CW: Teenage sexuality
Hermione's 'quick detour to Diagon Alley' ended up taking significantly longer than anticipated, using up the entire rest of the afternoon.
First, they went to the Daily Prophet Headquarters, where Hermione got Viktor set up with Rita Skeeter for the exclusive interview on the abuses rampant at Durmstrang.
"I just need to run to Gringotts," she said apologetically, "and dealing with the goblins is complicated. It's easier if you stay here, and this will help kill two birds with one stone!"
"Is not romantic for date," Viktor complained, but his eyes were amused. "You need to recover this to me for date not to be bad."
"I will," Hermione promised, and she left with Rita, who had a gleam in her eye. She was already twirling an acid-green quill in her fingers, sniffing out a scoop.
The goblins sneered at Hermione's approach, but then, they always sneered at her. Hermione held her head high, sword sheathed at her side, and sneered right back at them, informing them she would speak with Bloodthorne. Though they bared their pointy teeth at her, the goblins at the desk went and got him for her. Bloodthorne, as always, was pleased to see her, and he took her back into his office to discuss business.
Hermione had felt silly at first, hesitantly explaining that she remembered a long time ago, she'd been offered the opportunity to buy an entire bolt of Acromantula silk from someone's surrendered collateral. Once she got to the part where she asked if Gringotts still had it, and if she might buy it from them, Bloodthorne's eyes had gleamed. To her delight, not only did they still have the bolt of fabric (as goblins didn't really care much for fancy robes or clothes), but the original loan contract that had garnered it was still in repayment.
"I would contact the witch for you, if you would want," Bloodthorne offered slyly. "If you would buy out her contract, and in exchange she would give you more silk…"
"Would you do so soon?" Hermione asked, her eyes betraying her excitement. "I would need the silk—err—as soon as possible, really. This is going to take some time—"
"I would do so now," Bloodthorne said, his smile sharp. "As soon as you would buy this bolt first."
Hermione left the bank with a giant bolt of Acromantula silk stuffed into her bottomless bag and a wide smile on her face. She returned to the Daily Prophet headquarters to pick up Viktor, or to save him from Rita Skeeter – whichever seemed more apropos. To her relief, Viktor seemed to be fine when she got there, his eyes brightening when he saw her.
"Hermione," he said, pleased.
"Miss Granger," Rita Skeeter purred. "Quite the exposé you've given me. I trust you would want prior review of the piece?"
"Oh, no, I don't want you all to think I'm here for that," Hermione said quickly, alarmed. "I know that journalists are very particular about—"
"You're part of us," Rita said, very pointedly. Her eyes sharpened. "Would you flinch at an editor looking over my piece before publication?"
Hermione hesitated. "When you put it like that…"
Rita nodded in satisfaction. "I'll owl it your way once it's complete."
Before they left, Hermione pulled Rita aside, letting Sherrie Dunlap fangirl over Viktor for a moment and ask for an autograph, which Viktor obliged with good humor.
"Rita, this is a little unusual—" Hermione began, pulling a small tin from her pocket.
"When is anything you've done not atypical?" Rita snorted.
"—but I want you to investigate this," Hermione finished, handing the tin to Rita.
Rita glanced down at it, then back up at her.
"This tea?" she inquired, one thin eyebrow raised very high.
"Yes," Hermione said. "Who made it? Who owns this company? How long has it been in production? What has distribution historically looked like? Who is the target market? And—" she hesitated "—maybe contact a Herbologist, one you trust. What plants are in it? In what proportions? What does the Herbologist think of that?"
Rita's hand slowly closed over the tea as she gave Hermione a shrewd look.
"You know something," she said.
"I suspect something," Hermione said, wincing. "And I—I'm too busy at school and with a million other things, really. But Rita—if this is what I think it is, and what it might be—you could win an Order of Merlin for this investigation."
"Really?" Rita's eyes went wide. "Well, then. I'll give it my best. Top secret, I presume?"
"Naturally," Hermione said, and the two shared a pair of matching sharp smiles.
On the way out, Viktor was highly amused.
"You own paper," he said, shaking his head. "You are only schoolgirl, but you own entire newspaper."
"So?" Hermione said, flushing. "You're only a schoolboy, and you're a world record holder and national Quidditch player."
Viktor grinned. "Is true."
