happy with your feedback! I was also VERY happy to see a surge in favourites :D I don't know what it is, but I feel really special whenever one of my stories make it to someone's favourite list.

Hermione was pacing the length of the common room when the twins finally returned from their search.

"Sorry, Hermione," said George before she could ask.

"We looked everywhere," said Fred, crawling through the portrait hole after his brother. "No sign of Krum."

"Are you sure you looked everywhere?" she asked desperately.

"Everywhere," repeated George.

"The Quidditch field," said Fred.

"The library."

"Classrooms."

"Astronomy Tower."

"Greenhouse."

"Owlery."

"And the ship. His mates said they haven't seen him coming in. They didn't look very worried so maybe we shouldn't."

Fred nodded. "He's a big boy, Hermione."

"He can take care of himself. Probably just went out for a quick ride to blow off some steam."

"Ronnie-kins really got to him this time."

"Git."

"But like we said, he's a big boy."

"That he is. Even his headmaster wasn't bothered. Found him in the courtyard moaning to Snape about a rash on his arm."

Harry perked at that. "A rash? What kind? What else did you hear?"

Fred shrugged. "Not much. Didn't stick around to hear the rest."

"Why not?"

"That doesn't matter now," Hermione cut in, pacing by the fire. "He's got to be around here somewhere."

Ginny stopped her. "Fred and George are right, Hermione. Wherever he is I'm sure he's fine. He'll turn up tomorrow at breakfast and you can just talk to him then."

"And it's late," said Neville on the sofa, barely stifling a yawn. "He probably crashed somewhere on the ship."

"But his friends said they haven't seen him," argued Hermione. "Oh, I can't wait until tomorrow! I have to find him."

"I don't think you've got much of a choice right now," said Harry, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Look, it's been a long night for all of us. You especially could use some sleep. He's a champion, remember? There are two more tasks left to the tournament. He'll have to show up eventually."

Her eyes welled with fresh tears. They were red and puffy from all the crying she's already done. She remembers having fun at some point but it felt so far and dream-like that she's inclined to believe that it never happened to begin with, that the only thing she's ever done since walking down those steps was pillaging the entire castle searching for Viktor and calling his name until the pain in her throat forced her to stop.

Hermione heard that McGonagall had managed to pacify the situation after she left, and that the ball commenced once the Weird Sisters started playing again. Everyone had gone back to doing whatever it is they were doing before Ron and Viktor's confrontation interrupted them, but the three of them were still the talk of the party. Or that's what Lavender said when Hermione finally returned to the common room hours after the ball had ended and when her friends had already changed out of their dress robes and into their pajamas, and one look at her disheveled state and tear-streaked face and Fred and George were out of the portrait hole faster than the brooms they rode. Hermione actually laughed at that. It scared her remaining friends, but she truly thought it funny. She must've looked really bad for twins to become so determined to accomplish something not at all related to pranking someone or to fund their dream joke shop.

Lavender and Parvati were already asleep by the time she returned to their shared dormitory. Normally she'd fuss and complain about the messy state of the room, or at least free herself of her dress and into her own pajamas, but she was far too exhausted for both tasks. The only thing she could do was shake the remaining bobby pins out of her hair to allow the rest of her curls to bounce freely down her back. She took off her heels and placed them by her trunk as quietly as she could so as to avoid waking her roommates and then dealing with their many intrusive questions. She felt too hallow to hold a proper human conversation.

She was sitting on the edge of her bed massaging her sore foot when she noticed the elegant, velvety envelope resting neatly on her pillow. Her name was written at the front in a similar neat, swirly handwriting as Carolina Krum's and Hermione grabbed it and tore it open without a second thought. It read:

Dear Miss Granger,

My granddaughter had written to me several weeks ago regarding your little problem, but I'm sorry to say that personal and health issues prevented me from writing to you earlier. I hope nothing serious happened in the meantime and that you are doing well, all things considered.

