October 17–Sunday
Viktor knew he had made an absolute fool out of himself trying to say her name, yet he could not bring himself to care. He would make an arse out of himself any day if it meant watching Miss Granger's–no, Hermione's- lovely pink lips smile at him again. How he wanted to run his finger over her cheek and lip to satiate his curiosity. Were they as soft as they looked? If he were lucky then maybe one day he would find out. And if the gods were to ever smile upon him, he would one day hold her hand and taste those sweet lips.
He had to reel his magic in when her cheeks turned the color of ruby roses when he caught her staring at his forearms. He smirked, his chest filling with pride. The stares and whispers he always received from witches throwing themselves at him had become muted background noise.
But her attentions and stares had him flexing. He wanted her to look at him. Something in him craved her attention. Viktor made a mental note to roll his sleeves up more often and thanked Merlin that the castle was warm enough giving him an excuse to do so. He'd do anything to get her to look at him again like that.
All it had taken was one true smile, and he had gotten so lost in the moment that he had almost lost control and touched her, kissed her, and wrote poems on her skin with his lips. That smile was a daydream, and he never wanted to wake up.
He grinned and looked at the sky. The way she looked at him so expectantly, so interested in him, not the Quidditch star or the Krum heir stirred his magic, heart, and nether regions to no end, the latter he didn't care to entertain.
She was perfect. She had been like a curious seed, and now she blossomed within him. To her, he was always just Viktor, the Transfiguration prodigy. She didn't care for his fame, money, or family name. She talked to him because he was him. She cared for him.
She was intelligent, caring, and beautiful. How was it possible that he could feel so many things from one witch?
As he neared his room, Alexei's laughter echoed throughout the corridor.
Viktor stepped inside and his brother's laughter died. His brown eyes shrunk into slits, his forehead creased. "Fuck Viktor."
"Oh Viktor," Vladimir eyed Viktor's smiling face and burst out laughing. "You are down bad brother." He said through his laughter.
Alexei uncharacteristically remained quiet. "If I didn't know you, I'd say took a love potion by the stupid love-struck look on your face."
Vlad stood up and swung his bare arm on Viktor's shoulders. "Ease up Alexei! Vik here is in love." He wiggled his blond eyebrows.
Viktor shrugged off his friend's arm and sat down next to Oleg.
"I take it went well."
Viktor's smile widened. "We are friends."
Vladimir and Alexei scoffed. "That stupid grin is because you're friends?"
"For now."
Oleg scrutinized the Seeker. "You intend to court her?"
Viktor shook his head. "I do."
"Viktor! You can't be serious! We've already talked about this!" Alexei fulminated, his scowl was eerily similar to his brother's. "You know what will happen if–"
"Nothing will happen to her." Viktor glared at his brother. His voice dropped almost to a growl. "Not as long as I have a say in it."
"You can't possibly be thinking of giving her the Krum protection!"
A thundercloud of anger gathered on Viktor's brow, his eyes narrowed to black slits. "What if I am."
The younger Krum sneered. "You think father will approve of you courting a Muggle-born witch?" He scoffed, and Viktor scowled. "Not to mention that mother would throw a fit!"
"I don't give a fuck whether he approves or not." Viktor's dark eyes bore into his brother's. "I don't need Father's money or resources to keep her safe."
Oleg's brows shot up. "You'd go against your father?"
"I would."
Alexei shot up from the bed. "Then you're fucking insane!" He hissed. "You'd need his permission to get into the family vault."
Viktor's eyes hardened. "I have more than enough money to buy two vaults filled with jewelry, I don't need him. She doesn't need someone who will not respect her."
"You are fucking stupid if you think Father would let you dishonor the family like that!" Yelled Alexei, he clenched his jaw so hard that a vein in his forehead popped up.
"Good thing he has two sons then," Viktor answered.
Alexei scoffed and stared at Viktor like he had grown two heads.
Vlad, who had been curiously watching his friend's new and strange behavior cleared his throat and asked, "What are you going to do about Karkaroff and Sigurd?"
