A note from Serade Black: It's been a very long time since I've updated. I have good reasons: my kids. I had another baby in May 2014 and I've never been able to even touch my laptop. So, enjoy...

Chapter 4: The Truth Behind Words

Dear Hermione,

Well, aren't you the little Daily Prophet darling? It seems that for the last two weeks, I've seen your name (and Viktor's) in the last editions more often, than I ever have before. Next time I see you, you will have to tell me all about your visit to the pyramids! According to the story, your trip was complete with a romantic ride on a barge down the Nile? Tell me, shall I consider it? As of lately, I'm a bit superstitious...playing with "dead things" and all that.

Your Friend,

Sirius

Dear Sirius,

Well, the Prophet seems to almost always have a photographer assigned to us on these trips away from home. The candid ones are their favorites. It was important that Viktor be seen on holiday, so his coaches convey to the fans to not believe they're working him so hard (though, they really are) and show that he's just one of "them" in the end.

Viktor wasn't at the pyramids for more than ten minutes, to be honest. I ended up doing the tours and museums alone, as that sort of thing doesn't really interest him. The barge was nice, but again, that was what the story wrote, sadly not what we actually did. He was just too busy to fit anything in. So, I guess I couldn't tell you what it was like for you to consider it.

Hope you're well,

Hermione

P.S. Are you going to Charlie's wedding in June?

Dear Hermione,

I will be attending Charlie's wedding; my calendar isn't really that booked up these days. Word has it, his brothers have big plans at the reception involving live pigeons, paint and lots and lots of birdseed. I'm not sure where the paint comes into play with those ingredients, but again, that is what I've only heard...which means Molly probably has heard the same thing, so we'll see what comes to fruition in the end.

Egypt alone? Not the way I'd prefer to spend my holiday when accompanied by my partner, but I'm proud to hear you took advantage of the opportunity. That's the brainy girl I remember, even if the brainy girl is now wearing Gucci and Lockhart pieces. Perhaps, I might suggest that you do a few more of those trips alone...to broaden your mind. Hell, you're riding this train all over the world and I'd like to hear more of your other adventures, if you've had them.

Eager to hear,

Sirius

Sirius,

My sole adventures still remain few and far between. I only went off exploring the tombs when I was told to find something to pass my time for the five hours. They apparently swept Viktor off to some event that women weren't privy to attend. I assume it was something customary for the country, so it was just as well that I was able to peruse ancient pieces that were several centuries old.

Sirius put down the letter after re-scanning her written words: something customary for the country. Putting thought into the idea made him suspect something suspicious. Further negativity made him ponder the notion that Hermione was pretending to be thick about not knowing where they had taken him...or was she really that naive? Shrugging it off as none of his business, he resumed reading the letter while taking a sip of his beer.

Once in awhile, I get the opportunity to experience things alone, actually I suppose I do more often if I think about it. Sometimes, when we're in some foreign countries I'm told to stay in the hotel room for my own safety. The team travels with only so much Wizard Protection and there aren't always enough to go around for the wives to venture off alone. Speaking of the wives, what a bunch of harpies! They're always sussing about where their husbands are and quite frankly, it's a bit annoying. Why can't these women just trust in the profession their husbands are involved in? I know my life has turned upside down in these last four years and I can honestly tell you that it hasn't been what I thought

it would be, but I'm enjoying it nonetheless.

Write soon,

Hermione

Dear Hermione,

Destiny is a funny thing: you never know what it has in store for you. A piece of me secretly aches for you, your mind, actually...

Stopping in mid thought, Sirius put down his quill for a minute to run his hand through his hair. He stared at the words scribbled on the parchment in front of him. He wondered if they flowed a little too honestly, fearing they would be drastically misunderstood. He meant well with his train of thought, but at the moment, he was drawing a blank on how to convey his message properly.

Next to him, his black owl hooted quietly from her perch over his desk, wondering if she was going to be getting another letter that evening. It was evident that she was hungry and was just being polite on whether or not to take off for the evening, rather than wait and see if she was to set off on a journey worthwhile of a good meal.

"Hungry girl?" he asked, lightly petting her proud chest with his forefinger. "Go ahead, Morgan. I won't be finished with this until tomorrow. I have to prepare my words, or otherwise she'll get the wrong impression."

The beautiful black owl hooted again and took off out the window that Sirius kept open by the kitchen sink for her. As he watched her soar out the window with such ease, her wings fully expanded as they glided through the night air, Sirius pondered what it was like on Hermione's end as his owl perched near her when she wrote her own letters to him. Was Morgan as relaxed around Hermione as she was with Sirius, when she waited patiently for a letter to deliver? Or, did Morgan sense Sirius's eagerness to receive a letter from the young woman that she pecked at the witch's hand whenever she stilled for a moment in thought. Was it possible his own owl knew that he shouldn't be thinking about her as much as he had?

