A/N: This is one of those "Five Moments in the Lives of ___ and ___" kind of things. Hopefully it turned out alright; let me know what you think!

One:

"Vot are you doing out here?"

Harry stopped in his tracks, looking around warily in search of the (apparently disembodied) voice he'd just heard. Catching sight of a tall, cloaked figure leaning up against the castle wall, he started to back away slowly.

He paused when the figure stepped forward; he immediately recognized the unmistakable profile of Viktor Krum, but didn't let his guard down. Recognizing someone didn't mean they suddenly became harmless, after all. All the same, he relaxed minutely at the sight of a familiar face.

"I'm just…ummm…admiring the scenery? Yeah. It's, er, really nice out here at this time of night. With the…stars and everything."

"Right." Krum raised an eyebrow skeptically, crossing his arms.

"Yeah."

"No offense, but that vos the vorst lying I haff ever heard, and that is saying something considering who I am friends vith," the tall Bulgarian snorted, shooting him a look that managed to convey his incredulousness quite nicely.

"Yeah, well, you caught me on a bad day. Usually it's not quite that horrible," Harry retorted, thankfully managing to keep the nervousness out of his voice. He wasn't about to admit it, but Viktor made him kind of edgy, although he wasn't entirely sure why. Because, you know, the fact that he was bigger, stronger, older, and a word-renowned International Quidditch player—not to mention the fact that his default expression was a rather menacing-looking scowl—wasn't intimidating in the least.

"…I vill take your vord for it."

"Yeah…hey, wait a minute! What are you doing out here?" Harry asked accusingly.

"I vos…valking. For the exercise, you know. Haff to keep in shape." Viktor shot him a totally unconvincing sincere look; after a moment he seemed to realize how ridiculous it made him look and quickly switched back to his normal surly expression.

"By walking. At two in the morning. Of course. That makes perfect sense." Harry gave him a pointed look, eyebrows raised; it was clearly meant to say something along the lines of 'And you say I'm a bad liar'.

"…I never said I vos a good liar, I only said that you vere an exceptionally bad vone," Viktor murmured defensively, catching the look. He could feel himself flushing, hoping desperately that it was too dark out for Harry to notice. "At least I vos not admiring the scenery ven I haff liffed at this castle for years!"

"Yeah, okay. Not one of my better ones, I'll admit."

"…"

"…"

"…"

"I hate awkward silences," Harry muttered, rubbing the back of his neck self-consciously.

"Me too."

"So…guess I'll see you around, then?"

"Yes. Around." Viktor added in a much lower voice, one tinged with humor, "Preferably during daylight next time, though. Vould not haff to explain myself then." It probably wasn't meant to be heard, but Harry caught it anyway. He covered his smirk with his sleeve, not wanting the older boy—who could probably beat him to a bloody pulp with both hands tied behind his back; that is, if he didn't just get out his wand and curse him first—to think that he was being laughed at.

"Agreed. Just out of curiosity, what were you really doing out here?"

"Couldn't sleep."

"Oh. Me neither. Ron snores like a dragon."

"Ron?" Viktor asked, brows furrowing in confusion.

"Yeah, Ron Weasley."

"Tall, red hair?" he asked, recognition dawning.

"Yep."

"Oh. Vy don't you just Silence him?"

Harry was silent for a long moment, shooting Viktor a sheepish look. "…I'm an idiot. Completely and totally brainless."

Viktor snorted, but didn't comment. The amusement in his eyes said it all for him. "Right. Night, Potter," he murmured, nodding farewell.

"Night, Krum."

They parted ways, Harry back towards the doors leading into the castle and Viktor back around the lake to where the Durmstrang ship was moored.

As he walked away, Viktor muttered crossly to himself in Bulgarian, "Nice one, Viktor. He probably thinks you're an idiot now. Wonderful."

"You know, they say that talking to yourself is a bad sign."

Viktor jumped, startled, and turned to glower at his friend Nikolai, who was standing at the end of the plank connecting the Durmstrang ship to the shore, more than likely having noticed his absence and deciding to wait up for him so he could heckle him about it.

"Go to hell, Nikolai," he snapped, but there was none of his usual bite in it.

"Someone's a bit touchy this evening," Nikolai murmured, raising an eyebrow.

"Maybe I wouldn't be if you would leave me alone!" Viktor brushed past the smaller boy and went to lock himself in his cabin, where no one would bother him and he could wallow in his embarrassment and self-loathing until he'd either gotten it all out of his system or Nikolai showed up to drag him off to breakfast--whichever happened first.

Nikolai followed him down the hallway to his cabin, apparently unwilling to pass up a chance to poke fun at him. "Fine then," Nikolai said, trying to appear hurt and only succeeding in looking slightly offended. "I'll just go off and cry myself to sleep over your rejection, then, shall I? "

"Fine by me."

