I hope you enjoy this one :)
The rhythmic clatter of train wheels echoed faintly inside the carriage as Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in their usual compartment, bathed in the soft afternoon light. They were making their way back to Hogwarts for another year, each lost in their thoughts, when a voice broke through the hum of the train.
"Anything from the trolley? Anything from the trolley?" a kindly voice called out from the corridor.
The door slid open, revealing the familiar Trolley Witch, her cart overflowing with all manner of treats and sweets.
"Anything from the trolley, dears?" she asked, her eyes twinkling.
Ron perked up at the sight, his stomach apparently rumbling. "Packet of Droobles and a liquorice wand," he said, reaching into his pocket, only to find a pitiful amount of coins. He frowned, glancing at Harry. "On second thought, just the Droobles."
Harry smiled. "It's alright, I'll get it."
"Just the Droobles, thanks," Ron said, his ears turning slightly pink.
As the Trolley Witch handed over the sweets, Cho Chang approached, her delicate footsteps almost silent on the train's floor. She flashed a soft smile at Harry as she ordered.
"Two pumpkin pasties, please."
Harry looked up, catching her gaze, and their eyes lingered for a moment. Cho smiled, and Harry returned it, albeit a bit awkwardly. "Thank you," Cho said to the Trolley Witch before turning back to Harry with a quick nod. Her presence left a slight warmth in the compartment, though the moment was brief.
"Anything sweet for you, dear?" the Trolley Witch asked Harry, noticing his gaze following Cho.
"Oh, no thank you. I'm not hungry," he said, tearing his eyes away.
Hermione, however, was too preoccupied to notice the exchange. Her brow was furrowed, her voice tense. "This is horrible. How can the Ministry not know who conjured it? Isn't there any security, or…?"
Ron gave a half-hearted shrug. "Loads, according to Dad. That's what's got them so worried. It happened right under their noses."
Harry shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his scar absentmindedly. Hermione, ever observant, caught the movement.
"It's hurting again, isn't it? Your scar."
Harry met her gaze briefly but looked away. "I'm fine."
"You know Sirius will want to hear about this," she pressed. "What you saw at the World Cup… and the dream."
Harry sighed but nodded, scribbling down a letter addressed to his godfather. He marked the envelope with Sirius Black's name and tied it to an owl's leg, watching as the bird flew off into the open sky.
Hermione rested her head against the cool glass of the window, watching the fields and forests race past, though her mind was far from the moving landscape Watching Harry's owl fly farther into the distance, Ron was unwrapping his Drooble's Best Blowing Gum. The faint scent of pumpkin pasties lingered, but Hermione barely noticed any of it.
Her thoughts were drifting somewhere else—back to the Quidditch World Cup, to that terrifying night in the forest... and to Viktor.
At first, she had tried to push those thoughts away, scolding herself for being foolish. What did it matter that he had saved her? Anyone in his position would have done the same. Or at least, that's what she tried to convince herself. But every time she closed her eyes, she could still feel the warmth of Viktor's hands as he carried her through the forest, his solid arms cradling her like she weighed nothing at all.
A shiver ran down her spine as she recalled the way his deep, dark eyes had looked at her. In the quiet moments between danger, when the world had narrowed to just the two of them, those eyes had been filled with something more than concern. She didn't know what it was exactly—maybe curiosity, maybe admiration—but whatever it had been, it unsettled her in a way she wasn't used to.
Hermione shifted in her seat, pulling her knees up to her chest. Viktor Krum wasn't like anyone she had ever met. He was nothing like Ron, who could be so thoughtless and immature, or Harry, who had a tendency to brood in silence. Viktor was intense, yes—but there was a quiet steadiness about him that made her feel oddly... safe. Even now, the memory of him murmuring in his thick accent, "You are a stubborn girl," sent an unexpected flutter through her chest.
She tried to suppress a small smile. Stubborn—her? Perhaps he had a point. She had refused to leave him behind, even when common sense told her to run. But she couldn't have left him. Not after everything they had gone through. Something about Viktor's quiet bravery called to her in a way she couldn't explain.