I wish to give you a solution in this letter more than anything, Miss Granger, but I'm afraid it cannot be. The situation is dire and the subject is far too sensitive for writing, but rest assured that I am not leaving you to the mercy of that horrible man. I will arrange for us to meet in person. I don't know how, but I will do whatever it takes to meet you and to explain everything and to answer any questions you may have. I will write to you again with a date, time, and place for us to meet, but in the meantime I'd like you to do a few things for me.

First, I want you to burn this letter after you finish reading it. I advise you against sharing its contents with anyone, not even with Fleur or your friend Harry Potter. I cannot possibly stress upon you the importance of secrecy.

Second, do not reply to this letter. I prefer that no one catches wind of our correspondence.

Third, please don't resist him. I know this particular request will be hardest for you but for your own sake more than anyone else's I must ask you to stop rejecting him this instance. Deceive him if you must, make him believe that he is succeeding, but please don't make him desperate. The more desperate he becomes, the more wild and dangerous.

I will come for you, Miss Granger, you have my word on that, but if you truly want my help I'll need to have your full cooperation, and most importantly, your trust. I pray that you heed my warnings.

Yours truly,

Daniela Dumont.

Hermione read over the letter a second time, and then a third. She couldn't believe it. How could that woman say such things? What gave her the right to ask Hermione to hide things from Harry, one of her best and most trustworthy friends and perhaps the bravest and strongest wizard she'll ever know? And how could she speak that way about Viktor when she knew absolutely nothing about him besides the exaggerated rubbish she'd find in gossip magazines? How could she refer to him, her own kind, in a manner similar to that of a raging beast?

Without knowing it Hermione had crumpled the letter in her fist. She felt anger coursing through her, unpredictable and unimaginably strong and fast, and this time she had no intention of quelling it. First Fleur, then Ron, and now this Daniela Dumont. She has had enough, more so with everyone treating her like a bloody damsel in distress and Viktor a mindless brute than with the Veela curse itself. They all spoke as if they knew everything there is to know about male Veela without once considering Viktor's human half, the part she's more acquainted with, and it infuriated her to no end because she expected Daniela at least to be more understanding.

He's more civil and human than all of you combined, she thought with uncharacteristic disdain. Never mind that he threatened Ron just a few hours ago. He wasn't himself. It was obviously the Veela somehow sensing her distress and trying to protect her, and the fact that he didn't attack Ron shows that he's in control. He was also very clearly mortified with what he did, otherwise he wouldn't have been so eager to leave, and the fact that Pansy and Malfoy's slurs affected him proves that he's not nearly as dangerous and monstrous as they all try to make him out to be.

She tossed the balled letter over her shoulders with a scoff. What rabid Veela would put effort into a relationship anyway! He'd just claim her as his rather than try to hold her hand or hug her everyday despite her scolding him or pushing him back, or take the time to choose some ridiculously expensive item to give as a token of his affection only to end up taking her rejection with a grin and a promise to try even harder the next day. Monsters don't do these things, nor do they start learning a whole new language just to be able to better communicate with their mate. They also don't have a penchant for sweets.

She jumped to her feet, eyes wide and hands quickly clamping over her mouth to stifle her excitement. Of course he'd be there of all places! She'd smack herself silly for not thinking of searching there first, but she's so giddy with the revelation that she forgoes wearing her heels or changing out of her dress robes or even grabbing her wand. She was running out of the portrait hole as fast as her bare feet could take her, for once not caring about the time nor what the consequences of getting caught by Filch or Mrs. Norris could do to her otherwise impeccable school record.