"But Viktor, I thought we were friends! I'm starting to feel neglected here—" Viktor closed the door right in Nikolai's face, cutting the other boy off mid-word. He really didn't feel like having company at the moment.

Flopping down on his bunk, he folded his arms across his stomach and stared up at the ceiling. That was the position Nikolai found him in five hours later, when he dropped by to drag Viktor off to breakfast in the Great Hall.

Two:

"Have you finished your Transfiguration essay yet, Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Er…no, not yet."

"Honestly, Harry. It's due today, you know. I finished mine ages ago--" She was interrupted by the arrival of the morning post. The number of owls sweeping overhead was significantly higher than usual; not surprising, considering the fact that it was Valentine's Day and anyone with half a brain was sending their girlfriend—or boyfriend—something. A large tawny owl soared towards the Gryffindor table, landing in front of a surprised-looking Harry and stealing a piece of his bacon.

"I hope Viktor hasn't sent me anything," Hermione said, frowning as she recognized the owl. "I've already told him that I'm going out with Ron now." Harry tried to keep a straight face at that—Hermione could be so clueless sometimes, even as she complained about him and Ron both being terribly dense—and succeeded, barely.

Instead of saying anything that he would regret later, he started to reach for Vasili's leg—the owl hooted irritably and snagged another piece of his bacon, shooting him a look that quite clearly said 'Hurry it up, will you? I'm not getting any younger here', an expression that was eerily reminiscent of Viktor's when he was getting impatient—but Hermione beat him to it, despite the fact that Vasili was perched on the other side of Harry, nearly out of arm's reach.

She looked at the writing on the outside of the note, her face contorting first into surprise, and then into confusion.

"Here, Harry, it's for you."

Taking the scrap of paper from her and noting the fact that his name was written on the outside, he unfolded it, smoothed the fold lines out of it, and grinned. In Viktor's spiky, bold handwriting, it said:

Love you. –Viktor

Pulling a quill out of his bag, he scribbled in reply:

Love you too. –Harry

Folding it neatly, he reattached it to Vasili's leg and watched as the owl took flight again.

"What did he want?" Ron asked around a mouthful of oatmeal, scowling. He really didn't like Viktor and the fact that he had dated Hermione, even years afterward, a fact that Harry found rather amusing.

"Oh, nothing much. Something about the newest Firebolt on the market…" he lied without missing a beat, reaching for another piece of toast. "Could you pass me the marmalade, Ron?"

Three:

Harry wiped blood out of his eyes with a shaking hand, taking in the carnage all around him. Bodies littered the muddy ground, and everything in sight seemed to be splattered with blood or gore in some form. Even the grass—what little of it hadn't been trampled into oblivion—had taken on a reddish hue.

He stumbled towards the closest knot of survivors—most of whom were looking as ragged and exhausted as he felt—trying not to step on any of the bodies.

Up close, he started to recognize some familiar faces. Remus, Tonks, Shacklebolt, a number of other men and women in Auror's robes, several members of the Weasley family—easily recognizable by their flaming red hair—as well as a couple of Ravenclaw seventh years. As he drew closer, he noticed with relief that a familiar head of black hair was among them, next to a much-lower-to-the-ground head of bushy brown hair and a several-inches-higher-up shock of fiery red; the latter two of which couldn't be anyone but Hermione and Ron.

It was then that one of the Weasley twins—he wasn't totally sure which one, but it was probably George—noticed him approaching. "Harry!"

Instantly, he was swamped with people rushing to help the 'hero of the hour'. He ignored all of them in favor of the one person he wanted to be near right now, after everything he'd been through—and done—in the last couple of hours.

Viktor shoved his way through the crowd and put his arms around Harry, pulling him into a rib-crushing hug. In response, Harry buried his face in Viktor's neck and twisted his fingers into the ragged material of the taller man's shirt, holding on as tightly as he could.

"God," he murmured, so softly it was barely audible to Viktor, let alone everyone around them.

"It's over," Viktor whispered in his ear, "It's all over. Ve von."

"Yeah," Harry laughed hoarsely, sliding a hand up Viktor's back to cup the back of his neck. "We won."

Pulling back slightly, he looked into Viktor's eyes and, seeing what he'd hoped he would, leaned in and crushed his lips against the taller man's, desperate and needy and slightly shaky. They moved even closer, practically trying to crawl inside each other's skin; finally, though, the need to breathe forced them to part so that they could gasp for air.

"I can't believe it… it's over…finally…" Harry was distantly aware of voices and movement all around him, but his attention was focused solely on Viktor.