"I'll take care of them." Viktor would be damned if he let their disgusting hands touch a single hair on her head.
A sharp bark of a laugh erupted from Alexei's chest, "You can't dream of protecting her without Father's approval and more importantly his influence!"
"Watch me." Viktor's tone was low, menacing.
Alexei laughed and ran his fingers through his hair. "You're serious! You would go up against Father, dishonor the Krumov name, and land yourself in Azkaban." His hands snaked around his neck and he looked at the ceiling before settling his eyes on Viktor. "Merlin's balls, you are fucking and utterly insane. All for who?! A strange Muggle-born witch who you barely know?"
"Not for long," Viktor replied, his face softening.
"The fuck are you talking about?" Alexei's scrunched brows reminded Viktor of their mother when she was furious, usually at something they were guilty of.
"It will not be long before she's not a stranger anymore. I tend to know everything about her."
Alexei scrunched his face in disgust, Vladimir burst out laughing and Oleg nodded as he sipped his tea."Something is wrong with you! Maybe she managed to slip you a love potion and-"
Viktor stood up in a flash and grabbed his brother by the collar, "I dare you to say something else."
Alexei tsked and shrugged off his brother's hands.
"You'll need to make things official with the kitten then." Chimed Vlad, trying to diffuse the tension.
"I know."
The younger Krum sighed and pinched his brows. "Pray tell my dear brother, how do you intend on doing that?"
Viktor's brows knitted together. How was he going to properly court her? He grimaced, realizing that he had no means to establish communication with her parents. Did she know about courting? Surely she did, right?
"Fucks sake Viktor," Alexei grunted, irritation washing over his face.
Vladimir's laughter filled the room again.
"The first thing would probably be to inform her about pure-blood courting." Reasoned Oleg.
"Inform her?" Vlad asked incredulously, his brow raised. "How could a witch her age not know? Muggle-born or not, the school must have taught her about it."
"No, I don't think that's the case."The giant explained.
They all stared at Oleg, waiting for an explanation. "She seems to have no misgivings about touching." A dark cloud descended upon Viktor's face, sending daggers to his friend.
"Merlin Vik, you scare me with that look." Joked Vlad.
Oleg ignored them and continued. "She touches wizards and thinks nothing of it. How many times has she been too close with Potter and the redhead boy? Not to mention the twins." It was almost as if the pure mention of the twins burned his tongue. "They are purebloods, but it's clear that they don't uphold any pureblood customs."
Vlad hummed and stretched his arms. "You got your work cut out for you. Plus, it doesn't help you that your English is shite."
Viktor grunted and dropped his head against the sofa. "I know. But for her, I'll figure it out." He smiled. Remembering the way her cute nose scrunched up when she was thinking. "Is there a way to contact her parents? I'd like to get their permission before I talk to her about it."
Oleg scratched his chin. "I'm not sure. I don't know how communication with Muggles works or even if it's allowed." The Russian trailed off, and he got that glossy-eyed look when he was deep in thought.
"Can you find out?" Viktor asked Oleg.
"I can. Give me a couple of days."
"Thank you."
Oleg nodded and took a sip of his tea.
"What do you know about her and her parents?" Alexei asked and waved his hand in the air. "But more importantly, will you let Mother know?"
"I don't know anything other than she is incredibly intelligent, but like I said I intend to find out. And no. She'll ask too many questions and draw attention to Her-my-oh-knee."
Alexei scoffed again and rolled his eyes. "She's going to get the attention either way. It's impossible to avoid it."
"I know, but while she's here, she's safe from the press." Viktor stood up and strode to his desk. He withdrew a quill and parchment. "I'm sure that Dumbledore must have safety measures in the owlery. But I'll let Ekaterina know to monitor the English papers to keep her name out of them."
"You're going to let Ekaterina know?" asked Alexei.
"Yes," Viktor answered without thinking, scanning a pile of parchment. Viktor trusted the older witch with both his professional and personal affairs. She was the only manager Viktor had liked.
Vlad's features settled into a mask of seriousness, his usual playful glint gone. "You're serious then? This isn't just some mindless attraction because of the bond?"