She miraculously made it to the portrait leading to the kitchen without getting caught. She tickled the pear and crawled through the opening. The sight that greeted her on the other end melted her heart and she nearly cried with relief. There was Viktor sitting on the ground with his legs crossed beneath him and his boots, fur cloak, and shirt discarded in a pile beside him. There was an open heavy book balanced on his lap and also a tray full of raw cookie dough balls and a bowl of brownie batter on the ground before him. He was flipping through pages of recipes with one hand and with the other he'd take a raw cookie dough ball, dip it in the brownie batter, and then plop it into his mouth. All the house elves seemed too excited with anticipation for whatever he'd ask them to bake to notice Hermione standing and watching from the entrance, except for Winky who stood close to Viktor anxiously wringing her bony fingers. She appeared to be sober for once.

"Did Master want Winky to bake his cookies?" she asked, eyeing the tray.

"No," said Viktor without looking up from the book, plopping another brownie batter smothered dough into his mouth.

"But Winky must, Sir, or Master will be sick again!" she wailed, looking like she was about to grab the tray anyway but then quickly holding herself back. "Please, Sir!"

Perhaps she wasn't exactly as sober as Hermione thought.

"I am ok," he said, then with furrowed brows he looked at another elf and asked: "what is scone?"

Winky was too persistent. She pushed the poor elf out of the way before he could answer. "But Sir!"

Hermione decided to make her appearance known. She stepped into the light. "She's right, you know. You could get salmonella from eating too much raw cookie dough."

"Miss!" it was Dobby, poking his head from the mass of startled and glaring house elves to beam at her. It appears that they haven't forgotten about her last visit.

Viktor himself was so alarmed by her sudden appearance that he dropped the dough into the batter. She paused, more conscious of his horrified look and of his shame flooding the entire room than at the state of her dress and hair.

"Hi," she said, as softly as she would approaching a frightened rabbit.

He averted his eyes back to the book on his lap. He flipped a page without really reading it. "You find me."

"I did." She hesitated. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. May I join you?"

He nodded, then seemed to remember something when she sat on the ground next to him. He quickly set the book aside and grabbed his shirt from the pile, but he was too late. Hermione saw the mark on his chest. From a distance she thought it was an odd, large birthmark but on closer inspection she found it to be a scar– a burn, rather, right at the center of his chest and shaped like a blazing sun.

"Oh my goodness!" she gasped, forgetting herself and tracing a hand on the edge of the wound. He flinched at the contact and she immediately retreated her hand. "What happened?"

She regretted the question the moment she said it. He looked very uncomfortable as he quickly shrugged on his shirt and buttoned up the area over the mark.

"It is old," he muttered.

She scooted back to give him some space. "It's– it's alright if you don't want to talk about it. I'm sorry, Viktor, I didn't mean to intrude!"

"You apologize too much," he said as he picked up his discarded book, still not looking at her.

She waited for him to add more to that observation. A part of her hoped for him to tell her the story behind the burn, but he remained silent so she let it drop for now. "I– well– alright then." She cleared her throat, racking her brain for a subject to help them move past this rather disastrous start. "I– I noticed that you eat when you're upset. My father is a comfort eater as well, but he leans more towards savory snacks rather than sweets."

Viktor grunted in response. Hermione couldn't tell if it was good or bad.

An awkward silence would've settled between them if the house elves hadn't gathered around Viktor again, pointing at different recipes and suggesting others and begging him to choose one to bake them for him. Few even started fighting over that particular subject. Hermione would've thought the sight amusing in a pitiful way if she wasn't so distracted with her mission to break the ice between her and Viktor. Viktor himself wasn't paying any attention to the recipes nor the cookie dough and brownie batter he seemed very unable to part from just a while ago.

A short inner battle of morals later, she called politely for the elves attention. Only Dobby was happy to respond. "Sorry for making you do this, Dobby, but is it alright if Viktor and I get some privacy?"

"Not a problem for Dobby, Miss!" he squeaked, then looked uncertainly at the eager house elves still begging and complimenting Viktor whilst making a point of completely ignoring Hermione. "But it is difficult for Dobby to make other house elves listen. You have to command them, Miss, or they will not listen."