His mind began to drift off to their first visit at Christmas: she walking into his old childhood home, looking the way she did, and smiling warmly once she saw him after years of absence. It was hard to not notice her everywhere: in the Daily Prophet of the Social Section, on the sports page about Viktor, in Witch's Weekly (that he only perused while standing at the news agent, he hadn't actually purchased a copy...well, not after the last one, anyway), or hearing a tidbit about her on the Wizard Wireless Network. His ears seemed to pique at anything with the name "Hermione". Which is why he wondered, as he rolled his quill between his fingers sitting in his kitchen with the marble counter tops, by himself, sipping a beer, what it was like where she wrote her letters to him.

0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0o0

Down a long street that was lined with gorgeous expensive two-story homes, complete with the newest models of both sports cards and SUV's, was a cul-de-sac that almost disguised the last house. The spacing was vast between the homes, enough for a magical household to be disguised amongst muggle suburbia.

The blue house on the end, hidden behind tall manicured trees, had just come alive on the second level. Lights from the master bedroom illuminated the room, where the rest of the house remained asleep. The living portraits slumbered, barely opening an eye for the instant occupants that Apparrated onto the staircase without any warning while practically stomping up the stairs like a herd of elephants. The sluggish forms moved their way upwards, too tired to magic anything for themselves.

Viktor Krum tossed his over-sized gym bag on the floor of his walk-in closet. He pulled out his wand and cast a spell for the clothes inside to remove themselves and fly downstairs to the laundry, while his shoes and personal effects positioned themselves within his bedroom. Hermione was just coming up the stairs, pulling her own bag as she ducked just in time not to get whipped in the face by a pair of flying Quidditch robes that smelled like they'd been played in for three days straight and left to air in a cow pasture.

"Whoa!" she squeaked, ducking low, almost to the carpet.

"I am sorry, Hermione," Viktor said with a smirk. He walked over laid a kiss on her cheek as a friendly apology on his way to his wardrobe.

"I could have done those in the morning, Viktor," Hermione said, tossing her own bag on the floor of her own walk-in closet on the other side of the bedroom. She would unpack her bag later.

Viktor took off his shirt, flexing his upper body in the mirror and assessing the dark bruises he had acquired over his chest and arms. Turning left, then right, he noticed a rather dark bruise that appeared to be in the very beginning stages of something very ugly. Before he could even mention anything about it, Hermione was already pulling out a small container and walking behind him. She opened the lid and plunged her fingers into the creamy potion and began to gently rub it into the offensive coloring. Silent in their nightly ritual, the two smiled to one another from their reflection in their mirror. When she was done, she left a chaste kiss on his cheek as Viktor nodded his thanks.

Viktor walked over to the left side of the bed and began to remove the rest of his clothing, leaving them in a crumpled pile on the floor. Hermione just stood where he had left her still holding the small container in her hands, lost in the silence that their words were becoming fewer and fewer. He hadn't said too much to her on their horrendous journey home as they connected through five different Floo Networks, due to the security breech, other than commenting on a last play by the team's seeker and how his wife just signed a modeling contract for a popular wizard diet drink. She watched the way his body moved, lean and strong, battered and bruised and a thick air about him that was still very hard to penetrate at times.

"Viktor," she called over her shoulders as she placed the small container back on the dresser. He was just tying a knot into his linen sleep pants when he glanced her way. Her lips curved into a slight smile, "I love you."

He smiled back, looping one lace through the other and chuckled, "You alright, Hermione?"

She kept her calm complacent exterior and let her shoulders shrug, "I just wanted you to know."

Shaking his head, as if amused with her random declaration, he walked over and gently held her at her upper arms, "I love you, too. You're a vonderful vife on this journey, Hermione. Thank you."

Her slight smile widened as she glanced down to the floor in a bashful manner. She loved it when she had his attention all to herself, because it was so rare when he'd just look at her and speak to her. So many times she was nothing more than a face in the crowd and she found that she needed to force little moments like these in order for him to give her his attention. There was a lot to compete for in his world, including the spot as partner. Though she never voiced it, often times she couldn't help but feel slightly taken for granted.

After giving her arms an affectionate squeeze, he released her to go about her nightly routine. He looked worn out, beaten and exhausted to say the least. His body moved very slowly, seeking the soft cottony comforts of their bedding, cocooning himself within its folds and hoping to keep the world at bay.

Hermione stood where he left her, her arms to her sides, her head slightly tilted as she watched her very tired husband still beneath their covers like a bear going into hibernation. Soon he would be slumbering and the journey to travel home, including connecting through five different Floo Networks, would be a mention of only yesterday and no more.

The beginning snores or rather just the heaviest of breathing from the mound in the bed announced his slumbering and with a slow turn away, Hermione surrendered herself to the heavenly sanctuary of their bathroom. Complete with whirlpool tub, three shower heads from various levels, soft plush towels, an assortment of creams and bathing lotions, Hermione felt ease when she heard the catch of the door closing behind her. She took in a deep breath and composed herself before her mirror.