Viktor straightened his back and locked eyes with his friend. "I am."
Vladimir scoffed and his jaw tightened. "Would have been nice if you had granted the same protection to Eve."
Guilt twisted Viktor's gut over how the press had destroyed the witch because he'd been high with adrenaline and decided to fall into the blond's arms.
Oleg stood in between them. "Vlad, you know–"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," the blond huffed and stuffed his hands in his trousers. He took a deep breath and the tension melted off his face. "What are you going to get the fiery kitten? She doesn't particularly look like she cares for jewelry."
"I have no idea." Viktor furrowed his brows. There was nothing in the vaults that was worthy of her. Nothing captured her beauty, but then again how can jewelry compete with art?
"Glad to see nothing has changed in the last 10 minutes then." Added Alexei with a roll of his eyes.
Viktor closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. As much as he wanted to run to her with the courting contract, he couldn't.
He grunted. How could he approach her about it? Normally, the wizard's parents would approach the witch's father or male guardian. From there, the witch would decide if she wanted to proceed. Their next meeting would include the couple and both families, where the wizard would declare his intentions. If the witch's father agreed, the wizard would present a courting gift and contract. After that, he would start courting her.
How was he supposed to start? Should he write a letter? Given that he couldn't speak more than three words ,writing seemed to be the only way to communicate.
Once he was alone, Viktor lay down on his bed and closed his eyes. He couldn't wrap his mind around how it was possible that he could feel so many things from one witch.
Gods, he wanted to talk to her for hours—something that had never happened before. He wanted to ask her if she really liked his flying and if she truly thought he looked like a dragon.
Falling for her had been so natural, like breathing. Viktor wanted to smash his head against the wall for being so stupid. It wasn't the bond that had sowed that seed of curiosity in him; it was her. The bond strengthened that feeling, but it wasn't the cause of it. Now he lost precious weeks because of his foolishness and stubbornness.
He felt guilty because he had lied to her. He could never be just friends with her. He had been wrong to give her that yellow rose. He should have given her a bouquet of red roses. He was a goddamned liar. It was impossible to look into her lovely brown eyes and not see a future.
He wished upon the stars that she was good at reading his eyes, as his lack of words failed him, all the things he wanted to say but couldn't.
He sighed wistfully before going to his desk and opened the dictionary she had given him and the books he had ordered.
Hermione
October 20 - Tuesday
The fading sun bled through the tall windows, bathing the library in a warm, honeyed glow. Hermione dug her nails into her hair, groaning when a broken nail got caught on a tangled curl.
The worn cover of her – well, Viktor's – Transfiguration textbook mocked her with its beautifully embossed golden lettering. Every illustration, every carefully worded instruction seemed to twist into a cruel riddle the more she stared. Frustration gnawed at her, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue.
She'd been trying for hours that stretched into days, but she still couldn't figure out why she was failing.
Sweat beaded on her forehead, dampening the wisps of hair escaping her messy braid. She angrily tucked a loose curl that kept escaping behind her ear. Each unsuccessful incantation echoed in the silent library, a hollow reminder of her inadequacy.
Yet, her gaze remained stubbornly fixed on the swirling symbols etched on the page. With a determined inhale, she straightened her spine, the worn wooden chair groaning underneath. She closed her eyes and followed the same patterns Viktor had. Her movements, however, did not resemble his graceful ones. Her hands didn't glide seamlessly like his.
"What am I doing wrong!?" she cried out and whined into the crook of her elbow.
The witch rested her forehead on the table and exhaled.
"It's fine. It really is. All I have to do is try again." She straightened her back, wand poised and ready when she heard footsteps approaching. She lowered it but didn't bother to turn around.
"Harry, I already told you, I'll help you once you are done. You know Professor Snape can tell when I–"
A deep rumble made her jerk. That laugh definitely did not belong to her friend, well, at least not her old friend. It did, however, belong to her new friend.
She turned around and couldn't help but smile. "Viktor!"
The tall seeker smiled in return, and Hermione's heart did a flip. "Miss Her-me-oh-knee."
