Disclaimer: The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

Notes: 'mila' is a Bulgarian term of endearment. 'tsvete' means 'flower'. Also, yes I blatantly ripped off a line from a Neko Case song in the poem. Not word-for-word, but enough that I can't claim it and anyone who knows the song would recognize where it came from.

It was nearly midnight by the time Hogwarts' new Charms professor finished with her rounds of the castle and stood, nervously poised to knock on the door of the school's other new professor. She shifted her feet uncertainly, then sighed, her fingers slackening, not even touching the ancient wood.

Hermione Granger dropped her hand silently and grimaced, turning and slumping hopelessly against the stone wall of the dungeon corridor outside of "Professor" Krum's quarters. As unlikely as the title seemed, his education at Durmstrang had provided him with an invaluable background in defensive magic, as well as a rather frightening wealth of theoretical knowledge of dark magic. He'd retired from Quidditch the year prior, claiming that he'd grown weary of the fame and traveling. And, having earned several awards of honour for his part in the battle against darkness on his home soil as well as being one of only a small handful willing to even consider the position, he'd been McGonagall's top choice for the job.

Hermione remembered when he'd written to her with the news of his new post as Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. She couldn't help the little thrill that went through her at the time, as a tiny part of her hoped and wondered if she had anything to do with his decision. Granted, she hadn't been teaching at Hogwarts yet, and had only come on at the last moment when Professor Flitwick passed away, but Viktor's retirement from Quidditch and relocation to the British Isles also meant a closer proximity to her. It was a silly thought, and she'd been quick to quash it with a sad reminder that, although they'd become exceedingly close, they were still "just friends".

She looked down at the slightly tattered piece of parchment in her hands and shook her head miserably. Idiot, she thought with a derisive snort. So what if the contents had been penned by the striking wizard on the other side of the heavy oak door? They'd been written seven years ago. And though they were obviously written about her, they very clearly had not been meant for her eyes. Not to mention he had given her no reason whatsoever to believe he still held the feelings for her that had once inspired the curling letters in faded ink. Despite the owls, despite the countless sheets filled with such candid thoughts and beautiful imagery she'd received weekly over the past four years, not one of them held a note of anything more than platonic friendship.

So why was she still standing there, in that cool, dimly lit hallway outside his door? Oh yes, she reminded herself bitterly, because you won't be able to face him, knowing you read something so personal of his. She knew she needed to confess to Viktor that she'd kept the bit of parchment that had gotten mixed in with her Ancient Runes homework that long-ago day in the library. She'd known even then that it was likely his, but she didn't return it, intrigued as she was by the beautiful swirling curves of script she'd never seen before. It became a pretty little puzzle, and as self-righteous as she tended to be at that age, she was also curious and could not resist trying to decipher the note. She'd justified keeping it by vowing to return it if anyone ever asked for it, which they never did.

Unfortunately, she'd only ever gotten as far as figuring out that it appeared to be written in some kind of variation of Theban script, oddly enough. She'd managed to find her name in the curling lines, but anything else she'd translated from it was unreadable. And of course, over time life happened around her, and eventually the scrap of parchment got tucked away in her school notes and left behind while she, Ron, and Harry went off to hunt for Horcruxes.

After the war ended, Hermione had opted to continue her education, first completing her N.E.W.T.s, then moving on to University where her focus was Muggle Anthropology, Slavic Languages, and Advanced Charms and Runes. She grew up a great deal in those years - gained a stronger sense of self, and learned that, while the friendships she shared with Harry and Ron were irreplaceable, there was a whole other world outside of that little microcosm. The trio remained close, even despite the brief and failed romance between her and Ron. Ultimately though, Hermione was grateful for the years away from them, for new friendships made and old ones rediscovered.

It was during her time at University that she resumed her long-distance friendship with Viktor Krum. She tried to convince herself that her enthusiasm for the weekly exchange of letters they shared was because it simply helped with her Bulgarian studies, and later Russian. Conversely, Viktor's English improved by leaps and bounds. He always had been more eloquent with the written word than spoken, even when she was still a student at Hogwarts. Where he would struggle to express himself verbally, his letters flowed like honey and wine, beautiful and true. The handful of times she was able to visit with him in person after the war were made all the more special knowing the spirit and mind that was locked behind his quiet, brooding demeanor. It really came as no surprise when she finally did discover what that scrap of parchment said.

It wasn't until that very morning, unpacking her library in her new teacher's quarters, that the slip of paper had fallen out from between the pages of a worn textbook. She remembered it immediately, but instead of tossing it away or returning it to its supposed owner, Hermione sat down with a piece of toast and a cup of tea and scribbled out the translation again. Only, this time the garbled mass of letters made sense. Cyrillic. Theban to Cyrillic, Bulgarian finally to English, and what suddenly lay before her was a poem. A love poem, to be exact, and while it wasn't Shakespeare, it was heartfelt, candid, incredibly passionate, and made Hermione's cheeks and ears flush pink, both with pleasure and shame.

