Quick author note- I made a little mistake and breached canon ever so slightly. Hannah works at the Leaky Cauldron, not the Three Broomsticks... oops. I guess that little tidbit will make this story slightly AU but whatev... Hopefully it doesn't ruin the story for you. :-\

"You vill be meeting me in hall before ball?" He had asked her in his broken English. His fingers messed with the sleeve of his robe pulled down forcedly at his side, a nervous habit he frequently exuded.

She smiled, just as nervous and excited as he felt, "Yes, of course. I'll be there. I'm so excited, Viktor. Thanks so much for asking me."

"It should be me thanking you, Hermy-own. You are beautiful girl, I am klutzy boy," He said as she giggled, waved, and carried her books hurriedly from the library.

He hadn't received nearly as warm of a goodbye the last time he had seen her. In fact, she hadn't said goodbye at all. For some reason, he had thought of her that evening as he ordered a third repair of vodka. He hadn't seen her in over twenty years, but it seemed like just yesterday she had danced with the enemy in her lovely lilac dress. She looked at him with the same girlish happiness that had belonged to her on the night of the Yule Ball and fire filled his stomach at the thought. Ivan, the barman, looked at his profile as he stared out into nowhere, hand still on the full glass.

"Viktor, I'm thinking you might want to head home before the man of steel succumbs to the seduction of the vodka," Ivan chuckled, snapping Viktor back into the small Bulgarian pub.

"No, no," Viktor shook his head, his dark hair falling before his eyes, "It's not the drink… just reminiscing."

"A girl, nyet?" Ivan pried, nudging Viktor with an elbow as he dried a glass.

Viktor shook his head, "A woman… a woman from a very long time ago. I shouldn't waste my time thinking of her."

"Time is never wasted when thinking of a beautiful woman," Ivan placed the glass on a stack of its freshly-cleaned brothers. He leaned onto the bar and looked at the younger man, "Maybe she is thinking of you too?"

Viktor shook his head violently this time, "She moved on two decades ago," He pulled a piece of yellowed newspaper from his wallet and unfolded it. It was cut out from a British newsprint and sported a picture of a smiling young bride clutching lovingly onto her new husband.

Ivan couldn't read the English wedding announcement, but understood the full meaning without the translation. He clicked his tongue sadly and clapped Viktor on the shoulder, "I'm sorry, son."

"Don't be. I told you my thoughts were pointless. Last time I was in Britain I stopped by the bookshop she told me she visited often when she was younger and, as fate would have it, I saw her. She was so beautiful, Ivan. She looked so happy and I couldn't even stop in and say hello," He rested his chin on a large hand and sighed, "And she has children."

"Oh no," Ivan came from behind the bar and sat next to Viktor, pouring himself a glass of vodka as well.

Viktor nodded, "She has at least two; a boy and a girl. Precious children… I'll be back in the Isles next week for a seminar and just thinking about it made me think of her."

Ivan looked lost for advice, but took a different approach, "There are many women out there, Viktor. You've never been one to be lonely on a Saturday night… this isn't like you at all. I've got your tab tonight, okay?"

Viktor nodded, "You really don't need to do that, but I appreciate the gesture behind it, Ivan. Thanks a lot. I've really got to look past this; I've moved on."

Ivan smiled as Viktor picked up his coat and walked out of the bar, but his smile faded as the door closed, "I really hope you can, Viktor. You're too good a soul to be torn apart."

He flicked his wand finally and the zipper on his bag zipped itself neatly. He looked around his expansive bedroom hoping that if he forgot anything that it would hop out before him. Sighing, he extinguished the lights in the room and pulled his suitcase out into the hallway. He closed his eyes, leaning up against the wall and trying desperately to clear his mind. Hermione Granger had not left his mind since she had entered and thoughts of her were just too painful to keep trying to repress. She wasn't the only one as Ivan had said. There had been many women in his life, several of which he had thought he had loved. Why hadn't Katya or Irena or Anna plagued him like the young girl from his youth continued to do? Why did he wake up thinking of her from time to time? Why did he ever look at the girls at the Quidditch stadiums and wish it was her looking back at him? He opened his deep brown eyes and looked at his watch. The Portkey would be leaving soon and he needed to be with it when it arrived in Hogsmeade.

The International Quidditch Association was centered in New York after the war had demanded it be moved from England, but tradition insisted on gatherings in Queerditch Marsh, the sport's birthing place, just past the bounds of Hogwarts. He was to be speaking to a small grouping of aspiring seekers about his career as a Quidditch prodigy and how he came to be the coach of the world's most successful team in over a century. It was tedious, yes, as the season had just ended, but something that gave him a sense of reward. Speaking to the next generation was always a joy to him, as he had no children to spread his passion to. This thought came to him, but it didn't bother him as one might think it would.

He looked at his surroundings and they were all too familiar to him; Hogsmeade remained frozen in time. He walked into The Three Broomsticks and strode over to the lodging desk. A blonde woman from the bar called over to him ("Just a minute!") before bounding over to the counter, blotting a splash of Butterbeer from her daffodil robes.

"What can I do for you," She smiled widely and dropped the rag onto the desk, exchanging it for a fluffy white quill.

"I haff reservations for a veek-long stay," He said in his heavy Bulgarian accent. The woman looked at him, squinting in concentration.

"Viktor Krum?" She said, only a bit unsure. He looked a great deal different from when the area had seen him last, his frame more muscular and filled out and his eyes framed by black spectacles, with the added years only slightly visible, but he was still famous. He nodded.

"Hannah Abbot-Longbottom," She offered him a hand, which he took. She smiled like the fans he was so accustomed to, but with more dignity, "I'm a fan. I was in Harry's year at Hogwarts."

"Oh?" He said, unsure what to say in reply, "He's doing vell, I suppose?"

"As well as he could be," Hannah adopted a sad expression as she looked through the reservation book and checked his name. She took a key from the wall behind the counter, "He lost his best friend and brother-in-law last month. Terrible, terrible accident on the job… an Auror… left two kids and a wife behind."

"Give him my condolences, if you vould," Viktor said as Hannah handed him his room key.

"I will," She said, "I think you knew him, actually. Ronald Weasley?"

Viktor's stomach sank. Hermione's husband was killed. She was unhappy, she was hurting… she had lost her love as he… no. He hadn't really loved her like she loved that man.

He cleared the block in his throat that had appeared there so suddenly, "I met him vonce or tvice, yes. He vas a very polite young man vhen I met him. Vhat a terrible loss. Hermione vas a good friend of mine as vell."

"Oh yes," She nodded, "I see her often. I will tell her you send your good thoughts as well. She certainly needs them… her and those poor children."

She offered him a polite, still a trifle sad, smile before assigning one of the younger employees to show him to his room. Upon reaching the room he dropped his bag and fell down onto the bed.

His Hermione had lost her love… just as he had lost his: to someone, to something which just couldn't be fought with.