The train jolted slightly as it turned a corner, and Hermione leaned her head against the window again. Through the glass, she could see her own reflection—her wide, thoughtful eyes and wind-tousled hair. It wasn't the first time she had caught herself thinking about Viktor since that night. In the back of her mind, a small part of her wondered if she would ever see him again.
Would he even remember her? She was just one girl among thousands at the World Cup, after all. But then again, the way he had looked at her, the way he had spoken to her in the dark woods—it felt like more than a passing glance.
Her heart fluttered slightly at the thought, and she bit her lip to stop herself from smiling. Oh, get a grip, Hermione. This was ridiculous. Viktor Krum was an international Quidditch star. He probably had people lining up just to speak with him. And yet... for those few moments in the forest, it had felt like she was the only one in the world who mattered to him.
"Earth to Hermione?" Ron's voice broke through her reverie, snapping her out of her thoughts.
She blinked, turning toward him. "What?"
"I said, are you going to eat anything, or are you thinking about this year already?" Ron teased, though there was no malice in his voice. He blew a large bubble with his gum, which popped loudly, earning a glare from Hermione
"No, I'm not hungry," she muttered, though food was the last thing on her mind.
Ron shrugged, unfazed, and turned his attention back to his Drooble's, occasionally sending bubbles floating lazily around the compartment. Harry sat quietly beside him, his eyes distant as he gazed out the window.
Hermione tried to focus on the conversation again, but her thoughts kept drifting—back to Viktor, to the feel of his strong arms around her, to the sound of his voice saying her name.
She closed her eyes for a moment, the rhythmic hum of the train wheels lulling her deeper into her thoughts. She imagined what it would be like to see Viktor again. Would they talk? What would she say to him? Would he even remember her?
Her heart gave a little lurch at the thought of it—at the possibility of their paths crossing again. And for the first time in a long while, she felt a strange sense of hope blooming inside her.
Somewhere far away, beneath all the fear and confusion of the last few days, a small, quiet part of her wished—hoped—that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the end of her story with Viktor Krum.
With that thought tucked carefully into the corner of her mind, Hermione opened her eyes again, a small, secret smile playing at the edges of her lips.
As the trio made their way out of the train, the cool autumn air nipped at their skin. Hermione hugged her robes closer to her as they followed the crowd up the familiar path to Hogwarts. But something felt different this year—an electric buzz in the air that made her heart race. The usual warmth of returning to school felt overlaid with a sense of expectation, and Hermione found herself unusually nervous.
There was no reason to feel nervous, she told herself—this was Hogwarts, her home away from home. And yet, she couldn't shake the uneasy flutter low in her stomach.
The outside halls were ablaze with excitement, the chatter of students filling every corner.
Suddenly, the buzz of conversation faltered as a gust of wind swept through the hall. Gasps rippled across the room. A sound, like the beating of massive wings, echoed from outside the castle walls. The students turned toward the sound. Four gigantic winged horses appeared, soaring through like a fairy tale.
The crowd leaned forward in awe, their breath misting in the cool air. Each horse was as large as an elephant, with sleek white coats that glimmered and immense wings that spanned several feet across. Their hooves sparkled like frost, and every powerful beat of their wings sent gusts of wind swirling through the crowd gathered below.
The enormous creatures circled the castle before descending gracefully toward the grounds.
"Clear the runway!" Hagrid bellowed, shuffling through the crowds outside the castle.
They pulled behind them an ornate, sky-blue carriage—as large as a house, with intricate silver detailing along its edges. Lanterns hung from each side of the carriage, glowing warmly in the evening light, and the doors were engraved with an elegant crest Hermione couldn't quite make out.
Beauxbatons, Hermione realized with a jolt, her heart fluttering again. She clutched her robes tighter, her nerves heightening for reasons she didn't fully understand.
Harry stood alongside Ron and Hermione, watching in awe. "Well, there's something you don't see every day," he muttered.
"Yeah," Ron agreed, but Hermione hardly registered their words.