If only I'd known…she'd thought. But then what? Her fifteen-year-old self wouldn't have known what to do with that. She'd barely known what to do with Viktor's invitation to the Yule Ball, and as lovely as the snogging had been at the time, she still cringed now looking back on how inexperienced she had been.

She had no business reading this poem, and until she told Viktor the truth, she'd continue to feel like a bad friend. Besides, this way he could laugh in her face about it and end this silly infatuation she was harbouring once and for all.

Hermione stared at the heavy door and chewed her lip. Somewhere in the distance a clock chimed the midnight hour. He was probably already in bed. Finally, deciding she could put it off until the morning, she turned on her heel to go.

Suddenly the door swung open.

"Hermione?" Viktor's rich baritone rumbled. She could never help the little smile that tugged at her mouth whenever he said her name now – he'd practiced it so many times until he'd finally gotten it right. "Vot are you doing?" he asked with a concerned scowl.

"I – I…" she stammered, feeling the warmth creeping up her neck. He was dressed only in a pair of forest green silk trousers, and his hair was still damp from a shower. She tried desperately not to stare at his muscled torso, the perfectly sparse layer of dark hair on his broad chest that thinned to bareness, and then the snail trail over his lower stomach leading down to –

"Is somezing wrong?" he pressed. "You haff been lingering out here for some time…"

Her eyes shot up to his and she cursed inwardly, catching his amused smirk. She should have known he'd have some means of being alerted to someone outside his door.

Hermione gave an impatient huff, the familiarity of their friendship causing her to relax slightly. "Nothing's wrong, Viktor, I just…" Her fingers twitched nervously around the folded piece of parchment in her hand.

"Vould you like to come in?" The question was a mere courtesy, as he'd already pulled the door open further and backed into the room with a subtle gesture.

She swallowed hard, watching Viktor's backside as he retreated into the warm interior of his suite. She shook her head at herself and followed.

Viktor took a silent but deep calming breath as he strode toward the small wetbar situated in a corner of his room. He was certain that whatever brought the lovely brunette witch to his quarters at this hour was likely something that would require alcohol, rather than the stuff of which his fantasies were made.

More and more he was beginning to curse his decision to relocate. What once seemed to be a brilliant, hope-filled idea now seemed brutally naïve and foolish. While he hadn't necessarily put his life on hold for the girl who stole his heart so many years ago, a small part of him had always hung on to that little spark.

A year after the Triwizard Tournament, when Hermione's letters grew fewer and fewer, he'd graciously let her go, vowing to be her friend and to always be there for her. It had cut him to the quick however, when he later saw her at Fleur Delacour's wedding, and that redheaded boy had gotten his hooks into her. Weasley wasn't good enough for her. Not even Potter was really worthy of the little genius. He'd watched how they treated Hermione in their youth. They appreciated her intelligence, but only when it benefited them, whereas Viktor could sit for hours just listening to her expound on whatever new thing she was learning at the time. Of course, it didn't hurt that he found her physically attractive too, but she truly was a fascinating individual.

Those long quiet hours shared in the library, and then later in some of the more secluded spots of the castle grounds, became treasured memories to him. Despite their language barrier and his Quidditch fame, Hermione neither chased after him like the rest of the silly girls he encountered, nor did she just assume he was a blithering idiot. And he wasn't – he just was never known for anything other than being a champion Seeker. "He's not 'thick'," he'd overheard her say to one of her friends once. "The Triwizard cup wouldn't spit out his name if he wasn't a top-rate wizard…"

But they were so young then, especially her. Teenage romances are usually fleeting – add to that the multiple countries between them and his team schedule, and he didn't stand a chance. He knew when her letters dropped off that she'd probably found a new boyfriend, but seeing her in another's arms… It had surprised him how much that smarted, and he'd gone out of his way after that to wipe the intelligent witch from his senses once and for all, or at least try to.

At first, his efforts to exorcise his feelings took place on the battleground. During the war, which had spread far beyond Britain's borders, he'd been reckless, almost suicidal in the missions he'd taken and fights he'd won. He knew now that he'd been exceedingly lucky. There were countless fights and battles he should not have been able to walk away from, for the complete lack of regard for his own safety.

After the war, having read of the Great Potter's victory and the rather public romance that had blossomed between his two best friends, Viktor sank to a new level, trying to forget the genius witch. He gained quite a reputation as a womanizer, going through witches faster than the press could even track. Much of it was for appearances, to boost his ego, or sheer boredom, he supposed, as he rarely cared enough to take any of them to bed.

Once the initial maelstrom of post-war publicity and excitement had ended, she started writing to him again. Clearly as 'just friends' of course, but Viktor soon realized that the 'little spark' he knew he'd always hold for Hermione Granger was growing stronger, smoldering beneath the surface until he could hardly think straight.

