Viktor's arm encircled Hermione's trembling shoulders as scanned the corridor, quiet place to hide away from the reporters.
"This vay."
He spotted a small wooden door, nestled between two suits of armor. He ushered Hermione inside, following close behind.
The broom closet was cramped, barely large enough for two. Dust motes danced in the dim light filtering through the crack beneath the door. Viktor fumbled for his wand, muttering a locking spell under his breath. The satisfying click of the lock sliding into place echoed in the small space.
"Ve should be safe here," he murmured, straining his ears for any sign of pursuit.
Muffled voices drifted from the corridor outside. Viktor held his breath, acutely aware of Hermione's proximity. Her warmth radiated through the thin fabric of his dress robes, stirring something, rather unwelcomed, given the circumstances awake. He shifted, thinking of his old headmaster's face, anything, really to keep that something from waking up. Now was not the time. Plus he would rather drop out of the sky than to have Hermione find out he was a degenerate.
The voices grew louder, accompanied by hurried footsteps. Viktor instinctively took a step back, desperate to put some distance between them in the cramped quarters. His back met the cool stone wall, nowhere left to retreat.
Well fuck.
There goes that idea.
Hermione swayed forward, her balance thrown off by his sudden movement. She stumbled, hands flying out to steady herself. They landed on his chest. To his surprise, her fingers slowly spread across the firm planes of muscle.
Viktor's breath caught in his throat. Every nerve in his body came alive at her touch. He stood frozen, torn between the desire to pull her closer and the need to maintain some semblance of propriety.
Were the reporters gone? Maybe he could cast a detection spell or perhaps cause some type of distraction. He closed his eyes and weighed his options.
Hermione made the decision for him. She leaned into his chest, her forehead coming to rest against his collarbone. A shuddering breath escaped her lips, hot against his skin.
"I-I," she tried to speak.
Viktor's treacherous arms moved of their own accord, wrapping around her slight, wonderfully beautiful frame. One hand cradled the back of her head, fingers tangling in her wild soft curls. The other splayed across her lower back, holding her close to him.
"It' is okay," he whispered, the words falling unbidden from his lips. "You are safe nov."
And by the Gods, he would do anything to keep that promise.
"It is over. I haff you."
As if his assurance had broken through some invisible barrier, Hermione's composure crumbled. A choked sob tore from her throat, muffled against his chest. Her shoulders shook with the force of her tears, each gasping breath sending tremors through her body.
Viktor tightened his hug. He murmured in Bulgarian, "It's okay to feel lost right now. Sometimes the best we can do is to wake up and face the day. Whether that is staying in bed all day or going to work," he took a moment to caress her head. He continued, his voice a soft whisper, "you can move at your speed, and if you will have me, I will walk with you." While he knew she didn't understand, he didn't care. His voice seemed to calm her, her sobs gradually subsiding to quiet sniffles.
Time and propriety lost all meaning in the darkness of the closet. Viktor held Hermione as she cried, his heart aching for her.
He knew that everyone suffered from the war, but to see this brilliant, intelligent, beautiful witch be in such anguish. .. it stirred something primal within him. A fierce protectiveness, a burning desire to shield her, from anything, anyone.
Finally, the voices in the corridor faded away. The reporters had moved on to easier prey. Viktor loosened his hold on Hermione, giving her space to collect herself. She took a step back, wiping at her tear-stained cheeks with trembling hands.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice hoarse. "I didn't mean to... to fall apart like that."
Viktor nodded, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the delicate curve of her jaw. "Never apologize for your feelings, Her-my-oh-knee. You haffe nothing to be ashamed of."
She leaned into his touch, eyes fluttering closed. Viktor's heart stuttered in his chest. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand.
"The reporters are gone," he said softly. "Do you vant to leave? I can escort you back."
Hermione's eyes snapped open, a flash of panic crossing her face. "No!" The word burst from her lips. She flushed, dropping her gaze to the floor. "I mean... not yet. If that's alright."
Viktor's heart soared at her words, even as guilt gnawed at his conscience. Was he taking advantage of her vulnerability? He pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on her immediate needs.
"Of course," he murmured. "Ve can stay as long as you need."
Hermione nodded, her shoulders slumped. She leaned back against the opposite wall, her fingers idly twisting a lock of hair. The silence stretched between them.
But if she was still the same as she was all those years ago, she didn't mind. It had been one of the things that had attracted Viktor to her. She didn't find it necessary to fill the time with idle talk.