Brown eyes met her with their perfectly manicured eyebrows and residual tint on the lashes. Turning left, then right, she surveyed her skin and all her troubled spots, assessing for any blemishes she may have acquired on her journey. Satisfied to see that there were none to the naked eye, she looked at herself again and when she was looking for the youthful side of the girl she once knew, all she saw staring back at her was a tired accomplished woman on the arm of a quidditch player.

That's all.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder to the door; she assumed that Viktor was already well into his deep slumber and wouldn't be counting the minutes she was in there. But, just in case, she reached for the faucet handle and gave it a proper pull, letting the water flow freely and mask the silence of the bathroom she stood in. The lack of quiet was echoing off the walls and with the confidence of solitude, she made her way to the tub and turned to sit on its edge.

With a deep breath, calming herself, she slid her hand into her back pocket and retrieved a letter she had folded several times into a tiny square. She unfolded it and let her eyes fall on the elegant handwriting she had gotten used to over the past few months. With the elaborate slant of the hand to the elegant "S" in the swirl, there was no doubt that she had fallen in love with his penmanship. The S's were, by far, the prettiest of his letters and with careful concentration of the sway of the end line, one could almost actually hear the pronunciation of it. Like in a name.

In less than two months, she and Sirius became truly committed pen pals. They talked about simple things: about books, about Quidditch, about Harry, about travels, and none of it had been boring. She had few letters arrive from Harry, but it was a letter from the beautiful raven colored owl that she looked forward to the most these days. Sirius seemed to have a way with elaborating great detail about a point he was trying to make, or an argument he was trying to win, but none of it ever got as heated as it did that last night at Grimmauld Place. Since then, things were lighter, friendlier and much kinder than they ever had been, even since she was a teenager. They often got around to discussing another meet up for tea, or another dinner at Harry's, but it was evident that no matter how they worded it, it all seemed that really the two just wanted to meet up together.

As the faucet continued to run, filling the sink a bit before the drain allowed it to empty; there wasn't even a second thought in the world about not wasting water for the cause. The purpose for the running faucet only served that to drain out the silence and allow Hermione her few private moments to herself, as herself, without wondering if anyone was judging her.

As she held his faded parchment in her hands, still studying his handwriting and preparing to actually read it, something inside of her stirred. It wasn't any one thing she could put her finger on, but by finishing his letters and reaching the end of it brought on a kind of sadness. It was a foreboding feeling of an end, wondering when the next letter would arrive, should he even decide to write. She immediately perked up in knowing that all she had to do to get another one was to send one off as well and that seemed to hold a thrill of its own.

Her imagination sometimes ran away from her, picturing Sirius sitting alone in his sitting room, his beautiful raven colored owl nearby, just writing letters to her as if it were his only hobby. But, that was farfetched. Too many times did Harry tell her about what he and Sirius had consumed at the bar, or what Sirius was doing to his house, or what Sirius had done with Harry's kids that made him just so...so...

Hermione paused.

She couldn't make Sirius into anything. She couldn't. She was married and in Bulgaria. She was a Quidditch wife with responsibilities and a life that needed constant attention. She didn't have time to daydream about what her best friend's godfather was doing to his motorcycle, or where he was going, or what his personal stand on the Ministry's latest political move involving the muggle Prime Minister.

Still, as she clutched onto the letter from Sirius, she couldn't help but wonder if she was admitting to a small crush revived from her fifteen year old self? It was harmless, it meant nothing and it would progress to absolute zilch. Still, through the eyes of this twenty-five year old, sometimes it was fun to think of the what-if's.

Dear Hermione,

Destiny is a funny thing: you never know what it has in store for you. A piece of me secretly aches for you, your mind, actually...and how it's sometimes wasted on trivial Quidditch stuff. You should be exerting your intellect and wit, in the event that Viktor no longer has what it takes to be the great player he is this day. It would be important for you to have something to fall back on, because five years from now, I don't want you to tell me 'Sirius, you were right', because I will NEVER LET YOU FORGET THAT!

The buzz around here is on fire. Literally, flaming red! Molly has been beyond difficult whenever I go over to Grimmauld Place, as it has lately become: Wedding Central. Beware, if you are sitting still longer than fifteen seconds, she will appear through the Floo and recruit you to tie ribbons on doilies or something of that nature. How she knows people are at Grimmauld is beyond me, but I can tell Ginny is none too happy about it. We're considering switching Poker Night over to Remus's, just until the wedding is over. Molly doesn't feel like she can just Floo over there anytime she wants. So, we've declared that house the Safe House. We're there on Thursdays, incase you're ever in the mood to lose a few galleons.

Speak soon,

Sirius

Hermione smiled to herself, her eyes half closing as she studied the way the capital "S" was scribbled in his name. So fluid, so stylish, it was apparent that he had taken very dedicated lessons as a child. No questioning that his mother made sure that her eldest pureblood son would have the best preparations before entering Hogwarts to become Slytherin, or so she had hoped.

Hermione folded the letter back up and slid it into her back pocket. Turning the water off in the sink, she resumed her normal nightly routine of various creams and potions for a pretty appearance in the morning.