Viktor soared through the air, his broom nothing more than an extension of his body. The wind whipped through his hair as he executed a perfect barrel roll, narrowly avoiding the Bludger that whistled past his ear. His muscles tensed, ready for the next maneuver, his eyes on the lookout for the snitch.
"Oi, Krum!" Nikolai's Bulgarian voice cut through the rush of air. "Catch!"
The Quaffle sailed towards him. Viktor reached out, his fingers brushing the rough leather. For a split second, his mind wandered to Hermione's soft curls, how they'd feel beneath his calloused hands-
The Quaffle slipped through his grasp.
"Fuck," he muttered, diving to retrieve it before it hit the ground. It was taking him some time to get used to the size and weight of the ball, but his coach thought it was a good idea for him to train with the Chasers to increase his mobility.
As he touched down, Nikolai and Alexei flanked him, matching grins on their faces.
"What's got you so distracted, brother?" Alexei elbowed him playfully. "Or should I say, who?"
Viktor's jaw clenched. "Don't know what you're talking about."
"Oh, come off it," Nikolai chimed in. "We all saw how you were looking at that English witch. Her-me-oh-nee, wasn't it?"
Heat crept up Viktor's neck, and he tried to cover it up by coughing into his hand. "She's just an old friend from the Triwizard Tournament."
"Really?" Alexei's eyebrows shot up. "So you wouldn't mind if I asked her out then?"
Something dark and possessive coiled in Viktor's chest. He struggled to keep his voice neutral. "Do what you want."
"Excellent," Alexei grinned. "I think I'll invite her to dinner tonight. Show her some real Bulgarian hospitality." He smirked and winked at the Seeker.
Viktor's grip on his broom tightened. The wood creaked in protest. "She's here to work, not for your entertainment."
"Whoa, easy there,Vik" Nikolai held up his hands. "No need to get your knickers in a twist. We're just having a laugh."
"I'm not-" Viktor started, but the words died in his throat as he caught sight of a familiar figure at the edge of the practice field. Hermione stood there, her wild hair tamed into a messy bun, a notebook clutched to her chest. She waved hesitantly.
Viktor's heart somersaulted. He raised his hand to wave back, momentarily forgetting he was still holding his broom. The sudden shift in weight threw him off balance. He stumbled, his ankle twisting beneath him.
Pain shot up his leg. "Fuck!"
"Viktor!" Hermione's voice carried across the field.
He tried to stand, to show her he was fine, but his ankle gave way. He hit the ground hard, frustration and embarrassment burning in his chest.
His teammates crowded around him, trying and failing to hold back their laughter. "You alright there, Vik?"
"I'm fine," Viktor growled, pushing away their offered hands. He struggled to his feet, determined not to look weak in front of Hermione. But as soon as he put weight on his injured ankle, he nearly crumpled again.
There goes that idea of trying to impress her. Now he must look like a fumbling idiot.
"Here, let me help." Hermione was suddenly at his side, her small hand on his arm. He stared at it for a moment, admiring the smoothness of it.
"It's nothing," he insisted, even as he leaned into her touch. How could he not? She was soft and smelled like vanilla and ink. She smelled like he remembered. "Just small twist."
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "That didn't look like nothing! We need to get you back to camp and have a proper look at that ankle."
Viktor opened his mouth to protest,but she narrowed her eyes, her chin rising a fraction of an inch. He nodded, allowing her to slip under his arm and support some of his weight.
The walk back to camp was torturous. Not because of the pain – though his ankle throbbed with each step – but because of Hermione's proximity. The scent of her hair, a mix of parchment, wildflowers, and the Bulgarian woods filled his nostrils. Her arm around his waist was both comforting and maddening.
She was so soft.
And now she smelled like his homeland.
"You really should be more careful," she chided as they entered his tent. "What if you'd been higher up when you fell?"
Viktor couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "Vorried about me, Miss Gran-ger?"
She huffed, a faint blush coloring her cheeks. "Of course I am. We are friends. Now sit down and let me look at that ankle."
He complied, sinking onto his cot. Hermione knelt before him, her fingers gently probing the swollen joint. Viktor sucked in a sharp breath, unsure if it was from pain or her touch. It was probably the latter as much as he hated to admit it.
Not even in his wildest teenage dreams did he ever allow himself to dream of it. But now here she was in his homeland. In front of him. On her knees, looking up at him with those large honey-brown doe eyes of her that made his blood flow to all parts of him
"Does this hurt?" she asked, pressing lightly on a particularly tender spot.
"A little," he admitted,shifting in the cot, trying to accommodate an unwelcomed addition.
Hermione's brow furrowed in concentration as she pulled out her wand. "I'm not a healer, but I know a few basic spells that might help."