She learned Bulgarian, for Merlin's sake! Who does that, just on a whim? Surely it had something to do with him? They wrote back and forth weekly, for years. And she'd sounded so excited when he'd written to her about relocating – more than a casual pen pal should be.

But in person, it was another story entirely. He should have known, based on the few times they'd visited each other during her stay at University. It seemed like there was something more than friendship – the prolonged looks, the smiles reserved just for him, the lingering touches – and yet she'd always pull back at some point with an offhand remark about their friendship. It was her staunch belief in their 'friendship' that held him in check, no matter how much he might have wanted more. It was his addiction to her, however, that allowed him to be strung along like some damned puppy chasing a bone on a string. He was certain it wasn't intentional, but that didn't make him feel any less a fool.

Since she'd joined the staff at Hogwarts, it was more of the same. Viktor was ready to lose his mind, and after the looks she was giving him during tonight's staff meeting, he was sorely tempted to say 'fuck it' to their friendship and simply ravish that pouty little mouth of hers and more. It would certainly clear things up either way – either their friendship would end or…

"Viktor?" her voice came softly from behind him.

He mentally cursed. He didn't realize he'd been slamming glasses around.

"Vould you like a drink?" he asked brusquely over his shoulder, ignoring the concerned look from her warm brown eyes.

"Cognac," she replied shortly, surprising him. Usually she took tea.

Hermione flinched again at the sharp thud of the crystal tumbler being set on the small table before the amber liquid was poured into it.

"Viktor, I – I know it's late and I'm terribly sorry to bother you. I'll just go," she said in a rush.

He swung around at these words and closed the distance between them in three long strides, holding out the glass. "Hermione," he replied in a gentle but insistent tone, "you are not bothering. But obviously somesing has you vorried. Now drink, zen tell."

His eyes crinkled around the edges warmly in that way that seemed to be reserved just for her, and she felt her stomach flutter. She downed the burning liquid in three ungraceful gulps and set the glass down on the desk at her side, her eyes watering.

Viktor raised his eyebrows in amusement at her, but said nothing.

"Viktor," she began, not meeting his gaze. "I… well, I have something of yours, have had it for some time - something that I've realized is quite private and was clearly not meant for my eyes. I – I should have returned it the moment I found it, but I was only fifteen…" she shook her head in embarrassment as she continued to ramble. "Not that that's an excuse, but I just wanted to figure out what it said, and - "

"Hermione," he interrupted laughingly. "Vot are you talking about?"

She looked up into his warm hazel eyes and felt a lurch of shame and dread. She dropped her eyes to the floor and hung her head, unable to look as she held out the seven-year-old piece of parchment.

He took it from her and the room was filled with a long silence.

"I see," he finally murmured. "You haff… translated?"

Hermione nodded her head. "I'm sorry," she added in a whisper.

"Vy?" he demanded.

"I – I told you, I was only fifteen, and I was - "

"Not vy did you keep," he cut her off. "Vy are you sorry?"

She licked her lips nervously. Here it comes, she thought unhappily, bracing herself for humiliation and letdown. "Because it was clearly not mean for me to see," she answered steadily. "Even though we were just children, those were your private thoughts."

Silence. Then, "Vot if," he said slowly, his tone cool. "I vas to say I did not write? Vos not mine - ?"


Hermione couldn't completely hide her reaction. She blinked several times and took a deep breath before looking at Viktor, who was watching her carefully. His expression was unreadable, a trait she always found infuriating in him. "Oh," she said with a forced casualness, "well I suppose I'd just chuck it, then." She gave a tight little laugh, but her mouth just would not curl up into a smile.

Before she could take a single step toward the door, he moved closer, almost touching her, nearly toe to toe.

"And if I say I did write - ?" he asked quietly, cautiously.

She hazarded a glance at his face, not quite believing the note of hope she thought she heard in his question. His expression reminded her of the day he'd asked her to the Yule Ball. Almost indecipherable, except for his warm, dark eyes.

Hermione swallowed nervously. "Well, I'd never presume… I mean, that was a long time ago," she answered carefully.

His hand came up to tenderly brush a stray curl out of her face and stayed to cup her chin. He hummed in agreement. "Vos long time ago yes," he said softly, then added, "Many… revisions since then. Vould you like to hear?"

There was no mistaking him now, his voice so low and warm and almost hypnotic. Her gaze was fixed on his mouth – those lips that gave her first real kiss, surprisingly full and soft from what she could remember… that mouth that so frequently quirked its special smile just for her, those lips she so often found her eyes slipping to when she was sure he wasn't looking.

There it was. He had seen that look many times before, but it was always so fleeting. Now, however, she stayed, transfixed. Viktor smiled inwardly at the way her lips parted and her eyelashes fluttered as he softly traced her jaw line with his thumb. Finally the gods had smiled on him and presented him with this golden chance.

