Title: Passing Notes, in four parts
Author: Sare Liz
Series: Firebolt Ring
Pairing: HG/VK
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warning: Rated PG-13 for some double entendre and flutterings in the stomach. It’s strangely contiguous with both GoF book and movie (does this count for the heresy of syncretism?). And yet, this is possibly OOC for Viktor. Not that we have a heck of a lot to go on, but I’m betting there’s more than one story behind his glowering façade.
Notes: So, this is my first sojourn in this fandom. I’m so very excited. And I have no beta, yet. Perhaps this will become very clear to you as you read on. If anyone is willing to take on that heinous task, let me know.
*
The library covered so many ills. Sorry, Ron, can’t play chess. Yes, I know it’s only the first week in November, but I gave back the time-turner, and if I’m ever to get all this studying done, I can’t become complacent now. So long as she was back behind the portrait before the nine fifteen curfew, everything would be fine.
She’d put her hair in a plait, donned jeans and a wool jumper and stuffed her coat and muffler into her knapsack instead of books. And she’d put on just the teeniest amount of makeup. Not that he’d see, of course. It would be dark. But still.
Running quietly through the cloister, she stopped to listen for anyone before putting on her outer layer and shrinking her bag and stuffing it in her pocket. No magic in the halls, true, but according to Hogwarts, A History, it was only possible to tell that magic had been done in a place, not necessarily who had cast the spell. Hermione stuffed her wand back into the special pocket of her jeans before walking very calmly out into the open and beginning to make her way down to Hagrid’s.
She didn’t see him yet, but she might be ever so slightly early. And maybe he had hidden himself somehow, or was standing in some shadow. That was possible. He seemed quite keen on avoiding detection in the library – it probably extended out here, as well.
And then there was an odd sinking feeling in her stomach as several mental cogs all clicked into place at once. How thick was she, anyway?
The sinking feeling heralded Hermione’s momentary flash of insight into her own stupidity as she walked alone, in the darkness.
She whipped out her wand as she reflected that she hadn’t told anyone where she’d gone and with whom. Images from the Death Eater’s post game party flashed into her mind. She could still smell the acrid smoke of burning tents, still see the shadows flickering, teasing her that someone lurked still. She could still hear her self crying out Harry’s name, and having her voice bounce around the space before her, useless.
There was only a bare flicker of light at Hagrid’s – probably the embers of the evening’s fire, and he probably wasn’t in. Would there be anyone to hear the echo of her cry this time?
Clever Hermione, oh yes. Come out to meet a handsome boy at night, but it may be the death of you.
She crouched down behind a large pumpkin and pointed her wand to her brow and chanted softly, “Occula Nocturnis.” Suddenly the world got much clearer. Everything was visible, save the darkest dark of the furthest shadow.
Hermione spotted him standing in the treeline, against a large spruce with a racing broom in one hand. He seemed calm, but he was squinting in her direction, as if he thought he’d seen her, but was now not certain. She quickly scanned the rest of the area to make sure he was alone. He seemed to be.
But you never knew. Holding her wand upright next to her shoulder and the pumpkin, she spun the tip in three tight circles, chanting, “Areola Malfoy.”
Hermione scanned the area again, but the only figure who revealed an aura of bad faith was herself.
She calmed slightly, and willed her heartbeat to subside into normality. Amazing, what counted as bad faith. Maybe this meant she was overreacting.
She calmed slightly. This was probably innocent. It was probably nothing. Besides, he’s Bulgarian and an athlete. Just because your first date is completely secret, alone, and in the middle of no-where doesn’t mean he’s a Death Eater. It just means we’re students. And he has groupies. And a really strange headmaster.
Holding her wand at her side she stood up and strode to him, keeping her ears open just in case.
Viktor stepped away from the tree and bowed deeply, low over the broom that he’d swept horizontal as he moved.
While he was still unable to see her, she realized her eyes would look strange to him, if he was able to make them out. Quickly, she whispered, “Finite Incantatem!” and stuffed her wand back in her pocket. The world went dark.
“Good effening, my lady. You are vell?”
“Yes. Thank you. Um. And you?”
“It is a very good night. Let us valk this vay, so our voices to not disturb.” He held out his arm to her and she slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. Once they had walked a little ways into the line of trees, but most importantly, away from Hagrid’s hut, he spoke again.
“May I ask you a question?”
“Um, sure. What do you want to know?”
“Vhy you don’t fly.”
It was such an innocent question, and it left Hermione switching gears she didn’t know she had. This quite suddenly felt like a date again.
She glanced up at his profile, barely discernible in the low level of light. There was a little flutter in her stomach that she filed away from future pondering. That, and the fact that she was out on her first date. She would have to owl her mother tomorrow and tell her how charming he was being.
Before getting too wrapped up in her own thoughts, however, Hermione answered his question. “Oh. That. Well, the broom doesn’t listen to me,” she said. Thinking about the situation, Hermione began to fully relive the pathos of that first horrible incident on the broom. “And it’s so awkward. I always fall off at some point. And I just… it makes me nervous.”
“It is good that I am here. My broom listens to me very vell. I am not awkvard, and I vill not let you fall off. And maybe vith me, you von’t be nervous?”
Nervous? Who’s nervous, Hermione thought. I’m getting remedial flying lessons from Viktor Krum, who is the first guy I’ve met who has spotted me as a girl. What’s there to be nervous about? Sure, I’m not one of those inane girls that follow him around everywhere, but for goodness sake! I do know what a Wonky Feint is! It’s a good thing he’s adorable, really.