As she murmured incantations, Viktor found himself mesmerized by the way her plump, pink lips moved, the cute little furrow of concentration between her brows. A warmth spread through his ankle, easing the pain.
"Better?" she asked, looking up at him through her lashes.
Viktor nodded, not trusting his voice. He flexed his foot experimentally, surprised to find the pain had diminished significantly.
"You are good," he said.
Hermione smiled. "Well, when you spend seven years as Harry Potter's best friend, you pick up a few healing spells along the way."
Viktor chuckled. "I can imagine."
A comfortable silence fell between them. Hermione's hand still rested on his ankle, her thumb absently tracing small circles on his skin. Viktor's breath caught in his throat. Though her touches were gentle, his blood flowed faster and faster to a certain place.
"Her-my-oh-knee, I-"
"Viktor, are you-"
They spoke at the same time, then laughed nervously.
"Ladies first," Viktor said, gesturing for her to continue.
Hermione bit her lip, a gesture that sneered his attention and made his thoughts go wild with possibilities of what those lips could do. "I was just going to ask if you're feeling alright now. You gave me quite a scare out there."
"I am fine," he assured her, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind her ear. His fingers lingered, tracing the line of her jaw. "Danks to you."
Hermione's eyes widened, her breath hitching. For a moment, Viktor thought she might lean into his touch. But then she cleared her throat, pulling away slightly.
"Well, I should probably get back to my research," she said, her voice a touch higher than usual. "Those Glimmering Serpents won't study themselves." She chuckled nervously, "otherwise the Ministry wouldn't need me here."
Viktor nodded, trying to hide his disappointment. "Of course. Thank you again, Her-my-oh-knee."
She stood, smoothing out her robes. "Just... try to be more careful, alright? I'd hate to see you seriously hurt."
As she turned to leave, Viktor called out, "Her-my-oh-knee?"
She paused at the tent entrance, looking back at him expectantly.
"Vould you... like to haffe dinner vith me tonight?" The words tumbled out before he could stop them.
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "I'd like that, Viktor. I'd like that very much."
As she slipped out of the tent, Viktor fell back onto his cot, a grin spreading across his face. His ankle might be sore, his ego permanently wounded beyond repair, but at least he had secured a date with the witch that had caught his attention all those years ago.
Viktor's heart skipped a beat as Hermione laughed, her eyes sparkling in the flickering firelight. The sound was music to his ears, a melody he'd longed to hear for years. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her, mesmerized by the way the flames cast a warm glow on her skin, highlighting the curve of her cheek and the soft line of her jaw.
"You're joking," she said, leaning forward. "You didn't really try to catch the Snitch with your teeth, did you?"
Viktor felt a rush of warmth. "It vas not my finest moment," he admitted, chuckling. "But vhen you are young and trying to impress..."
Hermione shook her head, still grinning. "I can't believe I never heard about this. Ron would have had a field day with that story."
The mention of Weasley sent a pang through Viktor's chest, but he pushed it aside. That was in the past. This moment, here with Hermione, was all that mattered.
He took a sip of wine, savoring the rich flavor. The bottle had been a gift from his coach, gifted to congratulate him on being chosen as the Seeker for the 1998 World Cup.
Tonight he finally sought to put it to good use. Maybe it would help Hermione forget that he almost fell off his broom. It was certainly helping ease his mortification. "And vot about you, Her-my-oh-knee? Any embarrassing moments from your Quidditch career?"
She snorted, nearly choking on her own wine. "My Quidditch career? Viktor, have you forgotten how hopeless I am on a broom?"
"Ah, but you must haffe tried at least once?"
Hermione's cheeks flushed, and Viktor found himself leaning closer, eager to hear her story. "Well, there was this one time..."
As she launched into a tale involving a miscast levitation charm and a very confused owl, Viktor marveled at how easy this felt. The years melted away, and it was as if no time had passed since their first awkward conversations at Hogwarts. Except now, Hermione was even more captivating – confident, beautiful,brilliant, and utterly enchanting.
Heck, maybe she was part nymph after all. It would probably explain her intoxicating charm. Even after the war, she was a flower that continued to bloom after a fire.
The fire crackled, sending sparks dancing into the night sky. Viktor found himself lost in the moment, drinking in every detail. The way Hermione's curls had escaped their neat bun as the evening wore on. The slight furrow in her brow as she concentrated on a particularly tricky part of her story. The delicate curve of her wrist as she gestured animatedly.
He was so engrossed that he barely noticed the chill in the air until Hermione shivered, wrapping her arms around herself.
"Are you cold?" he asked, already shrugging off his Bulgarian team's jacket.