"I will do no such thing! I refuse to participate in such outdated, barbaric–"

"I want scone. All of you make one," declared Viktor next to her, quickly shutting the heavy tome with a snap and setting it aside. He pushed the raw cookie dough and brownie batter at Winky. "Bake this." He glanced at Hermione from the corner of his eyes. "Please."

Winky beamed, her large eyes tearing up with joy Hermione hadn't ever seen on her before. "Yes, Master Barty! Winky will bake it just like Master Barty likes it, chewy in the middle with extra chocolate chips!"

"What does Sir want Dobby to do?" chirped Dobby, forgetting himself in the excitement of his fellow elves.

"Master Barty doesn't need Dobby, Master Barty has Winky!" shrilled Winky, repeatedly shoving Dobby.

"It's not Barty, Winky, it is Mister Viktor Krum!"

"Winky knows Master Barty when Winky is seeing Master Barty!"

Their argument was drowned by the sound of elves rushing to prepare Viktor's scones. Hermione shook her head at their retreating, lightly scuffling tiny forms. "Who would've thought that Barty Crouch, Sr. has a weak spot for cookies with extra chocolate chips."

"I am better looking than Barty Crouch," grumbled Viktor, glaring at Winky. "I am better looking than all boys."

Hermione smiled. At least he wasn't too put out to puff up his chest and parade himself around her. "Don't mind her. She probably just had a lot more Butterbeer than she should." He tensed at that. The mention of Butterbeer seemed to have reminded him of the incident. Hermione looked at his hands. Both appeared to be fine. She frowned. Shouldn't there be a cut somewhere? "How's your hand?"

"Healed." He said, lifting the one in question for her inspection. The skin was clear and without a cut in sight or even a scar.

"It can't be," she said, grabbing his hand and pulling it closer to her face. "How?! I'm sure the cut was deep!" She looked up and saw that she had actually pulled him closer to her. She blushed and quickly released his hand. "Logically speaking, I mean, you should have a really bad cut."

He shrugged. "Is better."

"How? What healing spell did you use? I can't find Essence of Dittany anywhere here."

"No healing spells needed. Veela saliva can heal cuts not done by magic."

"That can't be true! I'd know if it is. I've been reading extensively on Veela since–" she cleared her throat. "I-I mean, it'd be in all kinds of books. Surely some wizard or witch somewhere would've thought of cultivating that at some point!"

"Only for some male Veela, and not many are out there," he explained, then narrowed his eyes disapprovingly at her. "You did not read book."

She flushed. Now it was her turn to look away in shame. "I take it the book mentions that…"

He released a long, deep sigh, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. He pinched the bridge of his long, crooked nose.

She bit her lip, feeling like a notoriously slacking student being confronted by an exasperated tutor. "I'm sorry! I just… I heard some things about the author. He's not to be trusted, Viktor, especially with Veela! He treats you like some kind of–"

"Scamander is good," he cut her off defensively. "He is better than many wizards. Everything he is saying is true."

"But even Veela are upset with him!"

He scoffed. "Veela get upset with everything, especially the women. You say their hair is pretty instead of beautiful and they burn you."

"And I take it that's what happened with you?" she blurted without thinking, then cursed herself. Very smooth indeed, Granger.

His hand wandered to the burned spot on his chest. He looked sad despite his tone and it made Hermione hate herself even more for being so thick and insensitive for bring that up again when things were just starting to improve between them. "There are bad Veela, like bad wizards and bad Muggles." He then looked at her, his expression twisting into something scared and desperate and pleading. "I am not bad."

"Oh, Viktor, I know I–"

He continued talking over her. He didn't seem to hear her. He was too much in a frenzy, too rushed to get everything out in the open, as if this is his one and only chance to clear his name. The sight was like a knife twisting in Hermione's gut and she'd openly weep if Viktor's wellbeing wasn't her first priority. "I get angry, and stupid, and sometimes I say bad naughty words to annoying people in Bulgarian, but I swear I am not bad! On my honor, see? I will never hurt you!"