With a soft smile, the one reserved only for Harry, Viktor leaned back in for another kiss. This one was longer and even more heated, both of them pouring everything they had into it. Their relief at the war finally being over; their happiness at not having to hide their relationship anymore for fear of Voldemort going after Viktor's family; their sadness at the loss of life that had occurred, not just during the last few hours, but throughout Voldemort's entire rise to power; their love for each other; their different, but no less powerful love for their friends and family.

"Obicham te," Viktor murmured, pulling away slightly, a smile curving across his normally surly face.

"Love you too," Harry murmured dazedly, a slow grin creeping across his face. He tightened his grip on Viktor, holding on for dear life, like he was drowning and Viktor was the only thing keeping him above water.

Four:

Harry stood out on the hotel balcony, leaning against the railing and watching the sunrise. He was dressed only in a pair of low-slung pajama bottoms; the cold didn't seem to bother him, even though it wasn't actually that warm out yet, and his hair was still damp from his early-morning shower.

He was lost in thought, staring out over the busy square below with unseeing eyes. He was thinking about how everything had changed so much in the last few years; Ron and Hermione finally getting married—it was about time, they'd been bickering like an old married couple since they were eleven, for God's sakes—the year before; Fred and Angelina bringing their first child, Alexander Brian Weasley, into the world; Harry himself striking up a close friendship—and, eventually, pursuing a relationship—with Viktor Krum.

Now here he was, twenty-two years old, in a hotel in the south of France with his International Quidditch player boyfriend, only hours before a match, watching the sun come up.

Harry was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't even notice Viktor walking up behind him until the taller man slid his arms around his waist and rested his chin on his shoulder, pressing the entire length of his body against the younger man from the knees up- not an easy feat considering the rather large height difference between them. Harry wasn't exactly short, standing a respectable 5'10" despite ten years of living in a cupboard, but Viktor at 6'2" had him beat by at least four inches.

"Vot are you thinking?" Viktor murmured, lips just barely brushing the shell of his ear.

"Nothing much," he replied quietly, leaning back against the broader man's chest with a barely audible sigh. "Just… did you ever think things would turn out like this? Us, the war, all of our friends… everything?"

"Not really," Viktor said, huffing a small laugh. That was another thing that was different now- before, Viktor hadn't smiled much, laughed even more rarely, and didn't talk unless he was goaded into it. Well, the first two had improved, at least. He was still one of the least talkative people Harry had ever met—which made a shocking difference from most of the Weasley family—when he wasn't talking about Quidditch, at least, but the surly expression wasn't as evident as before.

They stood in silence for a long moment before Harry continued. "I guess I never really thought about what things would be like after the war was over. I mean, I thought about it, but not…"

"Not about vot everyvone else vould be off to do ven everything vos over," Viktor finished for him, nodding his agreement even though Harry couldn't see it. "It vosn't vot you vere expecting." He said it as a statement, not a question.

"No. But, you know… I'm glad things happened the way they did."

Deciding to reply physically rather than verbally, Viktor turned his head minutely and pressed a soft kiss to the side of Harry's neck, just under his jaw. With a lopsided smile, the raven-haired young man tilted his head back to give the other man better access. Viktor took advantage of the opening, mouthing his way up his neck, across his jaw, all the way over to his lips to plant a quick kiss on them. He lingered there a moment, stroking his tongue along Harry's bottom lip before biting down gently. Then, as abruptly as he'd started, he drew back.

"Ve haff time for a shower before the match…" he murmured suggestively, sliding his hands lower on Harry's hips and nipping playfully at his earlobe. The shorter man half-turned, still encircled in Viktor's arms, and pulled him down for a rather rough kiss.

"Mmm. Sounds good to me."

Viktor maneuvered them away from the railing and back into the hotel room proper, then proceeded to leave a clothing trail several feet long in his hurry to divest both of them of their clothes. The two of them stumbled into the bathroom; Harry just barely managed to kick the door half-shut with his foot as they went.

They leaned up against the bathroom sink, still making out like horny teenagers, fast and sloppy and more than a little desperate. Viktor had the presence of mind to lean sideways and turn the water on, somehow managing to never break contact with Harry's mouth throughout the entire motion.

They stumbled into the shower, leaving the curtain pulled back. Harry shoved Viktor up against the wall, wedging a knee between his thighs and stroking his hands over the other man's abdomen, chest, biceps, everywhere he could reach; the Bulgarian responded in kind, one hand sliding down to grasp Harry's hip, the other moving around to the back of his neck, tangling in his sodden hair and yanking his head closer none-too-gently.

It was then that the Universe apparently decided that the two of them hadn't suffered enough humiliation in their lives; there was no other reason for Volkov Apparating in at that exact moment, directly in front of the halfway-open bathroom door.