Her heart was still racing, that unfamiliar flutter in her chest persisting. She told herself it was just the grandeur of the arrival—but deep down, she knew it wasn't just that. There was something else—a flicker of excitement and nerves curling in her stomach, like the feeling before an exam. Or perhaps... before meeting someone unexpectedly.
But before she could analyze her thoughts further, another spectacle began to unfold
The surface of the Black Lake—calm just moments before—now shimmered and rippled as though something immense stirred beneath it. A hush fell over the students as all eyes turned toward the water. Slowly, bubbles rose from the depths, creating ripples that danced across the surface. Then, with a great rumbling noise, a vast, majestic ship began to emerge from the lake.
Its mast rose first, cutting through the water, followed by the sleek body of the ship. The wood gleamed dark and wet under the light, and water cascaded off the deck like a waterfall. Barnacles clung to the sides, giving it an ancient, almost mythical appearance, as though it had sailed through time itself.
The ship rose higher, and students gasped as the grand vessel floated majestically toward the shore, casting an imposing silhouette against the waters. It looked both fearsome and beautiful, with tattered sails that still somehow seemed proud and battle-worn. A flag bearing the Durmstrang emblem flapped sharply in the wind, and Hermione's heart gave a strange leap.
Durmstrang...
Viktor Krum was similarly lost in thought. He lay on his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, haunted by memories of Her.
Her sweet scent, like a blend of coconut, floral, and hint of vanilla, lingered in his mind. Her delicate curls, the way her eyes—those bewitching honey-brown eyes—had met his. Viktor groaned, shifting uncomfortably as the memory of her soft curves stirred desires he struggled to contain.
Her body had felt so perfect against his when he had carried her, and the way she had looked in those tight-fitting jeans… He closed his eyes, frustrated with himself as the longing intensified. It had been days, yet he couldn't shake the image of her from his mind. No matter how hard he tried to focus on the upcoming tournament, She invaded his thoughts. And he didn't even get a chance to properly ask for her name.
With a frustrated grunt, Viktor sat up and decided a cold shower was in order.
As he stood under the icy water, his muscles clenched against the chill, but it did little to clear his mind. He had come here for a purpose—the Triwizard Tournament—but now all he could think about was her. He dreamed of her, of holding her close, of her soft voice calling out his name. But he had to stay focused. The tournament was all that mattered, or so he tried to tell himself.
Viktor stepped out of the shower, rubbing his towel through his hair, and heard a knock at the door.
"Who is it?"
"Aleksandar."
Viktor opened the door to find his childhood friend standing there, leaning casually against the frame. Without a word, Viktor turned and collapsed back onto his bed, staring up at the ceiling as Aleksandar entered the room and shut the door behind him.
"You've been hiding in here all day. What's eating at you, Viktor?" Aleksandar asked, crossing his arms and watching his friend with curiosity.
Viktor groaned. "It's that girl…"
"The one you saved?" Aleksandar asked, his voice laced with amusement.
"Da, her." Viktor stood abruptly, pacing across the room. "I can't get her out of my head, and I don't even know her name. It's maddening."
Aleksandar chuckled, amused by Viktor's distress. "Relax, friend. We're here now. Get dressed, clear your head. Remember, the headmaster doesn't want any distractions. The tournament comes first."
Viktor sighed heavily. Aleksandar was right. He had to focus—on the tournament, on his training, on everything but her. But no matter how hard he tried, her face, her voice, and her touch kept haunting him.
Hermione had just finished unpacking her things in the dormitory, gazing out of the window with a sigh.
"Hmm, first years," she muttered, watching the fresh-faced new students roaming the grounds, full of curiosity and excitement. Shaking her head, she collapsed onto her bed, her body sinking into the mattress. She was grateful for the peace—this year, she had only one roommate, her best friend, Ginny. It was a much-needed break from the usual chaos, and she relished the quiet.
Glancing at her watch, Hermione noted that dinner was still a few hours away. She turned onto her back, staring up at the ceiling, her mind drifting to the events of the past few days. So much had happened, and her emotions were a tangled mess.
