A/N: For some of you, this is going to look very familiar. The first few chapters were taken from Of Choice, Chance, and Fate, which was becoming a pain to string along... I had a new idea for SOME of the plot points and split both stories up into a different one. While many of the elements have stayed the same, I have done some editing. This chapter has remained mostly intact... feel free to read through it again, if you like. I've made Dumbly a little more sinister in this version.

Warnings: This chapter is Viktor/Hermione and it is rated M FOR A REASON. There is also a case of mind-rape (although, not really, IMO, I feel that some might be uncomfortable with it so here is your warning). Please let me know what you think.

I will understand criticism: I used to be a hard-core HGSS shipper, but lately I've broadened my horizons and have been enjoying some Dramione, as well as HGVK. Also, I know some of you might think that our heroine is too young for sexual encounters, but she is a mature witch, and older than you think she is… dun dun dun.

Plus, we all love us some Sevmione action, so bear with me, it's not hard to accept it. I have purposefully envisioned an experienced Hermione for this fiction, and it will make sense as it goes on. Most of all, just enjoy!

Also, here is my playlist for this lovely chapter: A Little More Time - Zox, Party Song - Keaton Henson, Little Hands - Keaton Henson, Chin Up - Copeland, Send My Love (To Your New Lover) - Sofia Karlberg (Adele Cover), Unsteady - X Ambassadors (this was a main part of the Prologue, too), Over You - Graffiti6, Say Something - A Great Big World & Christina Aguilera, New Born - Muse (for the encounter between Snape and Hermione, both times).

·

Chapter One

·

"Give me just a little more time,
maybe we will find the words that will change our minds."

·

Across the library, hidden by a section on the Goblin Rebellions, Magical Weaponry, and the Art of Curse-Breaking, a pair of girls sent Hermione Granger seething looks. She ignored them, choosing instead to hold her head high.

Of course, he was waiting for her—Viktor Krum, her now familiar dark companion—or else the Krummies wouldn't be lurking around every corner to haunt her.

It said a lot that she was willing to endure someone like Viktor (who brought an army of admirers wherever he went) disturb her sanctuary. But Hermione found she liked him immensely. Her first impressions of him had been wrong: he was much more than a Quidditch star. No, he was capable of deep thoughts and inspired conversations. He was kind and determined and very passionate.

But that was exactly the problem. Could she let herself enjoy him? What about her… other obligations?

"I wish for you to use it… to protect Harry."

Hermione stared at the time turner, whose chain was wrapped elegantly around Dumbledore's long, elegant fingers.

"When… when should I use it? How will I know?"

"I trust your judgement. But should I have a need for you to use it, I will call upon you. I trust that you will do what I ask of you—to protect Harry?"

She chewed her lip, but nodded—she would help him, because it would help Harry. It was her duty as his friend to keep him from delving too deep into trouble, and the time turner could be invaluable so that task.

"You will know when it should be used, Miss Granger—and how often or not it will be necessary. Imagine how useful it could be… with it, you have spared a man's life. How many more could you save?"

Gods, she had saved Sirius Black… the murderer—except not really. She'd saved an innocent man. But even then, at fifteen—was she nearing sixteen?—she knew that as much as it was a blessing, it was also a burden to keep the turner. Not only would she likely abuse it for personal means (which were encouraged by the headmaster, as she was to prepare herself to protect Harry, no matter the cost), she would be tasked with using it to turn back events that should not have happened in the first place.

If she failed to right them, would it be someone's life in her hands?

"Will you take it, my dear?"

"To protect Harry?"

"To protect Harry, then," he nodded, and dropped the familiar weight into her cupped hands.

She'd yet to use the turner for anything as important as saving the life of Sirius Black. During the summer, she had used it quite often, to practice healing spells and potions with Madam Pomfrey, as well as advanced transfiguration with McGonagall, a little defense with Remus, and some Charms work under the headmaster himself. She had a niggling feeling that the man intended for her to use it for something good (or perhaps just meddlesome) in the near future, although for now it merely served her own personal means: all for the purpose of protecting Harry, in the future, of course.