The curly-haired witch shook her head, pointing to her lips and mouthing out each syllable.
Viktor stepped close, his eyes glued to her mouth. Hermione's heart beat faster, and color swept across her face as he took a step closer.
"Again." He commanded and she shuddered.
She spoke again, this time slower, waiting for him to repeat after her. He followed along, his lips in sync with hers.
"Good! You said it perfectly." She beamed at him.
He inched closer, and Hermione had to tilt her head to look at him. "Yes. Perfect," he said in a hushed voice that sent shivers down her spine.
His hand slowly traveled to her face, his fingers ghosting over her cheek as he reached for the curl. His calloused finger wrapped around it gave it a slight tug, and carefully, almost as if the strand was made of glass, tucked it behind her red ear.
Hermione could do nothing more, wanted to do nothing more than stare into those obsidian eyes that made her feel as if she was floating in space.
The wizard's finger traveled from behind her ear to the ridge, slowly tracing the curve until he reached her lobe. Her breath stopped as his rough finger continued to travel down the plane of her cheek. His thumb grazed her bottom lip. "So pretty," he cooed and continued to travel to her other ear, where more lost curls sought their way home.
She licked her lips, and he smirked. Hermione's blood rushed in her veins and settled between her thighs.
He tantalizingly slowly trailed her cheek, and his finger roamed over the soft flesh of her mouth.
Their gazes locked. He leaned closer, his breath ghosting across her cheeks. Her lips parted on a silent breath, anticipation thrumming through her veins. His fingertip dipped into the plush cushion of her bottom lip, and her desire moistened her cotton knickers. Viktor leaned close, his lips a whisper from hers. Her eyes fluttered closed as the first touch of his mouth to hers made her toes curl.
He stopped and ran a finger over her lips. "Pretty."
"Am-am I doing okay?" She murmured, her cheeks red, and her pupils dilated.
"Perfectly," he answered with a smile, and Hermione lost herself in his eyes, forgetting that they were still very much in the library.
His finger continued its slow trail to the underside of her chin, tilting her face upwards to accommodate his kiss. She felt his tongue sweep along the seam of her lips, and she opened her mouth with a sigh. He teased her lips with his tongue, and the fire of his kiss ignited a spark within her. Her breath hitched, her lips parting again in a silent invitation as she clung to his forearms, the world melting away except for the searing touch of his tongue and lips.
She traced her finger along his forearm, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath her touch. Her fingertip glided over the contours of his arm. The softness of his hair and the smoothness weren't what Hermione expected from a professional Quidditch player.
"You like, right?" His voice was low, almost a purr. His eyes, half-lidded, went from hers to her mouth again.
Her fingers halted, and she swallowed. She wasn't entirely sure what he was referring to, yet his touches answered her question. Not trusting her voice, she nodded, and he chuckled. "Yes," she whispered.
Her skin felt on fire, but somehow she still needed more. She needed his strong hands on her.
"Mm, they are good for many things." He leaned his head, his breath tickling her ear. His hands traveled from her cheeks to her collarbone, his fingertip trailing along the collar of her shirt.
"Um, yes, that's right. Your transfiguration, for example." Her brown eyes flickered to his long, thick fingers, a vein beneath his tan-scarred skin pulsing as he withdrew his wand. "Is amazing."
He flicked his wand, and a myriad of roses circled her. They twirled in the air once, and the red roses fell to the ground, creating a carpet of petals.
His voice, a smooth velvet baritone, breathed "it is." Then, with a single, abrupt syllable, the playful lilt was replaced by a husky growl. "But I can shov you many amazing ways to use my hands." The change was instantaneous, a smirk snapped onto his face. The way he was looking at her, like he wanted her, knocked the air from her lungs.
"Like?" She clenched her thighs and wiggled out of his reach.
But like a predator, he slowly and dangerously approached her. "I shov you, yes?"
His Seeker hand clasped her hand, and he kissed it. His lips kissed the pulse point on her wrist, and she bit her lip trying not to make a noise.
