Hermione closed her book and extinguished the lamp with a flick of her wand. The cool blue moonlight gave the room the eerie, yet sensual, yet calm feel of midnight. Outside, the moonlight cast its beams across the small pond on the house's grounds and illuminated the rolling Bulgarian hillside. She could hear the crickets chirp melodically and see the fireflies spread themselves across the garden like tiny stars on Earth.

She caught a glimpse of Viktor's watch on his bedside table. It was now after twelve, just as she had expected. They were staying over at his parent's house before an early game the next morning. Aleksandar and Irena were going to the home game tomorrow and Irena had begged that they stay (and she had thrown in Viktor's favorite Kevarma Kepab for dinner as a bribe). As he usually did when visiting his old bed, Viktor had fallen asleep almost instantly. Although it was already three in the morning at their flat in Britain, she was tired, but sleep somehow seemed far away. She sighed and sidled herself under the bedclothes, turning to face her boyfriend.

Watching Viktor sleep always made Hermione smile. He had fallen asleep without her in his arms, so he had simply dozed off on his stomach. His face was relaxed and his brows, often knit in stress and frustration the day before a game, had relaxed in the comfort of sleep. His mouth was closed gently and he pulled in heavy breaths through his nose, though she noted that he still managed to drool out the corner of his mouth pressed against his pillow.

She ran her fingertips across his bare back peering out from beneath the sheets. One of his sculpted arms was pulled underneath his pillow, propping up his head a bit further. His other hand rested deftly on top of the dark duvet beside where she had been sitting beforehand. He was so peaceful she doubted he was even dreaming. In all honesty, when he was asleep like this, he hardly resembled the fierce Seeker, the Hawk, the man with the Golden Arm… he was simply Viktor. He wasn't frowning in concentration while looking over the Quidditch pitch, he wasn't angrily pressing into his broom in pursuit of the Golden Snitch, and he wasn't fighting off nasty reporters with their even nastier rumors; he was just sleeping. In a way, he reminded her of a tiny child who had fallen asleep to his mother's lullabies. She brushed a lock of his raven hair from his face, lined blue from the moon's silver beams, and let out a peaceful breath. He was simply calm… simply handsome in sleep.

Hermione reached over and kissed his lips ever so gently. His dark eyes cracked open drowsily and he shifted to entwine her in his arms. He held her against his chest lovingly and rested his head against his pillow again. She rested her chestnut curls in the crook of his neck, kissing him softly and pulling the covers tightly over them. Before she even had the opportunity to close her eyes, his heavy, rhythmic breathing told her that he had fallen back into sleep—and she was altogether ready to join him.