He had immediately recognized the slip of paper when she handed it to him. He couldn't remember the words verbatim, but he didn't need to. He'd filled half a journal that year with metaphors and scribbled verses about the young witch, his "Hermione Rose," as his grandmother had called her, teasing him affectionately when she caught wind of his infatuation. That was the inspiration for the completed poem that had made its way between her textbooks that day. She wasn't a rose to him then, not just yet – but a young, innocent flower bud, completely overlooked by all but him, lost in a forest of library books and parchment. Now, however…

Hermione felt a warm tingle drift down her spine as Viktor started murmuring to her in his native tongue. He had no idea the effect that always had on her – it was beautiful and rich to hear, but more importantly his whole demeanor changed when he didn't have to concentrate on proper English and being understood. She closed her eyes and tried to follow the deep cadences of Bulgarian as they whispered in a soft breath against her cheek…

How I have waited

Patient as a glacier

For your sweet tender petals to unfold

Counting every spring

For the unsuspecting innocent

Bud to blossom fully just for me

I have watched from afar

While others stepped around you

Blind to the treasure at their feet

And now I have you here

My sweet Hermione Rose

Finally I may dive into you freely

It was a lie, of course – he hadn't revised that little poem from so many years ago, but the intent was no less true, so the words came easily, simple little metaphors to match the ones from before. He had waited long enough. He was the one who saw her for the beauty she was, who had more admiration and appreciation for her than that silly red-haired oaf or any of the short-lived romances she'd had at University. It was his turn, now.

Hermione's pulse thundered in her ears as Viktor's lips ghosted over hers with his sweet words. He waited? she thought incredulously, but that thought was swept away with the slide of his fingers down and around the back of her neck, his large strong hand cradling her head as his fingers tangled themselves in her unruly hair.

When his mouth finally pressed more firmly against hers, sampling first her upper lip, then her lower in soft deliberate caresses, a warm liquid pleasure flooded her, trickling down her body, pooling in her stomach. She parted her lips to his, inviting him in and oh, sweet Merlin she didn't think she'd ever been kissed so perfectly in her life as his tongue slowly slid along hers.

She wasn't sure quite what to do with her hands – she wanted to touch him, to draw him closer, but he was standing there in naught but those thin silk lounging trousers, his chest completely bare…

Solving that little puzzle for her, Viktor's other hand snaked around her waist and pulled her to him. She could feel his heat radiating through the plain scratchy material of her robes and she suddenly wanted desperately to be rid of them as her fingers danced experimentally up his muscled torso.

A deep, low growl of pleasure emanated from his throat and he broke away from their kiss, only to cover her cheeks, eyes, and forehead with the tender caress of his lips.

"Ah, mila," Viktor breathed, "haff vanted you so…"

"Yes," Hermione whispered, dipping her head down to his neck to indulge in one of hundreds of fantasies she'd had about Viktor's anatomy. She smiled against the hollow beneath his jaw as a hard sigh escaped him. He smelled of spice and soap and the salt of his flesh was tangy against her lips and real – so real.

Her hands slid back up his chest to encircle his neck. She had to stand on tiptoe to reach his ear, his coarse dark hair still damp and tickling her nose slightly as she ran her tongue over the edge of his lobe.

She felt his fingers tighten around her waist with a squeeze before he gently pushed her away, taking a deliberate step back from her.

"My tsvete," he murmured, panting slightly as his dark eyes roamed over her face, studying her intently. "I can't…" he broke off and shook his head with a frown. "I do not vant to rush you, and if you stay…"

Hermione felt a sudden angry surge of impatience. "How long, then, Viktor?" she snapped. "How much longer do you intend on waiting, on making me wait?"

When he merely stammered with wide eyes, she sighed and shook her head, closing her eyes briefly.

"Do you have any idea how long I've stressed out over this, how long I've carried these – these feelings around?" she asked wearily before continuing to rant. "Years, Viktor. And to hear you've just been 'waiting'? What the bloody hell for? I practically threw myself at you, time and again - "

"Threw yourself?!" Viktor repeated with a harsh laugh, interrupting her. "Every time I see you, vas 'our friendship' zis and 've are such good friends' zat! I move everysing here, for you, Hermione, and vot! More 'friendship', zat is vot! So yes, I vaited! Even ven those stupid men had their grips on you, I vaited like a – a sick fool of loff!" he stormed, his English steadily breaking down as his ire grew.

"What else did you expect me to say, Viktor?" Hermione retorted, her voice rising in pitch. "You gave me nothing to go on, other than the fact that every press article about you featured a different witch on your arm! You say you waited, but you certainly kept yourself busy in the meantime! And now what - you want me to go away just so you can wait some more? Fine, then!"

With that she straightened her robes and made her way to the door before the stinging behind her eyes could manifest into actual tears.

Her fingers never reached the doorknob before a pair of strong hands swung her around with so much force, she was nearly knocked breathless as her back came in contact with the door.

With a fierce growl his lips claimed hers, smothering any more words of anger either could exchange. With his knee secured between her legs, one hand on her hip and the other wrapped tightly in her hair, she was pinned against the ancient oak, unable to move or struggle even if she wanted to.