Hermione explained to Viktor that she'd secured a source of fabric for their robes. They would need to stop and get formally measured, she explained, but after that she'd do her best to take care of the rest herself. Viktor had looked incredulous, but he'd grinned and shaken his head.
"I not think is possible. Or good idea, really," he amended, eyes dancing. "But I know better than bet against Hermione now. If you say you make us robes, I believe it."
Twilfit and Tattings was nearby, so they stopped by to be measured. Giuliana herself came out to greet them, impressed with Hermione's choice of date. When Hermione explained her idea and the need for measurements, Giuliana's eyes went wide.
"If you can pull that off, with just magic…" She exhaled. "Well. Teach me how after you do, yeah? That'd be an incredible boon."
Giuliana called a seamstress over to take measurements for them. To Hermione's surprise, they were both hustled into a private area usually reserved for clients getting bespoke robes for the seamstress to take full measurements.
"Down to your gutchies," the seamstress said. She had a heavy accent, and Hermione was thrown.
"I'm sorry…?" she ventured, but Viktor was smirking, already unclasping his cloak.
"Is Polish term," he told her. "Underpants."
"Just what you'll be wearing the robes on top of," the seamstress confirmed, and Hermione's eyes went wide.
"In front of each other…?" she said, anxious.
The seamstress frowned at her.
"You'll be in your stays," she told her. "It's not—"
"I'm not wearing stays," Hermione said hastily. "It's—I'm in something else."
Viktor's eyes went wide now, his cheeks taking on a flush, and the seamstress looked confused and skeptical.
"You second, then," she told Hermione. She turned to Viktor, who was undoing his robes. "You first."
"I can give you some privacy," Hermione said hastily, but Viktor's eyes gleamed.
"Is okay," he said nonchalantly. "Might give you inspiration for robes."
Hermione's mouth dried as he pulled his robes off, hanging them over a chair. He kicked off his boots, leaving him there just in his socks and underwear. He toed the socks off, too – not from a need for the seamstress to measure his feet, Hermione suspected, but in a desire to not look silly in front of her. His eyes were glittering at her, a smirk on his mouth, and Hermione suspected he knew she was mesmerized, but to be fair, she was – she couldn't stop looking, drinking him in.
Viktor was... incredibly fit.
He was muscular, with strong, defined lines to his neck and clavicle. She'd underestimated the size of his biceps a little, and she'd definitely underestimated how fit his chest and trunk were. His chest was hairless, with firm pecs, and though she couldn't see each individual abdominal muscle tightly defined, she could see the shapes and shadows of them on his torso, where her fingers would hit small speed bumps if she slid her hand over his stomach.
She was a little surprised that he didn't have chest hair – she knew some guys did – but she wasn't really sure where the assumption that he would had come from, and the fact was, he had none. In fact, the only hair he did have was a sparse trail under his navel, leading down into the black band of his boxer briefs, and Hermione's face bloomed a bright red as she tore her eyes away, even as they had lingered on his Adonis belt.
Viktor was smirking as Hermione's eyes returned to his face. Hermione was aware she was blushing fiercely but she met his gaze defiantly, privately desperately glad he'd worn black underpants that'd prevented her from seeing the shadows or outlines of anything more – she might have fainted.
The seamstress, meanwhile, was taking measurements, ignoring all of this, snapping commands at a floating quill in the meantime.
"Have you not seen man without shirt before?" Viktor questioned, teasing her. "For swimming, is common, I thought."
Hermione face went even redder, which she hadn't thought possible.
"I've seen guys shirtless in swimming trunks," she said hotly. "That doesn't mean I've seen them in their underwear."
"Not much different," Viktor said, shrugging. He glanced down at his boxer-briefs, while Hermione did not look down as well. "These more modest than swim trunks, maybe."
Hermione privately agreed. She'd seen much skimpier swimsuits on men at the beach, including what her parents referred to as 'banana hammocks', which she'd always thought looked rather silly.
"I haven't seen you shirtless before," she said finally, the admission feeling like a confession. Her cheeks were still warm as her eyes met his. "It's hard to look away."
She could see Viktor's eyes dilate, growing darker as he took her in.
"You like what you see?" he asked softly.
Hermione nodded, her mouth dry. "Very much."