Viktor found himself studying her in the dim light. The curve of her neck, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she breathed. His gaze lingered on her lips, slightly parted. He imagined closing the distance between them, kissing every spot, every centimeter where her tears had fallen.
He frowned, banishing the thought. Now was not the time for such indulgences. Hermione needed a friend, not a lovesick fool unable to control his baser urges.
"Do you vant to talk?" he asked after a few more minutes of quiet.
Hermione's eyes met his and she bit her lip. "I don't know where to begin," she admitted. "It's all so... overwhelming. Being here, seeing everyone. They all expect me to be..." She trailed off, gesturing vaguely with one hand.
"To be var hero," Viktor finished for her. "The brilliant vitch vho helped save the vizarding world."
She nodded, a bitter smile twisting her lips. "Exactly. But I don't feel like a hero. I feel... broken. Lost. Like I'm play-acting at being normal, and any moment someone will see through the facade."
Viktor's heart clenched. He longed to gather her in his arms again, to shield her from the weight of expectations crushing down upon her. Instead, he reached out, taking her hand in his. His thumb traced soothing circles across her knuckles.
"You do not haffe to pretend vith me, Hermione," he said softly, making sure to say her name properly. "I see you. All of you. The brilliant vitch and the scared girl. The hero and the survivor. And I..." He hesitated, the words catching in his throat. "I think you are beautiful. Every part of you."
"You don't mean that," she said clutching her forearm.
"I do."
Her face hardened, her fingers now digging into her flesh. "You say that because," she swallowed, "because you haven't seen how ugly—"
"Nothing could ever be ugly about you," Viktor interrupted.
"You say that because you haven't seen," she whispered, but her eyes were locked on her heels.
"Then shov me."
Her brown eyes snapped up to his. But instead of finding the warmth he remembered, sheer panic filled her eyes.
"One day, vhen you are ready. And if that day never comes, that is okay too," he said with a sad smile. "I cannot take the pain—the memories avay, but I can drav stars around your scars, Her-my-oh—knee."
Hermione's breath hitched, her eyes widening. For a moment, Viktor feared he had overstepped. But then she squeezed his hand, a tremulous smile curving her lips.
"Thank you, Viktor," she whispered. "For everything."
Viktor found himself leaning forward, drawn by the irresistible force that was Hermione Granger. The curly-haired tilted her chin up, her eyes fluttering closed...
A loud crash from the corridor shattered the moment. They sprang apart, hearts racing. Peals of drunken laughter drifted through the door, accompanied by the sound of breaking glass.
Viktor's arms wrapped around Hermione instinctively, drawing her close as she flinched at the sudden noise. Her body melded against his, soft curves fitting perfectly against his chest. He savored the warmth of her, the subtle scent of lavender and ink that clung to her hair.
"It's alright," he murmured, his lips brushing against her temple. "Just a some drunks."
Hermione nodded, her face buried in the crook of his neck. Viktor could feel the rapid flutter of her pulse, the trembling of her limbs as adrenaline coursed through her system. He tightened his hold, one hand moving in soothing circles across her back.
The voices outside grew louder, punctuated by hiccupping laughter and the occasional crash. Viktor strained his ears, listening intently. He caught snippets of slurred conversation, something about old firewhisky and a stolen suit of armor. He sighed. Nothing to worry about, then. Just overzealous partygoers.
"They are leaving," he whispered,
Hermione's body sagged against his. Viktor waited for her to push herself away. But she made no move to pull back, her fingers curling into the fabric of his robes. Viktor's heart raced, acutely aware of every point of contact between them. The softness of her breasts pressed against his chest, the warmth of her breath ghosting across his collarbone.
Each soft exhaled made both heads stir with inappropriate thoughts.
He closed his eyes, fighting against the wave of desire threatening to overwhelm him. This was wrong, he shouldn't be reacting like this. Hermione needed comfort, safety. Not... this burning ache blazing through his entire body.
"Viktor?" Her voice was barely audible, muffled against his skin.
"Da?" He crocked, like the bloody teenager that had taken over his body.
Hermione lifted her head, meeting his gaze. In the dim light filtering through the crack beneath the door, her eyes glimmered like the stars. "I... I don't want to go back out there. Not yet."
"Then ve stay here. Until you vant to go."
A ghost of a smile flickered across her lips. "Thank you," she whispered. "For understanding. For... for being here. For everything."