Which, she didn't.

Hermione was slightly lightheaded by the time Viktor released her from his forceful kiss, and all she could manage was a soft whimper as he tugged her hair, pulling her head back to bare her neck to him.

While he proceeded to nuzzle and bite his way over her jaw and down her neck to the exposed patch of shoulder her mussed robes afforded, his other hand traveled from her hip up her side, the backs of his fingers lightly brushing her breast and causing her to gasp sharply. They didn't linger, however, as they were intent on a path to the prim collar covering far too much flesh for either of them.

He made quick work of the fastener to her cloak, letting it fall to the floor around her. He paused however, at the topmost of a series of dainty little clasps in the center of her chest, as if it was a lock that, once sprung, would open a door they could never shut again.

"Mila," Viktor whispered raggedly against her ear. "Tell me to stop and I vill…" It was clearly the last chance he would give her to turn back.

With an exasperated huff, Hermione reached up and gave a yank on the tiny clasp, glaring at him pointedly.

A look of sheer primal hunger flashed in his hazel eyes, and his lips curved into a sinful smile, one that sent a wave of heat all the way down to her core, causing her to blush rather ridiculously.

Slowly, almost too slowly, he parted the material, his mouth following his fingers as one by one, he unhooked the old-fashioned clasps. When he reached the last one, his hands slipped easily around her waist to her back, giving the bow there a firm tug, causing the material of her dress to drape loosely and precariously over her body.

He straightened and looked down at her, his eyes filled with a smoldering heat. "Now," he said softly, but his voice held a commanding tone. With a feather-light stroke of his fingers, the fabric slipped from her shoulders, over her arms, then slid down into a prim black pool at her feet.

Hermione could almost feel the heat of his gaze as it raked over her nearly naked body. She felt a warm pleasure as she noticed how his breathing grew uneven, heard him swear softly under his breath in Bulgarian. She wished he would touch her…

As if hearing her thoughts, his eyes darted back to hers. Faster than she could register, he was there, fingers sliding hungrily over her bare stomach, teasing over the lace of her bra only briefly until a frustrated moan escaped her. Then his thumbs, soft and experimental, grazed her nipples tenderly, scraping the lace against those sensitive peaks. Finally lips and tongue followed as his head dipped down, pulling one aching bud between his teeth, laving it wetly - first one, then the other.

Hermione's head feel back against the door with a soft thud as she brought her hands up to cradle his head to her, her fingernails scratching softly against his scalp and threading through the coarse dark waves of his hair. She gave a small murmur of protest when he left those rosy buds to trail a path back up over her collar, then her neck, finally to her lips, still slightly swollen from their brutal attack just moments earlier.

He loved this witch – had for years. One of his favourite things about her was her unexpected temper, and seeing it blaze up before him right here in his bedroom was far too much temptation to resist. She was right, of course. There would be no more waiting. But her insistence at dominating everything – well, that would make it all the more enjoyable.

Viktor bit back a groan as her soft fingers slid from the nape of his neck over his shoulders and back down his chest, this time rather intentionally grazing his nipples.


With a soft snarl, he grabbed her wrists and brought them behind her back, holding them securely in one of his strong hands. He couldn't help but smirk at the heated gasp that came from her pretty little mouth as her eyes flew open, darker than Turkish coffee now.

"Viktor - "

"Shhhh…" he hushed her, pressing his finger to those moist, sweet lips. Gods, how he loved kissing her, always had, even when she was just a young little inexperienced thing and he a bumbling, hormonal teenaged boy. So much had changed in both of them since then, but she had clearly only gotten better, grown more beautiful, sexy, and utterly delicious over time.

Hermione shuddered, her eyes falling half-shut again as Viktor teased that one single digit down, from her lips over her neck, down the center of her chest and stomach and lower, until he reached the lacy edge of her knickers.

She grimaced, her breath becoming uneven as he traced that tiny band across her pelvis, around her hip, down to where it covered her bottom just barely, until it disappeared into the juncture of her thighs. She couldn't help but struggle against him as he caressed her bare flesh ever so lightly before sweeping back around to her front. She sighed as he hooked his finger under the edge of material and followed it down, further down…

"Are you damp, tsvete? Ven I touch you – vill my finger be covered in your sweetness?" he whispered hotly against her ear.

When she didn't answer right away, he gave a little tug to her wrists he still held behind her back. "Tell me," he demanded, his fingers poised just a breath away from where she wanted so badly to be touched.

"Yes," she breathed desperately, "Oh gods, yes…"

"Good girl," he murmured smugly.

Hermione's biting retort to his tone was lost in a guttural moan as Viktor's finger slipped beneath that small patch of lace and eased between her folds, immediately finding that wet tender bundle of nerves.

Viktor moaned himself at the feeling of her slick heat as he slid his fingers along her warmth. His quickly hardening cock jumped as he discovered how ready she was even just now, when he still had so many other things he wanted to do to his mouthy little 'friend'.