She placed both her hands on top of the one over his heart to still his rambling. "I know, Viktor! I know you're not bad. I never thought you were bad or stupid."

"But Weasley–"

"Ron's an idiot!" she said hotly. "He's wrong about you!" she looked up at him imploringly. "They're all wrong about you. They don't know you and yet they continue making all these ridiculous assumptions about you only because you're part-Veela and it isn't fair. They were practically worshipping you just before the World Cup! But I don't believe them." His tense shoulders loosened but he still appeared uncertain. She smiled. "I know you're good, Viktor. What happened at the ball was an accident. I know you wouldn't ever hurt anyone, especially not my friends."

He hesitated, then with his free hand he reached forward and brushed her smoothed curls behind her ear, his eyes timid still but also tender. "You are not scared?"

"Of heights? Definitely. Of you? Never. I don't have reason to."

Relief washed over him. He was instantly restored to the grinning, love struck half-Veela she's been struggling to shake off for months. "Good. I am happy again."

She raised a brow. "That's what you were worried about?"

"Of course. Is not good if my mate is scared of me."

"I am not your m–!" she bit her tongue. Later, she decided. "I– I was worried sick, Viktor!" she pulled away from him and stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest when he tried to grab her hands again. "I looked everywhere for you! I thought you got hurt, or that you'd hurt yourself!"

"Why I do that? I'm not crazy." He tried collecting her in his arms. She scooted out of reach. "Hermione!" He whined. "Please come. I miss you so much."

Apparently he can recover fast in more ways than one. He's most definitely back. Hermione wants to rejoice but also groan.

"I- I don't know!" she huffed, turning away from him with a scowl. "I thought you were hurt. I thought… Malfoy… and Pansy Parkinson's comments about…you know…" she swallowed with difficulty. "Well, I've been called a Mudblood many times before and the feeling is not exactly pleasant."

"I know what they say about me, Hermione. Is ok, not the first time I hear it. I don't care."

"Still!" she insisted. "I wanted to make sure that you're alright, and to also tell you that not everyone here is a prat like Malfoy and his cronies. Not everyone thinks like them."

"I know," he repeated. "Words like that don't affect me."

"Because you're strong?"

He grinned, missing the sarcasm in her tone. "Of course! Also because I hear worse from Veela."

She bristled at that. "And what have they got against you? You're one of them!"

He shrugged. "I am thinking they are more angry with my mother for marrying my father."

It did nothing to pacify her anger at the blatant prejudice, especially when she herself had been on the receiving end. What made his situation worse was that he experienced it both ways, whereas Hermione was granted immunity in the Muggle world. "So what if she did! Veela marry wizards all over the country and no one bats an eye! Why should they hold it against your mother specifically, and why punish you for something you couldn't control?"

"Many Veela marry wizards, not male half-Veela."

She froze, her social justice rants instantly dying in her throat. If his mother is full Veela, and his father one of the very rare half, then that would make Viktor at least three-quarter Veela. More than half. Closer to being a full-blooded male Veela, perhaps the only one in existence for centuries, or the only one to ever exist assuming that male Veela were never around to begin with.

He was very quietly, very anxiously staring back at her.

She schooled her face into one of determination. "You know what? I don't care."

"Hermione…" he began.

"I don't," she cut him off resolutely. "I honestly don't. I told you, not everyone here thinks like Malfoy. I certainly don't. In fact," here she rose to her feet and offered him her hand, "I'd like you to dance with me."

"Dance?" he repeated, perplexed. "Here? Ball is over many hours ago."

"So?" she snorted. "We're still dressed for the occasion, aren't we? And we never got to dance."

His eyes widened. "You… you wanted to dance with me?"

She opened her mouth to deny it but then thought better of it. This isn't her night. It's his. He deserves it for the grief he received from both Ron and Malfoy.

And she did want to dance with him especially when he was entertaining Claudette on the dance floor, however much she'd rather deny it.