As if her thoughts were drawn by an invisible force, his face came sharply into focus. Viktor. His deep, piercing eyes, full of unspoken thoughts, filled her vision. They held an intensity that made her feel both exposed and safe, as though he could see straight into her soul but meant her no harm. His gaze wasn't one of judgment—it was admiration, something raw and unfiltered.
The memory of his scent—a blend of musk and spice—flooded her senses. Hermione could almost feel him near her, as if the boundary between memory and reality had blurred. His presence was so vivid it was like he was there in the room with her.
"Hermione," his voice was a low, intimate whisper, brushing against her ear like a caress. She shuddered. He was on all fours above her, the heat of his body surrounding her. His lips grazed her ear as he whispered her name again, his thick Bulgarian accent wrapping around it, making her shiver with a strange pleasure. How could her own name sound so seductive coming from his lips? Was it wrong to want him to say it again, to hear it on repeat, over and over?
His lips moved lower, placing a delicate kiss on her forehead before trailing down to hover just above hers. His hand tenderly combed through her hair, fingers twirling strands as if savoring the feel of them. The other hand rested on her hip, tracing slow, sensual lines up her side, sending ripples of warmth through her body. His knee pressed between her thighs, adding pressure that made her feel flushed, her breath coming faster. Hermione's hand slipped to his cheek, then around to the back of his head, drawing him closer. They were so close—just a breath apart. Their lips nearly touched until—
Viktor faded away, like sand blown away by the wind, leaving her alone in the room, his absence painfully sharp.
"Hermione, are you okay?" A voice startled her back into reality. Her eyes flew open to find Ginny's face mere inches from hers.
"Sweet Merlin, Ginny!" Hermione gasped, sitting up abruptly and clutching her chest. "What in bloody hell is wrong with you? You scared me to death!"
Ginny, looking sheepish, sat back against the foot of the bed. "Sorry, Mione. I came up and saw you sleeping, but then you started mumbling."
"Oh." Hermione's face warmed. She hadn't realized she was talking in her sleep. "Should I tell her? She is my best friend," Hermione thought, fidgeting with her hands. She cleared her throat, trying to gather her thoughts.
"Ginny, I need to tell you something," Hermione began, her voice hesitant. Before she could continue, Ginny cut in with a smirk.
"Is it about your Bulgarian guardian angel? Viktor Krum?" Ginny rolled her R's dramatically as she said his name, teasing.
"How did you—"
"Hermione, please. You've been acting all dreamy and out of it these last few days, not to mention calling out his name in your sleep. It's not exactly subtle."
Hermione's heart sank a little. Had it been that obvious? "I know. I don't understand it. I met him for less than a day, Ginny, and now I can't stop thinking about him. It's ridiculous."
Ginny raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to the story. "What about him, exactly?"
"Huh?"
"There's got to be a reason why he's in your dreams. Maybe it's because he saved you from the Death Eaters. Could be that you've developed a bit of a hero complex," Ginny teased.
Hermione let out a sigh. "Maybe. But…" Her voice trailed off, and she looked at Ginny nervously. "These dreams are becoming… more intense."
Ginny's eyes widened, and her mouth dropped open in surprise. "Oh Merlin, Hermione! You have to tell me everything!" she demanded, scooting closer with wide-eyed excitement.
"Dinner's in half an hour," Hermione said, quickly changing the subject, though her face was flushed.
"Oh no, you're not getting away that easily." Ginny was already at the door, arms crossed and determined not to let Hermione wriggle out of this conversation.
Hermione groaned and threw her hands up in surrender. "Fine, I'll tell you everything after dinner. I promise."
Ginny didn't budge. She raised a skeptical eyebrow, waiting for more.
Hermione sighed, defeated. "Alright! I was about to kiss him in my dream when you so startling woke me up just a few minutes ago."
Ginny squealed with glee, finally moving aside. "That's more like it! Now come on, let's eat. I'm starving."
The crowds inside and outside the Great Hall erupted in cheers and whispers of wonder.
The hall grew quiet as Professor Dumbledore took to the stage, his long robes flowing behind him. His voice was calm but carried an excitement that everyone could feel.