The way she was moving her hips so wantonly against his hand as he worked over her sex made him want to bury his head in her shoulder and bring her off right there, just so he could hear her cry out his name.

In fact, the only thing he wanted more at that moment was the one thing that slowed his movements and forced him to pull his hand away, his fingers now covered in her juices. He sucked first one, then the other between his lips, groaning at the sweet tangy taste of her.

A quick glance at her flushed face and heaving chest brought a wicked grin to his lips. Still holding her wrists tightly behind her, he moved her over to the writing desk next between the door and the bookcase. With a careless sweep of the items laid out there, he cleared the surface and nudged her against the edge.

"Sit," he commanded softly.

This time, she complied without hesitation. Viktor squinted and looked around him briefly. With a calculating smirk, his eyes landed on the two heavy iron wall sconces anchored firmly in the thick stone, set the perfect distance apart. Looking down at his curly-haired witch, he smiled tenderly and released her wrists just long enough for her to flex her arms with a small frown. Then, a little gentler this time, he grasped them again, guiding them up to the ornate candleholders on the wall behind her and wrapping her fingers around the cool wrought iron.

"You vill hold on to these," he explained quietly, "and do not let them go until I tell you. Understand?"

"And if I don't?" Hermione asked in a cool tone, although her face betrayed every bit of excitement and need she felt.

Viktor's eyes narrowed in consideration as his hands trailed softly down her arms, then smoothed down her bare sides to rest at her waist, his thumbs gently stroking the flesh just below her breasts. "Then I vill haff to punish you. Or," he added with a sarcastic smile, "perhaps I vill just make you vait."

As if daring him, Hermione made to remove her hands from the wall sconces, only to find she couldn't. A little squeak escaped her as she looked at Viktor with wide eyes.

"Did not vant to haff to make you vait," he said with a shrug and a lazy half-grin, sliding his hands down her hips, then stroking the outsides of her legs before teasing back up her thighs to the negligible scrap of lace that served as her knickers.

Hermione felt her whole world tilt as she found herself completely at Viktor's mercy. Her heart was racing and her breath was coming in uneven little pants as he looped his fingers into her waistband and tugged at the material. As he cupped her bottom and lifted her up slightly to ease her knickers down, she felt his erection brush against her inner thigh and gasped.

When his lips followed the path made by his hands, slowly sliding the lace garment down her legs, she exhaled and let her head fall back. This was… well, far more intense than she ever imagined it would be, and she was quite certain the minute he touched her there, she would simply fall apart, shatter into a million little burning pieces...

…But he didn't.

Instead, Viktor straightened back up, his hands never leaving her body. "Let's take care of this too, hmm?" he murmured sexily as his fingers traced their way to the front clasp of her bra and slowly worked the little fastener.

Hermione sighed as her last vestige of clothing was pushed gently away, replaced by Viktor's big strong hands. She dug her teeth into her bottom lip when his thumbs rolled softly over her exposed nipples, only to release it with a hard gasp as he slowly pinched those sensitive buds before finally dipping his head down to one, then the other.

Not thinking, Hermione jerked impotently at the iron candleholders to which her hands were firmly fastened. "Viktor…" she whined softly, wrapping her legs around him to pull him closer.

As soon as silk and hardness brushed against her aching sex, his movements froze for a brief moment. Then, with a soft ragged moan he pulled her even closer, sucking and biting his way back up her neck before finally claiming her mouth with a passion that bordered on violence.

Hermione had never felt more consumed, more possessed by a lover in her whole life. She never realized it before now, but this was what she'd always dreamed of, what was always missing. She felt as though she could stay there indefinitely, perfectly content to hang from Viktor Krum's wall like a perverse ornament for the rest of her existence.

As he massaged her breasts and devoured her mouth, she couldn't help but move in the only way she was able, grinding herself against the hardness that was pressed so intimately to her core now, that with each stroke she could feel her insides tightening in that familiar growing wave of pleasure. Viktor responded in turn, moving against her in a mimicry of what he intended on doing to her very soon. Not just yet, however…

The small damp patch on the thin material of his trousers was steadily growing – he could feel it, wet and warm against his hardness as he ground himself so tightly against his witch, her arousal soaking through the dark silk. It was almost a laughable thing – something they might have done when they were still teenagers, given the chance. But it was still so incredibly erotic that he could sense himself quickly losing control of the situation.

Abruptly, Viktor pulled away, holding Hermione's face with both of his hands so that he could steal one hard kiss and one glimpse at the heated, feral need in her usually soft brown eyes. Then, just as quickly, he pulled her forward by the hips so she was balanced on the edge of the desk. He held her there for a moment, considering, then, reaching for his wand on top of the bookcase next to the desk, he Accio'ed a large pillow from the bed, tucking it between her back and the wall before dropping to his knees in front of her.