Viktor's hand moved of its own accord, cupping her cheek. His thumb traced the delicate curve of her cheekbone, stopping when he neared her mouth. "Alvays," he murmured, "for you."
Hermione gasp, her lips parting slightly. Viktor found himself mesmerized by the play of emotions flashed across her face.
He needed to step back, should step back. Create some distance between them. But his body refused to obey, Time stood still. The only movement was the slow flutter of his heart. He couldn't move, couldn't speak, lost in the captivating depths of her eyes. That was a lie. It wasn't as though he couldn't, he simply didn't want to.
"Viktor," Hermione breathed, her voice husky. "I..."
Whatever she intended to say was lost as another crash echoed from the corridor. Hermione jerked back, startled. Her elbow caught the handle of a mop, sending it clattering to the floor.
Viktor moved without thinking, catching the mop before it could make contact. His Seeker reflexes served him well, even in the cramped broom closet. He set the mop carefully against the wall, his chest pressing further into her soft, succulent breasts.
"Sorry," she whispered, a nervous laugh bubbling up. "I'm a bit jumpy, it seems."
Viktor shook his head, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "It is okay."
Hermione nodded, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. The gesture was oddly captivating, drawing Viktor's gaze. He found himself wondering how those lips would taste, how they would feel pressed against his own...
He cleared his throat, forcing his mind away from such dangerous territory. "Perhaps ve should... sit?" he suggested, gesturing to the floor. "It might be more comfortable."
Hermione glanced down, seeming to notice for the first time how close they were still standing. A flush crept up her neck, visible even in the dim light. "Yes, that's... um, that's probably a good idea."
Viktor lowered himself to the floor, his back against one wall. After a moment's hesitation, Hermione joined him, mirroring his position on the opposite side. The closet was narrow enough that their legs brushed against each other, sending sparks of electricity through Viktor's body.
His gaze was drawn to Hermione's legs. He frowned. Since when was shitty closet lighting be so alluring? The dim light cast a warm glow on her skin, accentuating the elegant lines of her calves and thighs. He couldn't help but appreciate her figure. The way her skirt flowed over her curves. Viktor's trousers grew tight, and he quickly averted his eyes.
Had they spiked his drink?
It was the only reason why he was acting like a ungodly beast.
"What are you thinking?"
"You."
"Me"
He smiled. " Da. I vas thinking about hov beautiful you are," he admitted softly. "Hov strong you are. Wot a great vitch you are."
"I don't feel very strong," she confessed, her gaze dropping to her hands., Viktor swept them up into his. "Most days, I feel like I'm barely holding it together. Like if I let my guard down for even a moment, I'll shatter into a million pieces."
"Being strong is not about never getting hurt. It's about picking yourself up, no matter how many times you fall. That is you Her-my-oh-knee."
Hermione's fingers tightened around his. "How do you do that?" she whispered.
Viktor tilted his head, brow furrowing in confusion. "Do wot?"
"See right through me," Hermione elaborated. "Past all the masks and walls I've built. It's... unsettling. But also..." She trailed off, seeming to search for the right words.
"Also?"
Hermione met his gaze, she licked her lips. "Exhilarating," she breathed.
The air between them crackled with tension, electric and alive. Viktor closed their distance. She mirrored his movement, her eyes fluttering closed as the distance between them shrank.
Their lips were mere inches apart when a thunderous crash echoed from the corridor. They sprang apart, hearts racing. Angry shouts and the sound of metal clanking against stone filtered through the door.
"What in Merlin's name...?" Hermione gasped, her hand flying to her chest.
Viktor rose to his feet in one fluid motion, wand at the ready. The commotion outside seemed to be moving away, fading into the distance.
"I think someone is trying to steal that suit of armor," he joked. "And it did not go vell."
Hermione let out a shaky laugh. "Of all the things to interrupt us," she muttered, more to herself than to Viktor. "You can't steal those."
He turned back to her, drinking in the sight of her. Flushed cheeks, eyes bright with something that made his pulse quicken. But he refused to entertain such thoughts.
"Maybe it is for best," he said. Even as every fiber of his being screamed in protest, yelling at him not to be a bloody fool and let the chance get away. "You are... vulnerable right nov I vouldn not vant to take advantage."
Hermione's expression softened and she smiled. "Always the gentleman," she shook, not trusting himself to speak. The urge to close the distance between them, to crush her lips beneath his own, was almost overwhelming. But Hermione deserved better than a stolen moment in a broom closet.