"Oh, no, I'm fi-" she began, but Viktor had already draped the warm, red leather over her shoulders. Their fingers brushed as she gripped the edges, and either pulled away immediately.
"Thank you," she murmured, her eyes meeting his.
His heart clenched in his chest as he took in the sight of her. She looked great in his colors, the deep hues complementing her complexion perfectly. There was something intimate and endearing about seeing her in his clothing, the fabric draping over her frame in a way that felt both familiar and new. It was as if she belonged there, wrapped in a part of him.
Viktor cleared his throat, suddenly aware of how close they were sitting. "It is getting late," he said, glancing at the sky. The stars twinkled overhead.
Hermione followed his gaze. Her words came out slowly, each one seeming to drag. "I suppose I should head back to my tent."
An idea struck Viktor, bold and perhaps a little selfish. But the thought of ending this perfect evening was unbearable. "You could... stay here, if you vant."
Hermione's eyes widened, and Viktor hastened to explain. "In my tent, I mean. I can take the cot outside. It's just..." He paused, searching for the right words. "You mentioned vanting to hear the strange noises, yes? To help identify the creature?"
Understanding dawned in Hermione's eyes, followed by a flicker of... was that disappointment? But it was gone so quickly, Viktor wondered if he'd imagined it.
"That's... actually quite clever," she said, a small smile playing at her lips. "Are you sure you don't mind?"
Viktor's heart raced. "Not at all. It vould be my pleasure to help vith your research."
Hermione bit her lip, considering. He looked away, not wanting to let his mind wonder where it shouldn't. "Well, if you're certain..."
"I am," he said, perhaps a bit too quickly. He stood, offering her his hand. "Come, I vill shov you vhere everything is."
As they walked towards his tent, his posture subtly shifted, his movements becoming more deliberate, as he felt the warmth of Hermione's presence beside him. He found himself walking slower, savoring these last few moments together.
Inside the tent, Viktor busied himself gathering extra blankets and pillows, hyper-aware of Hermione's eyes on him. The space suddenly felt too small, charged with an electricity he convinced himself was all in his head.
"The bathroom is through there," he said, gesturing to a curtained-off area. "And the extra towels are in the chest by the bed."
Hermione nodded, her fingers trailing along the edge of his desk. "This is quite cozy," she said, her eyes landing on a stack of books. "Oh! Is that 'Quidditch Through the Ages'?"
Viktor couldn't help but smile. He knew she wasn't a fan of the sport, but she did love a good book. "An old favorite. You are velcome to borrov it, if you vould like."
"I might take you up on that," she said, a playful glint in her eye. "Though I doubt I'll get much reading done if I'm meant to be listening for mysterious creatures."
Viktor chuckled, gathering the last of his things. "Another time, then."
He paused at the tent entrance, suddenly reluctant to leave. Hermione stood in the center of the space, illuminated by the soft glow of the lanterns. She looked... right, somehow. As if she belonged there.
"If you need anything," he said, his voice rougher than he intended, "I vill be outside."
Hermione nodded, a soft smile on her lips. "Thank you, Viktor. For everything."
He inclined his head. With a final glance, he stepped out into the cool night air.
As he settled onto the cot, staring up at the star-strewn sky, Viktor's mind raced. Hermione was just a few feet away, separated only by a thin layer of canvas. The thought was both thrilling and torturous.
He closed his eyes, willing sleep to come. But all he could see was Hermione's face, lit by firelight, her laughter echoing in his ears. Whatever strange creatures lurked in the forest, they paled in comparison to the wild thumping of his own heart.
Viktor tossed and turned on the narrow cot, the cool night air doing nothing to quell the fire in his veins. Sleep eluded him, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. The forest around him buzzed with life – crickets chirping, leaves rustling in the gentle breeze – but all he could focus on was the soft rustle of movement from within his tent.
Hermione was in there. So close, yet impossibly far.
He stared up at the sky, tracing constellations with his eyes. The truth was, he'd never given much thought to the strange noises in the forest. His teammates had mentioned them, sure, but Viktor had always been too focused on Quidditch to pay attention to such things. He'd only brought it up because... well, because he thought it might interest Hermione.
He never thought she would actually be interested in studying it.
A rueful smile tugged at his lips. How quickly he'd reverted to his fumbling teenage self, grasping for any topic that might impress her. But Hermione wasn't some starry-eyed schoolgirl anymore. She was brilliant, accomplished, captivating in ways he couldn't even begin to describe.
A twig snapped nearby, and Viktor's hand instinctively reached for his wand. He sat up, scanning the darkness, his heart racing.
"Viktor?" Her voice, soft and uncertain, came from the tent entrance. "Are you awake?"
He turned to see Hermione silhouetted against the warm glow of the lantern inside. Her hair was tousled, as if she'd been tossing and turning as much as he had. "Da," he answered. "Is everything okay?"