A cracked cry came from her lips as his tongue suddenly plundered her most intimate places, sweeping along her folds once, twice, then zeroing in on that sensitive bundle of nerves. She jerked against her magical bindings once more, squirming desperately beneath Viktor's assault until he wrapped his arms over her thighs, locking her into place.

"Oh… gods… Viktor…" she whimpered and panted as she felt her senses spiral upwards to the divine pinnacle of pleasure. "I – I'm…"

Viktor smiled knowingly against her wet flesh and sucked her tiny nub between his lips, holding it gently in place with his teeth while sweeping his tongue over it. Hermione was making less and less sense, obscenities and holy names alike spilling from her lips. When her thighs suddenly tightened around his head and her feet dug into his back, he reached around and pressed two fingers into her, curling them slightly and massaging her special spot until the sudden clamping of muscles around those digits coincided with a truly lovely shriek from the wild-haired witch on his writing desk.

With a silent command, Hermione's hands were released from their sticking charm.

"Hermione," he murmured, "let go, mila."

Her arms fell limply at her sides as Viktor gently eased her onto the floor and into his lap, her legs curling on either side of his hips. He wrapped his arms around her and held her there as tremors continued to wrack her body. Finally, when her breathing slowed, she actually purred against his neck.

The sound sent a shiver down his spine and made his already-hard cock tighten even more with a twitch.

Hermione raised her head to look at Viktor, a satisfied curve to her lips as she shifted against him. Her smile widened when she felt his hardness twitch against her again. She ran her fingers up over his bare chest, hooking them around his neck before lowering her head to kiss him.

Her lips moved slowly and sensually over his, tongue teasing and tasting at the very edge of his bottom lip, then his top, then meeting his hungrily as their kiss progressed from tender and loving to hard and needy once more.

She moaned as he grabbed her hips, moving them against his, causing her to rub against him as before, communicating the words of need that were currently muffled by their warring lips and sparring tongues.

Hermione broke away, flushed and panting and just as aroused and worked up as if she hadn't just been brought to the most mind-blowing climax she'd ever experienced. She needed more, and as lovely as the forest green trousers looked on him, she'd had quite enough of any more barriers between them.

As if reading her mind, Viktor gently shifted her body, sliding her out of his lap and pulling himself up off the floor. He held out his hand to help her up, intent on bringing her to the rather luxurious-looking king-sized bed that awaited them.

Instead of taking it, however, Hermione looked up into his loving gaze and gave a wicked smirk. She took a deep breath and exhaled as she got to her knees and cocked her head, her smirk widening into a calculating grin.

Viktor watched, his eyelids fluttering at the feeling of her small delicate hands running up the backs of his calves, then his thighs, and higher until they reached his waistband. His pulse quickened as graceful fingers hooked into the edge of his trousers and slowly pulled down. Her heated gaze never left his, not until that briefly clumsy snag of silk against his cock, now impossibly hard and jutting out at face-level.

He grit his teeth as her moist little tongue darted out to wet her lips. How many times had he fantasized about this very scenario?

Pleasuring someone had never been a more erotic, more arousing experience. The hiss of Viktor's sharp inhale as she swiped her tongue across the tip of his engorged cock, the groan that rumbled out of his throat as she closed her lips around his thickness, the tang of his pre-cum – all these went straight to her own sex, and she found herself moaning hungrily as she sucked and stroked along his length. When his fingers gently tangled themselves in her hair, not forcing or even moving her head, but simply touching her in adoration, she felt a sharp jolt of pleasure between her legs. With another moan, she squeezed her thighs together, her hand lightly stroking her own leg as she continued her ministrations.

"Yes," Viktor murmured heatedly. "That's it - touch yourself, my sweet girl," he continued in Bulgarian.

Shyness battled with need for barely a moment before she slipped her fingers between her folds, fluttering quickly over her pleasure points. Her movements on his cock sped up as she felt herself hurtling towards another orgasm while Viktor continued to whisper encouragements at her, his voice strained and ragged.

She cried out her completion just as he slipped himself from between her lips, and barely noticed when he pulled her up from the floor in a fevered frenzy, his mouth on hers, attacking her greedily as he pinned her to the door where they began. She felt his large hands grip her thighs, guiding them around his hips as he grabbed her bottom, his fingers opening her to him. Then he was there – his big tip poised at her entrance for hardly a second before he thrust into her with a grunt.

Hermione's sharp cry was thick with pleasure, her nails digging into the back of Viktor's neck.

Viktor paused, panting, his mouth at her ear. "Hermione… mila…" he rasped, his voice tight with a last thin thread of self-restraint.

"Don't stop!" Hermione gasped, tightening her legs around him. "So help me god, Viktor - "

With a snarl he pounded into her, and her threats were lost in a sea of whimpers and moans. She was held helpless against the scratchy surface of the heavy old door, impaled repeatedly on Viktor's rather healthy-sized cock. Every time he drove into her, his pubic bone ground against her clit and, still not completely recovered from her last climax, Hermione quickly found herself breathless with another knot of pleasure tightening and building inside of her.