"We will make music for Sir and Miss!" squeaked one of the smaller elves that was eavesdropping.

It appears that he wasn't the only one, for immediately after making that announcement various different kitchen utensils were banged against pots and pans all around them. The elves that weren't abusing kitchen equipment were clapping and singing, and a few of them even started dancing. The whole affair was messy and uncoordinated and just plain noisy, but their merrymaking was so pure and contagious that both Viktor and Hermione were weak to its influence.

Viktor grinned at her. He grabbed her hand and before she knew it she was at the center of the kitchen dancing amidst all that chaos. She squealed when he lifted her in the air and only when he set her back down did she realize that he was imitating the opening dance from the ball, except it was different but not because of their unusual choice of orchestra or their bare feet, her freed curls, or his missing cape. It was different, and better, because they were themselves and they were together. There were no eyes watching their every move, no whispers creating hurtful gossip, there was just Viktor and Hermione and a friendly audience of house elves that have taken a great liking to the Veela.

A house elf that appeared to be in charge commanded the rest to cease their banging to avoid disturbing the sleeping masters. His bossy, serious manner as well as the groans and complaints and eye-rolls he induced from the elves reminded Hermione too much of Percy Weasley and she couldn't help but laugh.

They continued dancing long after the elves stopped, laughing at each other but hardly speaking, and they didn't stop even when their combined drowsiness took over. They merely slowed their dance. Hermione pressed her cheek to his chest and closed her eyes. She had never felt more comfortable in her entire life, not even when she was snuggled deeply into the luxurious soft pillows of the bed from the Parisian hotel she and her parents were staying at a year ago. She felt him kissing her head.

"You know I haven't washed my hair since yesterday, don't you?" she murmured, smiling when she felt the vibrations of his chuckle against her cheek.

"I don't care. I can kiss you forever."

She looked up at him, suddenly feeling brave but also very, very scared. "It's alright."

He tilted his head, slowing their dance to a stop. "What is?"

She held him tight because she didn't trust herself. She knew she was blushing a deep, embarrassing shade of red but she didn't care. She wanted to make him happy. "You can kiss me if you want. I don't mind."

Hermione never thought she'd ever be reduced to bargaining her first kiss out of pity, but oddly enough she wasn't too upset with the prospect of Viktor claiming it.

Viktor wasn't as shocked or elated as she expected him to be. If anything he just looked more confused, as if what he just heard from her was uttered in an alien language, but his gaze lowered nonetheless. He cradled her chin with one hand and tilted her head towards his. His thumb pressed her lower lip, prying her mouth open only slightly. She closed her eyes. She felt his nose nudging hers. His breath felt warm on her skin.

And then he was gone.

Her eyes snapped open. She found him by the spot they were previously occupying. He had his cloak draped over his arm and he was pulling his boots on with an unreadable look on his face.

"Viktor…?" she called softly, her head spinning from the whirlwind of emotions he left her with.

He walked towards her and draped his cloak over her shoulders. "It's late. I will walk with you to your room. Is that ok?"

She nodded slowly. She was expecting more, but she couldn't exactly tell what.

He smiled knowingly as if he just read her mind. "I want to kiss you, Hermione, but I will wait."

"For what?"

"For you to want to kiss me."

A/N: so I have this weird head-canon that Barty Crouch, Jr. loves eating raw cookie dough with extra chocolate chips and it used to drive poor Winky up the wall because he'd have too much of it and get sick every time but he still wouldn't listen to her because... house elves. Of course this was before things got bad for him. Hermione wouldn't know so she assumed that Winky was talking about Barty Crouch, Sr. and with Viktor in mind she'd be too distracted to consider the possibility that Winky was referring to Barty Crouch, Jr. Not that it matters much in the grand scheme of things, I suppose. I'm actually not sure why I felt the need to expand on it. Guess I'm a bit fond of this head-canon.