Hermione stepped out, hugging herself against the chill. "I can't sleep," she admitted. "I feel terrible about kicking you out of your own tent."
Viktor's pulse quickened. "It's no trouble," he assured her, even as his back protested the hard surface of the cot.
Hermione bit her lip again. She really needed to stop doing that or else he would surely go insane. "This is silly," she said, more to herself than to him. "We're both adults. There's no reason we can't... share the space."
Viktor's breath caught in his throat. Surely, he'd misheard. "You mean...?"
"Come inside," Hermione said, her voice firmer now. "It's far too cold out here, and that cot looks dreadfully uncomfortable." She finished with a shaky laugh.
Before he could second-guess himself, Viktor was on his feet, following Hermione into the warmth of the tent. Hermione stood by the bed, her fingers twisting nervously in the hem of her shirt.
"I, um, I can take the floor," Viktor offered, even as every fiber of his being screamed in protest.
Hermione shook her head. "No, no, there really is no need for you to do that. The bed's plenty big enough for both of us." She paused, a hint of uncertainty creeping into her voice. "Unless... unless you'd rather not?"
Viktor's heart hammered against his ribs. "No, I... that is, yes, it's fine. If you're sure?"
She smiled and sucked in her bottom lip. "I'm sure."
They settled into bed, careful to maintain a respectful distance between them. Viktor lay rigid. His Seeker were senses in overdrive. He could hear the soft rhythm of her breathing, feel the slight dip in the mattress where she lay.
"This is nice," Hermione murmured after a moment. "Much warmer."
Viktor made a noncommittal sound. Did she know how this was affecting him? Probably not. She was just being nice and kind, not the pervert with dirty thoughts he was. He caught her feminine scent again and gulped. Maybe this was a bad idea. He closed his eyes, trying to steady his racing thoughts.
"Viktor?" Hermione's voice was barely above a whisper.
"Hmm?"
"Can I ask you something?"
He turned his head to look at her, finding her brown eyes studying him intently in the dim light. "Da."
Hermione hesitated, then forged ahead. "Why did you really invite me to stay here tonight?"
The question hung in the air between them. Viktor's mouth went dry. He could lie, make up some excuse about the creature or his concern for her safety. But looking into Hermione's eyes, he found he didn't want to. She didn't deserve lies.
"Because," he said slowly, choosing his words carefully, "I vas not ready for the night to end."
Hermione's breath hitched. "Oh," she said softly.
Emboldened by her reaction, Viktor continued. "I haffe thought about you, Her-my-oh-knee. Often. Over the years."
She shifted closer, the warmth of her body radiating through the thin barrier of blankets between them. "I've thought about you too," she admitted.
Viktor's heart soared. He reached out, hesitantly brushing a stray curl from her forehead. Hermione leaned into his touch, her eyes fluttering closed.
"That is nice," she whispered. "I've missed you, you know?"
The last shred of Viktor's self-control snapped. He cupped her face gently, drawing her closer. "Hermione," he breathed, willing his tongue to say her name right.
Their mouths met in a kiss that was equal parts tender and desperate. Years of unspoken longing poured into that single moment. Viktor's fingers tangled in Hermione's curls, while her hands clutched at his shirt, pulling him closer.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathless. Viktor rested his forehead against Hermione's, unwilling to let her go. "I haffe vanted to do that for very long time," he confessed.
Hermione's laugh was soft and a little shaky. "Me too," she said. "Though I have to admit, I didn't expect it to happen quite like this."
Viktor chuckled, pulling her closer. "Life has a vay of surprising us, yes?"
Hermione snuggled into his embrace, her head tucked under his chin. "Yes, it certainly does."
They lay like that for a while, savoring the newfound closeness. Viktor's fingers traced lazy patterns on Hermione's back, while she idly played with the collar of his shirt.
"We should probably get some sleep," Hermione murmured eventually, though she made no move to pull away.
Viktor hummed in agreement, even as he tightened his arms around her. "Probably," he said. But sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. All he wanted was to stay in this moment, holding Hermione close, for as long as possible.
As if reading his thoughts, Hermione tilted her head up to press a soft kiss to his jaw. "Or," she said, a hint of mischief in her voice, "we could stay awake a little longer."
Viktor's pulse quickened at the suggestion. "I think," he said, his voice low and husky, "that is excellent idea."
Their lips met again, and Viktor lost himself in the taste of her, the feel of her body against his. Whatever strange creatures lurked in the forest outside, whatever challenges tomorrow might bring, none of it mattered. Here, in this moment, there was only Hermione – brilliant, beautiful, captivating Hermione, with lips that tasted much better than he imagined.