His dark eyes looked almost black as their eyes met, and that smirk that did things to her made her knees weak.
His hot and strong hand shot out and snagged her by the waist. With a single, fluid tug, he reeled her back against him, the force of his pull sending a jolt of surprise through her. His chest, a broad, welcoming wall against her weak knees, swallowed her whole, the scent of his skin, a mix of musk and broom polish, filling her senses. Her breath hitched in her throat as his arms wrapped around her, pinning her to him, the heat of his body a branding iron against her back.
With one arm still snaked around her waist, his other hand lasciviously manipulated the fabric of her cardigan until his fingers found her scalding skin.
His every brush was a tiny flame, igniting goosebumps like constellations on her skin. Her breath hitched as his hand continued to roam upwards until it reached the curve of her breast.
Viktor's hold on her waist strengthened, and his lips moved against her ear. "Nov, I make you feel good."
Hermione leaned back against his chest. His hand squeezed her breast over her bra, and she yelped. His fingers gently pressed the fabric, his thumb massaging the bare skin above the material.
The hand that had been holding her waist trailed towards her skirt, and Hermione squeezed her legs in response. His rough fingertips made slow, lazy circles just below the seam.
Her spine tingled as his voice shifted from its typical tone to a deep, rich rumble that resonated in his chest. Breath warm against her ear, "My hands are good for many things, Hermione," he leaned in and whispered the words, each one weighted with unfulfilled promises. Heat continued to pool in her core and she clenched her thighs.
Viktor's fingers toyed with the hem of her skirt, teasing and pulling. "You vant this?"He cooed. His touch reached Hermione's inner thigh, she writhed and bit her lip. No matter how she wanted to yell that, yes, she wanted this the words fizzled in her tongue. She nodded and his fingers slipped past the waistband of her uniform, and the witch shut her eyes.
"Mm, good" he'd murmur in her ear, his chest pressed to her back. With his thick thigh, he pried her legs open, and his fingers pressed against the wet patch on her knickers. A low, rumbling hum vibrated in his chest, "You're vet." He licked the shell of her ear, "for me."
"Yes," she gasped, as he lingeringly explored the map of her lips, the fabric growing more soaked by the second, "Viktor—" his thumb ghosted around her clit. He pressed harder and Hermione moaned. His finger scraped her clothed clit one more time before his thick fingers plunged into her.
"Oh, Merlin—I" Hermione cried out.
His fingertips continued to tease her clit and enter her. They withdrew before his long fingers moistened with her arousal as they entered her again.
"Hermione." Viktor sang with the sounds of her quenching cunt.
"Hermione." He called out again, his lips ghosting over her ear. The heat between her legs was almost too much, she clawed at Viktor's forearms.
"Viktor!" She let out a breathy moan.
Gods she was almost there. Just a bit more and—
"Granger!" A loud female voice rang out.
Hermione woke up startled. Sweat covered her forehead and her back. "Wh—"
"You're going to be late," another voice called out. The curly-haired witch blinked, the morning sun's light blinding her.
"It's almost time for breakfast," chirped Lavender from behind the curtain.
Lavender and Parvati shuffled around the room before beckoning Hermione to hurry up.
Hermione plopped down on the bed and buried her face in her pillow. She had that dream again. Frustrated in more ways than one, she grunted, discarded her wet undergarments, and hurried to the Great Hall.
She furrowed her brows and bit her lip. Having those dreams certainly didn't feel like a very friendly thing to do. A sigh escaped her lips. Though those dreams weren't new, she had never dreamt of someone she knew. Hermione gnawed on her bottom lip at the memory of Viktor's hands on her, in her. She shook the thought away and hurried downstairs.
Hermione scanned the group of Gryffindors for a certain redhead. Most students had descended the stairs in clusters.
"Ginny!"
The youngest Weasley turned around, her face flushed and her otherwise pin-straight hair frizzed and crowned around her.
"Practice?"
She beamed at Hermione, "Yes! We have a rematch against Slytherin this Friday. I've been working my arse off," Ginny threaded her arm around Hermione's. "I've been dying to kick their scaly arses."
