*Disclaimer: The characters? Nope, not mine*

Also – I am sadly without a copy of the HP books at this time, so I ask forgiveness if Viktor's accent is a wee bit off.

"So what are your future plans, Krum?"

Harry James Potter, perhaps best known as The-Man-Who-defeated-Voldemort, was rather small, physically. If, Viktor thought, you had just seen him from the back, when he was standing still, and you hadn't ever seen him in action – well, one might be tempted to describe the Man-Who-Conquered as... well, short. Normal, really. Not that impressive of a bloke, being neither big nor brawny nor overly masculine.

However, if you had seen him in the aforementioned battles, and watched him take down a good portion of the worlds' most vile and powerful wizards and witches, and were well acquainted with his reputation... well, then things like discussing your relationship with his all-but-adopted sister became a bit more scary.

Piss-your-pants frightening, actually.

"Vell...," he started, clearing his throat a little bit, "Vell, I vas thinking that Hermy-oninny and I... might take things slow, yes? Give her time to finish vhat she vants to do...."

Krum silently promised that he would never, ever, remind himself that his voice has squeaked like a prepubescent boy's in the middle of this proclamation. He had, after all, competed in the Triwizard Tournament, and fought in the War, and played professional quidditch – he was a man, fearless, ja?

He glanced to the side, caught a flash of piercing, powerful green eyes and swallowed convulsively. Maybe not entirely fearless. After all, it was a wise man who knew when to fear, right?

Viktor had come to Harry because he wanted to do this properly, this time. Both of Hermione's parents had perished during the war, not – ironically enough – from being hunted down purposefully by Death Eaters, but instead as accidental casualties in a frantic Death Eater raid on a muggle village where they had been staying.

So Viktor had decided, without much thought, that he would go to the her next nearest and dearest, her closest friend and adopted brother. Unfortunately, at the time, he had only remembered that her brother was Harry, and had completely forgotten that the man was also the most bloody powerful wizard in the world.

All of these factors, had, regrettably, led him to where he was now, walking in his characteristic duck-gaited, slumping walk alongside the Man-Who-Could-Blast-Him-To-Smithereens.

With a brief cough, and a not-so-encouraging nod of his companion's messy head, Viktor continued.

"Ve both know Hermy-oninny is very bright, ja? It vould be bad, a shame, if she did not get a chance to do more school. She vould be very sad, very upset. So... I am thinking, perhaps four, five years, vhen she is all done, we do everything properly, then..."

"And your plans, until then?"

"Vell... I vill play more Quidditch, and save money and help Hermy-oninny in her schooling, right? Then, vhen she is ready, vhen she had done all she vants... then I be ready with good solid career and home, ja?"

The Man-Who-Was-Possibly-Going-to-Make-Viktor's-Life-A-Living-Hell made a low noise - perhaps agreement? - before swinging around, hands clasped behind his back, to pin Viktor in place with a sharp green gaze.

Viktor quickly reminded himself that (1) he was, actually, older than the Man-Who-Was-Damned-Scary and (2) that Viktor had faced fire-breathing dragons, Death Eaters, and on one memorable occasion, a swarm of enraged Veela before, and survived. Oddly, neither reminder helped.

"Very well," said the Man-Who-Lived-to-Intimidate-Potential-Boyfriends, "you have my blessing. Not, of course," and here his mouth quirked up into a smirk – "that Hermione ever needed my permission to do anything."

Just as Viktor was about to exhale a great sigh of relief – not, because, of course, he had been scared or anything – Lord Potter (and it was definitely Lord Potter, Defeater of the Dark, powerful and wealthy, that he was facing now) spoke once more in a soft, calm, and altogether lethal tone: "But – and remember this well, Viktor Krum – but, if you ever, ever dare to hurt her in any way, remember that there is absolutely nothing in this world or the next that could possibly spare you the fate I will visit upon your head. And trust me, Viktor, I can make Tom Riddle look like a cute, fluffy bunny when I wish to."

That, Viktor Krum did not doubt one bit – so he gulped, nodded quickly and tried his best to look both wholesome and charming.

And then the Man-Who-Lived-To-Bewilder-Innocent-Bulgarians beamed a bright, cheery smile and clapped him on the back before wandering off, whistling, to who-knows-where.

Viktor Krum, the-Bulgarian-Who-Survived, shivered, spared a moment to thank whatever deity around that he had joined the right side, and then wobbled off, a little shakily, to go find his girlfriend.

(He sincerely hoped she appreciated just how much he really, really loved her.)