Then again, the embarrassingly girly shriek he made when he realized exactly what he'd just walked in on—he really should've known better than to come in without knocking first, seeing as it wasn't the first or even the second time something similar had occurred—almost—almost—made up for it.

Five:

Viktor held the Snitch aloft, smiling wearily at the (in his opinion) entirely too over-enthusiastic crowd of crimson-clad Vratsa supporters in the stands below him. He was distantly aware of his teammates flying in closer to him, yelling and hugging each other enthusiastically in celebration.

They were all still—at the very least—fifty feet off the ground, but that didn't seem to affect their penchant for getting touchy-feely with each other; they were still giving each other bear hugs and back-slaps and shoulder-bumps with an enthusiasm that he was used to seeing only in drunkards and anyone who'd been hit with an overzealous Cheering Charm. He watched his teammates' antics, vaguely amused by it all.

Then they were engulfing him, making what could only be called a Viktor Sandwich, and he stopped thinking about how his teammates were acting like hyper little kids who'd just eaten way more sugar than was probably good for them.

He joined the rest of the Vultures in the victory lap, reveling in the knowledge that he'd played one of his best games in months. He deftly avoided a collision with Vulchanov when the Beater veered in his direction, too busy waving at his fans to notice where he was going; thankfully, they hadn't actually crashed into each other this time, unlike a couple of other highly embarrassing occasions he would much rather forget about.

Afterwards, when he had managed to shove his way through the swarming masses of reporters to get to the locker room and had slumped down onto one of the benches, peeling off his sweat-soaked undershirt, Harry came to see him. The raven-haired man (he was twenty-two now, hardly a boy anymore) slapped him on the back, grinning, and then pulled him into a rib-crushing bear hug.

"That was amazing!" he said warmly, releasing the taller man from his almost painfully tight hug and flopping down on the bench beside him. "I've never seen anyone pull out of a dive that steep before. You had to've been only, what, half a foot from the ground, at the very most?"

"It vosn't that close," Viktor replied with a small, pleased smile. He was struggling to unlace his boots with only his right hand; he was pretty sure his left wrist was broken. He'd slammed it into the pitch to keep his balance when he'd pulled out of the dive—at almost two hundred miles an hour and holding the Snitch in his other hand—and he couldn't turn his wrist without feeling a sharp stab of pain that went halfway up his forearm. "Not that impressive."

"So modest," Harry teased with a grin. "It's a wonder you can admit to being able to read without feeling like a show-off."

"Vell, there are a number of people in the vorld that can't, I vouldn't vant to make them feel bad," Viktor retorted, trying to maintain a serious expression. Apparently he wasn't too successful. Harry laughed and slapped him gently upside the head; thankfully, lightly enough that it didn't hurt at all.

Biting his lip, he stretched his legs out in front of him and studied the knots in the laces, hoping there was a way to undo them without having to resort to magic, which would frankly be rather embarrassing considering his current company. He'd reached the point where boots were going to have to come off, but that was going to be a little difficult with only one hand at his disposal. He leaned over and started to pull on the right one by the heel, twisting his leg in an attempt to get it to slide off, but it didn't work very well.

Harry's hands appeared out of nowhere, tugging the stubborn boot off his foot and setting it aside with a gentleness that was somewhat surprising, considering how rough he could be the rest of the time.

"You could've just said something," Harry said, sounding half-amused, half-exasperated by the Bulgarian's stubbornness.

"Vould not vant to take advantage of your generosity," Viktor replied, completely deadpan. Harry rolled his eyes but didn't say anything else until the other boot was off.

"Thanks."

"No problem," Harry replied nonchalantly, shrugging.

Viktor finished changing quickly, and after allowing Harry to cast a couple of healing charms on his wrist, they agreed to get some take-out and crash at the hotel instead of going to the after-party.

After saying a quick farewell to his even-rowdier-than-usual teammates, the two of them walked outside, fully intending to make a quick getaway. That plan was derailed, however, when they stepped out the door to find several reporters lying in wait, cameras in hand.

Making a face, Harry turned to the other man and raised an eyebrow, jerking his head in the direction of the Apparation point. Nodding in agreement, Viktor started to push his way through the crowd, issuing a slew of "no comment"s in answer to the reporters' shouted queries as he went. Harry followed in the taller man's wake, glowering at the paparazzi in an attempt to shut them up. He knew that Viktor hated the questions and the verbal harassment just as much as he himself did.

Reaching the Apparation point, they both shot the clamoring reporters one last scowl before Apparating away with two sharp, nearly simultaneous cracks.

A/N: I originally had this out of order, but decided to go back and make everything chronological. So if you've noticed that it looks a little different now, that's why. :)