The brunette winced inwardly, noting all the cuts and bruises that littered Ginny's hands.
"You'll come to the game, right?" Ginny tilted her head sideways, a wide, eager smile bloomed on her face, and her brown eyes twinkled with hope.
Hermione sighed, "Sure."
"Great!" Ginny boomed, and Hermione smiled; it was almost impossible not to with her friend's contagious smile. "We've been practicing our maneuvers to counter the Russians' blocking." Ginny went on to explain their tactics and how Angelina had introduced speed drills.
"Hey Ginny," Hermione stopped walking, halting Ginny.
The redhead's head tilted, and a single thin eyebrow shot up. "Yes?"
"How did you know you liked Dean? You know like, like. As in–"
Ginny's soft laughter interrupted Hermione, her pale bruised hand shot up in front of her. "I got what you meant, Granger." She pulled Hermione aside to let students pass by.
Ginny's brown eyes studied Hermione's face, a mischievous smirk twisting her lips, "This have something to do with that book and letter?"
"What? No, me and Oleg are just friends." Hermione waved her free hand.
The Chaser hummed, but her scrutinizing eyes didn't leave Hermione. "Oleg? You're on a first-name basis with the enemy?"
"Really, Ginny? The enemy?" Hermione rolled her eyes. She almost mentioned how she sounded like her brothers, but she didn't feel any ill intent behind her words.
"Yes, really! All those Russians are demons on the field."
"Not all of them are Russians, though. Actually, most of their students are from all over Europe."
"Yeah yeah, whatever." Ginny swatted the air, and Hermione grabbed her hand, nestling it in hers. She pulled out her wand and began healing her friend's broken and battered skin. Ginny's eyes softened, and she offered Hermione a smile. The curly-haired witch, though, didn't notice as the Chaser bit the corner of her lip and traced Hermione's light freckles with her eyes.
Hermione finished, letting Ginny's hand drop, but the Chaser snatched it and intertwined their fingers.
A smile appeared on Hermione's face at the girly, friendly gesture.
"Anyway, why the question?" A mischievous glint danced across Ginny's eyes, and one corner of her mouth quirked up. "Does our bookworm have a crush?"
"No! Maybe? I don't know." Hermione sighed.
Ginny's brows furrowed. "Oh. You're serious?" Seeing Hermione's confused face, she offered her a small smile. "Who's the bloke?"
Hermione's ears turned crimson, and she looked away. She ran her hands over her skirt, and licked her bottom lip. "I don't even know if I like him. Which is why I wanted to ask you how you knew you liked Dean. Was it something specific? How did you know," her voice trailed off, "that you saw him as more than a friend."
Ginny undid her ponytail and ran her fingers through the silky strands. "There really isn't any specific reason; it's just a feeling, like a pull." Hermione's eyes widened; it was the first time that anyone had mentioned it. The curly-haired witch shook her head, begging her to continue. "You want to be with them, get to know their likes and dislikes, stuff like that. You also want to be near them," Ginny wiggled her brows, "you want to touch them, want them to touch you."
"You feel the pull too?" Hermione asked, full of hope.
Ginny darted her eyes to their peers and gave her a sad smile. "Yeah, but it's kinda a taboo subject," she whispered.
"What do you mean?"
The redhead sighed and placed her hand on Hermione's shoulder, "we'll talk about that later, okay?" She scanned their surroundings and in a quiet voice continued, "In private."
Hermione's eyes squished together, her mind racing, searching for answers as to why it was taboo. But she didn't dwell on it because the sense of relief that she wasn't different settled her nerves.
"So you like someone then?"
Did she like Viktor? She bit her lip and went through Ginny's explanation. He certainly checked every box. She furrowed her brows. Was it because of the pull? Did she want to be near him because of the magic? Probably, but it didn't matter. She also felt that tether to Fred, yet she didn't yearn to explore his body—well, she did want that, but not his mind. Her attraction to Viktor was certainly physical, but she also wanted to dissect and inspect all his layers. She wanted to know more about him.
"Yes."