She half laughed and looked down at her hand on his arm. “I know you’re a good flyer. I’ve seen you, you know? At the finals. You’re very brave. I thought so at the time.”
“Be happy you did not see me close up. I vas a mess, and not very happy myself.”
Her laugh was genuine this time. “Oh, but I did see you close up. When the teams came to the Top Box – I was there.”
“No.” The disbelief was solid in his voice. What Hermione couldn’t figure, was if he was being coy or not.
“Yes. You look much better, now. You look even better when you smile, though.”
He stopped their progress and looked over to her. Hermione’s eyes hadn’t yet fully adjusted to the darkness again, but she wasn’t sure she’d be able to read the look on his face in broad daylight. It did look like he wanted to say something, though. On that much she would bet cold hard galleons.
He didn’t say anything, though, and she wondered if she should have brought up the finals at all. Bulgaria did lose, after all. It was probably entirely callous of her, and he was probably thinking of how much he regretted bringing her out here even now, and wondering how he could gracefully send her back to the castle –
Hermione’s quickly spiraling thoughts were interrupted when he tugged at her arm to continue their walk and broke his silence, all at once.
“I do not alvays see so many things to smile about.”
Hermione was certain that the sound of her swallowing echoed in the forest. “But I’ve seen you smile plenty of times, and you’ve only been here a week.”
Viktor rumbled a sort of musing assent that made the hair on the back of her arms stand up. “Vhen you are around, yes, I smile. Here is good,” he said, changing topics entirely.
He placed the broom in the air and it hung there, as if by command. Then he stood back and indicated it with his free arm.
“I vould like to introduce you to my Firebolt. It vill not throw you or fail to obey you. In fact, it vants to be your friend.”
Hermione giggled despite herself. She gave a little half-wave to the broom hovering in front of her and said, “Hallo.”
“Good. Next.”
Viktor released her arm and mounted the broom. He had one leg curled up beneath him in what she figured was the normal riding position for a racing broom, but one foot was firmly on the ground. His hands were on his thighs.
“Come. Here,” he indicated his lap. Or possibly the broom. She wasn’t certain.
“Um…” How on earth she was supposed to do this she had no idea. She’d never been picked first in gym. She’d probably fall over trying to get on the thing. It was too high, for one thing.
Viktor held his hands out to her and when she put her hands in his, he shook his head and let go of her.
“No, no. We do this easy, okay? Stand here. Now, turn. Yes. Oh, I see problem.”
He’d finally noticed that the broom was too high, and lowered it slightly. Then he took her hands in his and waited.
Facing the other way, she couldn’t see what she was supposed to be doing. This was totally awkward – he was behind her, holding her hands. His leg was still sort of in the way. Where exactly was she supposed to sit, anyway? Literally on his lap? Well, that would be sort of interesting. In the end, she hopped up in front of him, but rather far away.
Hermione could already feel herself being supported by the magic of the broom, and not just the physical two-inch diameter of the wood handle. It was like sitting on a rather small feather mattress. Much more comfortable than the old Bluebottles and Cleansweeps that the school had for training purposes.
And then Hermione felt Viktor take her waist and slide her back toward him, until she was nestled quite snugly against his larger form. It was lovely and made her feel rather gooey inside, but it was sort of odd, too. She was sitting in his lap, but she wasn’t. She was sitting on the broom. It was the magic of the broom supporting her. And yet, it was Viktor’s legs that were directly below her bum. She could feel both, but Viktor was definitely the stronger force.
And then she realized that she hadn’t breathed in a while, and decided to do so, letting it all out in a bit of a quavery sigh. She wasn’t proud of that.
And then she could feel his lips against her ear. “Firebolt holds two, but ve must be close. Is okay?”
Hermione didn’t really trust her voice at this point. She nodded instead.
“Okay. Now. Leg,” he said, tapping the leg that was on top of his folded one. “Like mine.”
She folded her leg like his and around his. Doing so, she found that the magic of the broom supported her in this position as well. Still, if she were riding for long, she’d probably be sore, without practice.
“Good. How do you feel?”
His lips were back to her ear, and his voice was soft.
“Strangely confidant,” she remarked, not entirely certain if she was speaking of her broom riding skills or not.
“This is good, very good. Now. Hold broom vith both hands. Yes, now, bend,” he said, brushing his fingers over her elbows. He then took the broom himself, just above her hold, with one of his hands. They were now effectively joined from ankle to shoulder, with upper arms thrown in for free. “You hold broom, I hold you and broom. No one falls off.” He wrapped his free hand around her waist, and if she wasn’t cleaved to him before, she certainly was now. “Is okay?”
She nodded again.
“And vhen ve fly, both legs like this leg,” he said, flexing the bent thigh beneath hers.
“Okay.” Hermione decided not to spend precious brain cells on the analysis of how very breathy she sounded.
“Ready?”
Hermione swallowed, and could have sworn she heard the echo. The moment her affirmative answer was out of her mouth, they were off.
In hindsight, they hadn’t been going all that fast. At the time, however, she thought that perhaps she’d left her heart behind in the dark forest somewhere.
They skimmed along in silence ten feet off the ground, following the line of trees. At the lake, Viktor veered off and glided over the water, higher up.
Hermione whined.
“Close your eyes,” he murmured in her ear, “And feel the vind on your face.”
She did, and slowly felt herself relax into his embrace for the first time since he pulled her back on the broom. Hermione let her head loll off to the left and rest somewhere near his chin. His arm tightened, and after a while she felt a rhythmic pulse that resonated through the layers of wool.
His heartbeat, she marveled.
*
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