"Now that we are all settled in and sorted," he began, "I'd like to make an announcement. This castle will not only be your home this year but also the home to some very special guests."
His eyes twinkled mischievously. "You see, Hogwarts has been chosen…"
Before he could continue, Mr. Filch ran comically down the aisle toward the headmaster, whispering something urgently in his ear. Dumbledore nodded, sending him away with a warm smile before turning back to the students.
"As I was saying, Hogwarts has been chosen to host a legendary event—the Triwizard Tournament. Now, for those of you who do not know, the Triwizard Tournament brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. From each school, a single contestant is selected to compete. And let me be clear: if chosen, you stand alone. These contests are not for the faint-hearted."
A murmur swept through the hall, excitement mingled with trepidation. Dumbledore held up a hand. "But more of that later. For now, please join me in welcoming the lovely ladies of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and their headmistress, Madam Maxime."
As the big entrance doors opened, A graceful procession of girls dressed in flowing blue robes entered the hall. As they moved, butterflies fluttered delicately into the air, their wings shimmering like jewels.
"Blimey, that's one big woman," someone muttered, referring to the towering figure of Madam Maxime, who followed her students in with measured steps.
As the girls bowed, the room erupted in applause and whistles. Earning an eye roll from Hermione and Ginny.
"And now," Dumbledore continued, "please greet the proud sons of Durmstrang and their headmaster, Igor Karkaroff."
A procession of older boys clad in dark robes strode confidently down the aisle. They twirled long bo staffs with practiced precision, their movements crisp and coordinated. Periodically, the staffs struck the ground with a spark of magical fire, drawing gasps from the crowd.
Ron's eyes widened, his jaw practically on the floor. "Blimey, it's him! Viktor Krum!"
Hermione's breath caught in her throat. The memory of his dark eyes flashed unbidden in her mind—those same eyes that had looked at her with such intensity during the World Cup.
Viktor Krum—the famed Quidditch Seeker—walked with the Durmstrang students. His presence sent a wave of excitement through the room, particularly from the students who admired his athletic prowess.
Even from a distance, he was unmistakable. His sharp features were highlighted by the soft light from the great hall. He moved with a quiet confidence, his expression stoic and focused as he walked down, His scarlet robes clung to his broad shoulders.
Hermione's breath hitched, and a sudden warmth spread through her chest. She didn't even notice how tightly she was gripping the edge of the table until her knuckles turned white.
Ron whispered excitedly, nudging Harry and pointing toward Krum. "Viktor Krum! He's actually here!"
Harry gave a low whistle, impressed. "Looks different without the broom, doesn't he?"
Hermione barely heard them. Her heart was thudding too loudly in her ears, and a strange mix of excitement and panic twisted in her stomach.
He's here. He's really here.
Viktor's gaze briefly scanned the gathered students, his dark eyes sharp and observant—and then, for the briefest moment, his gaze landed on her.
The noise of the Great Hall faded, and time seemed to slow. Hermione felt as though the floor had dropped out from under her. His expression softened just slightly—barely a flicker—but it was enough to make her heart stutter.
For a moment, it felt like they were back in the forest, with the world narrowed to just the two of them. The noise, the people, the grandeur of Hogwarts—all of it faded into the background.
And then, just as quickly, the moment passed. Viktor turned away, keeping pace with his fellow Durmstrang students.
Hermione exhaled slowly, her heart still racing. Her hands trembled slightly as she smoothed her robes, trying to gather her composure. But the warmth in her chest lingered, and she couldn't stop the small, secret smile that crept onto her lips.
But Viktor's thoughts were everywhere, just for a moment, toward the Gryffindor table. Sitting among her friends, she was there. His gaze lingered on her, admiring the way her hair framed her face and how her focus was on Dumbledore's speech, completely unaware of the attention she had drawn. Though his heart stirred at the sight of her, Viktor restrained himself. He chose not to approach, aware of the many eyes upon him. Instead, he settled into his seat, content for now to admire her from afar.
The halls of Hogwarts had never felt so alive, and with the Triwizard Tournament looming, the excitement was only just beginning.
This year, they both realized, was going to be very different.