If the storm that was brewing was any indication, she would need to be ready for much darker times.

Feeling the eyes of two seventh year Hufflepuffs drilling daggers into the back of her head, she removed her hand from the golden chain and cleared her throat. She did not look up to greet the young man as she arrived to their—her,she corrected—spot.

Out of habit, she spoke while unpacking her books, "I have too much work today to bother with you."

He took her hand with him before she could object, pulled her into the seat beside him, taking the books from her. He bowed low and kissed the back of her palm after stacking them neatly in front of her, lingering there as his eyes lifted to meet her, "Then I vill sit in utter silence and vatch you vhen you are not looking."

She could feel the venom from meters away, from the pair. They'd seen the kiss.

Feeling humiliated, she said, "I didn't mean—"

He sat back, pulling a book of his own. Still, when she returned to her work, she could feel his eyes upon her. They were heavier than all the rest.

She fumed for a long time, but found that when he looked at her, all her anger died away. How was it that he could just… dothat? It wasn't fair! Hermione frowned at herself, resentful, but could not deny that the weight of eyes left her with a string of butterflies, far more welcoming than the ones the Hufflepuffs had left.

Viktor kept his promise and did not make a single peep even as her quill made loud scratching noises against her parchment. It made her happy that he knew what she needed without even asking for it: and what she needed at this moment was silence, to think about what it was that he was doing to her, and what exactly she was getting herself into.

·

"The… Yule Ball?"

"Yes."

"Me?"

"Yes, Herm-oh-neen."

"As in…"

"Mila—I vant you to be my sreshta—date, yes?"

"Er, Viktor… you've had so many offers, already. Why me? I mean, I don't—that's to say, what will everyone think?"

She trailed off, absorbed in her own thought. Of course, she no longer felt annoyed that he mispronounced her name. He made her feel wanted—like she had a voice worthy of being heard. Like someone knew her—reallyknew her. He could sit in silence while she worked, and when she wanted to be bothered, he would listen to her go on and on about why she was right and he was wrong. And instead of stomping away when she disagreed, he would merely stand his own ground and argue his opinion.

With Viktor, there was no pressure for her to change her mind… for her to give into his opinions, at all. There was no ultimatum for them to agree: only a mutual acceptance that they remain respectful of each other's opinions.

Unfortunately, she had not told him that it made all the difference to her, yet—and, oh, he was walking away from her—

She grabbed his arm, "Yes!"

She could either go with him, or settle for Ron or Harry. And why should she have to settle for anyone? She deserved a break from life, didn't she?

"Yes?"

He said it warily, gazing down at her in surprise, as if he had been preparing himself for a different answer. She felt terribly for having led him to doubt her, but she didn't want to lead him on.

His eyes drifted towards where he hand remained, cuffing his muscular bicep. She did not touch him often, as she insisted that he refrain from taking such liberties with her after the two Hufflepuffs had seen her and then later cornered her assaulting her about her intentions—of course, she'd told them to stuff it, but their attention was worrisome.

He'd seemed embarrassed at first to realize he had overstepped his bounds and caused her trouble. But… since then, she had waged an internal battle between keeping to her own rules. The urge to touch him was so tempting. He had a nice body, beneath all those Durmstrang layers.

Her cheeks were pink, she could feel it, but she leaned forward despite her nervousness and embraced him—a chaste hug couldn't hurt, could it? Viktor would take it as a sign and that would be enough for him to understand. And the Bulgarian seeker, despite the language barriers between them, always seemed to understand.

When she breathed in his scent, she knew that she wanted much more from him, despite knowing also that it was probably mistake. It was so frightening, for her, to realize it, but she was not a little girl anymore and she'd known these changes would overcome her eventually.

When she spoke, it came out too breathy for her liking, "Yes… a shreshtra."

His lips quirked upward, "Now, I know how you veel."

She giggled, then clapped a hand over her mouth in horror.

He beamed at her. She glared, cleared her throat and stormed away.

·

"Herm-oh-ninny—vhat are you doing, mila?"