Viktor held eye contact throughout the rest of his measuring session, making Hermione warmer and squirm slightly in place. When had a practical stop turned into this heated, intense exchange? She hadn't intended for any of this to happen, but now that it was…
Part of Hermione knew that this was on her – she could stop this at any moment. All she needed was to look away, to go into a different fitting room, to give him back his privacy, even if he didn't want it. She could make any excuse and just leave, and the moment would end—
And yet, she stayed, her eyes locked with his.
An eternity later, when the seamstress was done, she stepped back, telling Viktor to put his robes back on. She turned to Hermione next, skeptical.
"You are not wearing stays?" she demanded. She poked Hermione in the side. "You are. I can feel them."
"It's—it's not stays," Hermione admitted. Viktor's eyes were on hers, dark and curious, and Hermione took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment to center herself, to summon her confidence and courage. "Here. I'll show you."
Viktor's eyes widened as Hermione began slipping her buttons free one by one, and he made a move to pull back the curtain to leave, but Hermione shook her head at him slightly, silently letting him know he could stay. She felt almost like she wasn't herself as she finished unbuttoning her robes, letting them dangle closed a moment – she was a different Hermione, a more seductive Hermione; she was Tom Riddle, pretending to be Hermione – before she slipped them from her arms and draped them over a chair.
Viktor's eyes went wide, and part of Hermione felt smug. Now it was his turn to react the same way she had.
She'd worn her favorite bra and panty set on the date to give her confidence – a deep green set her mother had gotten her. The bra had a slight push-up and a delicate lace detail along the edge of the cup, but it was nothing special – just underwire, a bit of a decorative scallop, and a smooth cup. The panties weren't anything special either – just a brief that matched in color, with the elastic at the waist scalloped. Hermione was wearing nothing she would classify as lingerie - they were practical underwear; not elaborate lace creations, not a thong or g-string, and they covered all her bits more than sufficiently – and yet, Viktor was looking at her as if she was the most stunning creature he'd ever seen as she stood there in nothing but her underwear and heeled boots, the seamstress muttering to herself as she took measurements.
It was a heady feeling, Hermione realized, seeing his eyes darken further. She'd thought she'd be embarrassed, but it was hard to feel self-conscious when Viktor was looking at her like that. It was an odd situation – Hermione was arguably in a similar situation like it had been with Viktor; women wore far skimpier things to the beach than what she was wearing. But it wasn't the amount of clothing they wore, she was realizing – it was the context in which they wore those things.
And undressing in front of Viktor in a private, curtained area was definitely a different context than the beach.
"Are they all green?" the seamstress asked Hermione, poking her with the end of her measuring tape.
"What? Oh. Ah, no," she said, faltering, and the seamstress measured around Hermione's bust and just over it. "I can get them in any color, really."
The seamstress looked skeptical, measuring under her bust. "It doesn't hurt your shoulders?"
"I mean, a bit, maybe?" Hermione said. "Not really. And it's not as oppressive as stays."
The woman snorted.
"Stays keep you up," she said. "They push you up. This, this holds you up. The weight is on your back. Bad for posture."
Hermione was indignant. "Then I'll just have to work on my posture," she said. "It's my underwear, and I like wearing these."
The woman shrugged.
"This could be good for your dress," she conceded. "You could have cutouts or lace in places most witches could not."
Viktor's eyes flew to hers, his face turning red, and Hermione felt a blush touch her cheeks again.
"Maybe," she said. "We'll see."
When the seamstress finished, Hermione put her robes back on, and Giuliana came back in to say goodbye.
"On the house," she insisted, when Hermione attempted to pay for the measurements. "You'll let me know how the Transfiguration goes, won't you?"
They left the store to a darkened Diagon Alley; the sun had set already, and there was light snow drifting in the glow of lit streetlamps. They walked in silence for a while, neither seeming to really know where they were going, but neither really cared.
They finally rounded a corner, the join between Carkitt Market and Diagon Alley, and Viktor found what he was looking for apparently – a darkened alcove behind and to the side of the square stage, hidden from view of anyone passing by. He led her over, tugging, and Hermione followed, turning so she was hidden in the alcove and looking up at him. He put an arm against the wooden wall above her, looking down at her. It was too dark, though; Hermione couldn't see him.
"Lumos," she whispered.