Viktor watched with satisfaction as Hermione's eyes fell shut, her head thumping against the door at her back, her face a mask of pleasure as her muscles began to spasm around him. Sweet Merlin but she felt so good. And yet, despite the sweat that was now trickling down his back and the quickly growing sense of losing control, of finding his own release, he smugly held back, secretly ever so grateful for the fantasies he'd been having about this very thing while he'd pleasured himself in the shower just moments before his beloved witch had arrived.

As she shuddered and cried out his name with her completion, he slowed his movements, relishing in the delicious sensation of her cunt's vise-like tightness as it squeezed around his cock. He wrapped his arms securely around her, one hand holding up her arse, the other cradling her back.

"Hold on to me, my love," he whispered in his native tongue, and smiled into the unruly mane of dark curls as she buried her face in his shoulder once more, her arms wrapped around his neck and her legs around his waist, hooked at the ankles.

He took a deep breath and with a bit of amusement, hobbled them both to the bed finally, his cock still firmly planted inside of her as he eased them onto the mattress. Now he would take his pleasure from her…

Hermione's eyes widened from their exhausted state as Viktor began moving inside of her again, this time slow and gentle. She looked up into his face and found such a tender, loving look in his eyes that she nearly cried.

Balancing his weight on his elbows as he stroked along her slick, tight passage, Viktor brushed the wild curls from his flower's face and smiled at her awed expression. He bent down and kissed her – on her eyes, her cheeks, her beautiful plump lips, and felt a hungry growl unfurl in him when she began to move against him, her previously limp and exhausted legs wrapping securely around him so that he could go even deeper.

When her soft, gentle fingers danced up his arms, over his shoulders, and down to his chest, scratching lightly before pinching at his nipples, he started to feel the last of his self-control slip. When she started murmuring her soft, breathy encouragements to him in Bulgarian, begging him to fill her, telling him how good it felt to be fucked hard by him, any intended tenderness was lost.

Viktor's eyes flew back to her face and found a vulnerable, loving expression that belied her words and movements. Her lips were parted, cheeks flushed again, and she nodded wordlessly, squeezing around him to get her point across. "Take me," she whispered.

Like a crumbling dam suffering its final failure, he broke, plunging into her almost violently, his breath coming out in broken gasps and grunts. And still he was met stroke for stroke by this incredible little witch. He could feel her tensing up, the little mewls and whimpers coming from her implying that she was on her way to yet another climax. With a breathless laugh of incredulity, Viktor slipped his hand between them, his fingers finding her swollen little button and flicking over it in rhythm with the rest of their movements.

This time, when Hermione jerked beneath him, trembling and crying out his name, he was there with her, letting the contractions of her cunt milk his own completion from him. Only at the very last second did he manage to remember the contraceptive charm he'd been taught as a schoolboy.

As the last band of pleasure ripped its way from his body, Viktor gently collapsed over Hermione, careful to still support himself and not crush her. Once they'd caught their breath, he rolled over and slipped messily out of her, smiling amusedly at the tiny sound of protest that came from the prim little bookworm. He reached over her head and grabbed his wand, cleaning them both up, then gathered his treasure in his arms, pulling the covers over them both.

He wanted to tell her he loved her, but worried that it was too soon. He worried briefly about whether or not she was alright, but then she sighed and snuggled into him, draping a leg over him and curling her hand over his chest.

After several long moments filled with naught but their steady breaths and the quiet crackling of the fireplace, Hermione raised her head slightly and planted a soft kiss on his chest.

"Viktor?" she whispered, in case he'd fallen asleep.

"Yes, my tsvete?" he replied immediately.

She sighed. "I take it back."

He looked down at her to find her lips in a wry quirk.

"Take vot back?"

Her mouth spread into a mischievous grin and she shook her head. "I'm not sorry I kept that poem."

A chuckle rumbled through him. "Vell," he said slowly, "I haff confession."

At this, she leaned up with a look of curiosity. "Oh?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Viktor took a deep breath and rolled his eyes. "I planted the poem," he said on a heavy exhale.

She frowned. "What do you mean, you planted it?"

He shrugged. "Vell… it vos written for you, mila. I put it between your books that day. Only – after, I… chicken-out," he said with a smirk at the slang term he'd learned from her years ago. "Vos simple spell to change letters on parchment."

Hermione gave him a confused look. "So you just… charmed them to change into Cyrillic and Theban?" It wasn't the spellwork that mystified her as much as the script choice.

"Sister used to write diary in Theban," he said with a sheepish grin, but then he grew serious. "Vos so cowardly, Hermione. I am sorry," he said softly.

Hermione hummed. "Well, it's a good thing I'm so bloody smart, then. Otherwise, we might never have found each other."

"Not true," he retorted and pulled her close, tucking the covers around them tightly. "Vos thinking of asking you to Yule Ball."