DISCLAIMER: I do not own these characters. They are all owned by J. K. Rowling, the only creative control I have is the plot.

Author's Note: This story is AU; there is no war.

Don't You

One-Shot

Viktor's POV

I had been more than surprised when I received the announcement – and then invitation – by owl to Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour's wedding. I hadn't spoken to anyone from Hogwarts in years, much less even knew Bill, and Fleur and I may have participated in the Triwizard Tournament together, but apart from that we were complete strangers. Still, I wrote back saying that I would be honored to attend, and looked forward to seeing them all again, even if it would be my first time meeting Bill.

I walked into the tent that had been set up just outside the Weasley's home; a crooked and very tall house, which they called 'The Burrow'.

I walked around, a smile on my face, though I barley even recognized one person there. I was just about ready to find myself a glass of wine and take a seat at one of the empty tables when I felt a hand on my shoulder. "Viktor?" the voice asked softly, and my heart fluttered. I hadn't heard her voice in years, and she had stopped writing just over six months ago. I thought she had forgotten about me, leaving me to her younger years… But I would never forget her, never could forget her. She was the single most wonderful person I had ever met, and I had thought about her every day since first meeting her. No. First seeing her.

I turned around, a now genuine smile on my face, and looked down to see her smiling up at me. I never thought it would have been possible, but the beauty that now radiated from her put to shame any amount she had had before. "Hermione," I smiled, now able to say her name properly (after several months and hours of practicing). I couldn't say anything but her name, I couldn't breathe, the sight of her paralyzed me to my spot.

"It is so good to see you!" she told me happily, reaching up to her tiptoes and wrapping her arms around me. I returned her hug, pulling her close and breathing in her scent of wildflowers and cinnamon. "How have you been?" she asked as we parted; though she kept her hands around mine. If it weren't for her beauty alone, the dress she wore made her even more so: bright red and decorated in frills and lace. The shoes she wore were T-straps in the same shade of red. Her hair was half up, half down. I couldn't tear my eyes away from her. "Viktor?" she asked, pulling me from my thoughts.

"Yes?" I asked her, forcing my eyes away from her body to meet hers.

She laughed softly, her cheeks turning a light pink. "I asked how you have been," she told me.

"Good," I told her. "I have missed your letters," I ran my thumbs over the tops of her hands.

"I–" she looked completely confused.

She didn't have the chance to say anything as he came up beside us, fuming. "Hermione," the redhead spat angrily, cutting her off. "Come dance with me. Now," he ripped at her arm, pulling her hands from mine.

"Ouch," I heard her protest. "Ron, you're hurting me."

"Sorry," he said as he forced her into a dancing position, pulling her harshly against him. "You know what, no, actually I am not sorry," he told her, and I watched as she tried to pull herself free from him. "I never liked him, and I forbid you to speak to him."

"You forbid me?" she asked him. Now I understood why she had stopped writing. I made my way towards them.

"Ron, please, please let me go," she begged softly, trying not to cause a scene. "You can't forbid me to do anything – you can't control me, it isn't as if we are dating. I am not your property. You've been drinking, Ron, you're not yourself."

"Why don't you listen to the lady?" I said as I stepped up to them, to see Hermione's face contorted in pain and Ron forcing her against him. "She seems to want to leave."

"And why don't you butt out of other people's business," he spat back. I looked to the side, chuckling and running my tongue over my lips. I looked back at him, and down to Hermione; her eyes in pain, pleading. "Go find somebody else to annoy, why don't you? I'm trying to dance with my girlfriend," he told me, pulling her tighter against him still. She moaned in pain as he squeezed his hard around her wrist.

"Ron," she pleaded with him. "I am not your girlfriend. Let me go," she told him. He laughed, pressing himself closer against her.

"Let her go, now," I told him one last time.

"Fuck. Off," he told me. I had had enough. I took my hand and wrapped it around his shoulder, squeezing with all my Quidditch-playing muscles. I then ripped his hand from Hermione and pulled it quickly behind his back, twisting it backwards; up towards his opposite shoulder. He hollered in pain and dropped to his knees. "You're gonna break my arm!" he yelled.

"No," I told him matter-of-factly. "But I will," I warned him. "If I ever see you touch her, ever see you hurt her, again," I shoved him to the ground, releasing him as he rolled onto his back, clutching his arm to his chest. The small circle that had formed around us cleared the way as I walked past them, ignoring their praise of what I had done. A few of them patted at my shoulder and back, and I shrugged them off.

It took only a moment to find her. Her back was facing me as she stood behind the table holding the wedding cake and wine and different desserts, her hands visible on her upper arms as if she were hugging herself. Her head was bent down, hanging in the air.

"I am so sorry," I told her, and was caught off guard and she spun around, throwing her arms around me. I hugged her back once more, closing my eyes and holding her tightly. She pulled her head away from my shoulder, and kissed me full on the mouth. I ran my hands along her back and sides, kissing her back deeply as she opened her mouth for me… I had been in love with her for years, and as many times as I had imagined this moment, never had it been so good.

She slowly dropped back down to her feet, keeping her hands on my shoulders as she looked up at me. I cupped my hand over her cheek, and smiled back down at her.

"I love you," she told me quickly, mascara staining her cheeks. "I never stopped writing you, Viktor, I–"

"Shh," I placed my index finger over her lips. "I know… I thought you had forgotten about me, but once I saw him," I looked back towards the moaning redhead, still on the ground. "I knew. Hermione… Hermione. I love you," and I pulled her into my arms, kissing her passionately on the lips. Her fingers were tangled in my hair. "I have always loved you, Hermione, you."

She smiled, and I took her hands into mine, and led her slowly to the dance floor.

Two years later, we were dancing again, to our own song. Hermione dressed in white, and I the luckiest man to ever live.

The end.