Without the use of her wand, her magic took flight and freedom with the spell, and small balls of light lit up around them, illuminating them in a soft light with a purple tinge. The air between them held an electric tension that seemed to hold them both captive, unable to look away from each other, but it made Hermione's skin tingle and her breath catch. Viktor's eyes were dark, holding hers, and Hermione held his gaze, her heart thudding hard in her chest.
"I want, very much," he said hoarsely, "to kiss you, Hermione."
Hermione nodded, her voice a whisper. "I'd like that."
Viktor cupped her cheek, looking down at her for a long moment, searching for any trace of hesitancy. His warm breath skated over her cheek, his prominent nose bumping hers ever so slightly as he moved, finally capturing her lips in a deep kiss.
His lips were soft, plush against hers, and so warm. He brushed his mouth over hers, slowly, deliberately, almost worshipful, and she opened her mouth to his, provoking a groan from him. She kissed him back, breathless and eager, and he buried a hand in her hair, winding into her curls. He was too far away, still too far away; she tugged him closer, so he was pressing her up against the wall—
He was kissing her like he was devouring her, open-mouthed and rough. He drank in her gasps against his lips, taking advantage to push past and curl his tongue against hers, sending fire racing down her spine. Heat spooled in her chest, spiraling down to the cradle of her hips. Hermione moaned and pressed herself closer to him, desperate for more, and he pulled back for a moment to help shift her weight, settling her onto one of his thighs, his legs slightly bent so he could reach her lips.
Viktor moved to kiss her again, his lips claiming hers, and the slight movement as he leaned forward shifted his weight, and Hermione moaned helplessly into his mouth, electricity racing through her body from where his thigh met the place between hers. Viktor groaned, tangling his tongue with hers again, and Hermione couldn't think, couldn't feel the cold – all she could feel was Viktor and his kiss, and the growing heat between them and in her center.
When Viktor pulled back, Hermione was gasping, and Viktor was breathing heavily as well, his eyes blown out.
"Hermione," he breathed – his voice was deep and raspy, and Hermione shuddered just at the sound. "Hermione, we must—we must to stop—"
"I don't want to stop," Hermione said, looking up at him through her dark lashes. "Viktor—"
Viktor groaned and closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a step back from her. Hermione felt herself settle her weight back onto her feet, and she immediately felt the loss of heat, cold sweeping in to chill where she had been pressed up against him.
Viktor had his eyes closed, and he was breathing heavily.
"We must," he tried, struggling for words. "Hermione—the cold—we cannot—"
"Are you worried about getting hypothermia?" Hermione murmured, stepping closer to him. As if he could sense her, his eyes opened, dark eyes immediately finding hers.
"Hypothermia," Viktor repeated, with a note of relief. "Yes. The cold. Hermione—"
"We can keep each other warm, can't we?" murmured Hermione, pressing herself against his chest. "You're so warm, Viktor—I don't want to stop kissing you—"
Viktor made a tortured noise, his arms coming up to hold Hermione in a tight embrace. He held her too closely for her to kiss him, so she put small kisses on his neck instead, running her hands over his shoulders and back. She felt him tangle a hand in her hair, his breath hot against her ear.
"I want to kiss you forever," he said hoarsely. "I want—but Hermione—is first date—"
"It's not," Hermione said, moving onto her tip toes to nibble on his ear. "It's our third."
"Hermione," Viktor groaned, and reluctantly, Hermione stepped back.
In the faint light of the streetlamps and her little glowing purple balls of light, Viktor looked wrecked. His lips were swollen with kisses, his face flushed, and his eyes devoured her even as she stepped back, as if he were already reconsidering his stance on stopping snogging her. There was a sharp spike of pleasure at the sight, at seeing him wanting so much, and knowing she had done that to him, and Hermione did her best to even out her breathing, though her heart continued to race.
"Back to Hogwarts, then?" she murmured. "It's probably time for dinner."
Viktor looked torn, before he nodded.
"After dinner," he said, his voice raspy. He cleared his throat, trying again. "After dinner. We can to go for walk around the lake, if you want? If you would like?"
Hermione felt her heart skip a beat, the warmth returning to her chest and spreading throughout her as she met his darkened eyes.
"Yes," she whispered, holding his gaze. "I think I'd like that very much."