Hermione stood in the magically enlarged cabin, trembling slightly, mostly because it was cold outside and not because he had lifted his wand towards her in the dark. She hadn't even bothered with a cloak, and instead had strutted out over the snow with a few warming charms and the thin dress she'd worn for the ball.

Merlin, the ball… it had been a disaster—Ron had embarrassed her, completely—in front of Parvati, in front of Harry, in front of everyone. Viktor had endured her temper throughout most of the night, but near the end she had been so inconsolable, that she'd just shoved him away to be on her own. Viktor had let her go: he'd known… known that she needed to be alone. He respected her needs, as usual, which infuriated her. It made her want him even more, which was the exact opposite of what she needed.

It had hurt him to push him away, but he'd let her go. He respected her independence, her choices, unlike the boy whom she had thought was her friend. Unlike Ron, even Harry, Viktor could just… see her for who she was and that was the reason why she was standing in front of him, with "mature" intentions as her mother would call them.

She refused to be humiliated again, and so she rounded her shoulders and stepped further into his cabin.

Luckily, she'd taught herself spells to hide her tears after her first year. Of course, she'd only allowed herself a small timeframe to feel miserable. But while she had wallowed, even Snape, who not two months before had teased her for her extended teeth, had sent her a pitying glance.

He'd caught her weeping, curled on the stairwell beneath a poorly cast Disillusionment Charm, and being who he was, he'd sneered at the sight. The private professor had tried to pretend as if he hadn't seen her afterward, but she'd seen the sheen of understanding on his face, before the sneer had marred his visage in that familiar way. It was pity, an emotion she'd thought him incapable of… but, then again, how many times had he, too, felt like she had: unloved, lonely, ugly? Misunderstood? Outcast?

In that moment, she vowed to be kinder to him. Even if he barked at her and called her names, made her cry for days after the harsh words he had expelled at her expense, she would try to forgive him. He knew very little kindness, or so she suspected, considering his dark nature and poor hygiene. He must be terribly lonely, if he knew exactly how she felt. And even if he wasn't, at least, for a single moment, she'd seen how human he could be.

"Good night, Professor?" She called out to him as he stalked down the stairwell toward the dungeons. It was spoken like a question—had anyone asked him how much he enjoyed the ball? Probably not. They all knew how much he detested merriment of any kind… he had likely had a more miserable time than she had.

Still, rather than pretend to have not seen or heard her, he turned his head, ever so slightly, and muttered, "Hardly… for either of us, it would seem, Miss Granger."

No, it hadn't been a good night—

But she wasn't going to let Ronald Weasley define the Yule Ball for her, or be subject to further pitying glances by the potions master or the sixth year Ravenclaw who had tripped over her an hour before. She was her own person, with her own heart, her own mind, and her own needs. She shouldn't need to be stepped on to realize that there was one person she knew of who could understand that, or that she should hold onto them for as long as she could.

Hence, why she had broken onto the ship, and he was now bundled up in front of her.

Viktor, despite being wide awake, rubbed the sleep from his face, "How did you in, mila?"

"Magic," she answered, proud of how husky her voice could be when she wanted it to.

In the darkness, she could see Viktor's expression, usually so stoic, waver slightly into something else, "The vards—"

"I think your mermaid is off her game."

She'd been enchanted to frighten away intruders… but Hermione was rather talented with magic. She knew more than even she let on, thanks to Dumbledore, and had bypassed the wards easily with a few flicks of her wand in the wooden siren's direction.

"Karkaroff—"

"Don't worry about the wards or Karkaroff, Viktor. I'm here now and I'm not going unless you send me away."

He sat up more and it was then that she noticed he was bare-chested, despite the chill that seemed to surround them. Of course, the blanket he had was lined with fur and likely charmed, and they followed his lap, protecting her from the rest of his nakedness. Something in her—something primal—responded when she noted the v of his torso tickled downward into the fluffy brown of some animal's hide. A patch of black hair disappeared south and she wondered… wondered if, beneath all the mass fur, if he was happy to see her.

"Do you want me to go?"

His voice was thick and brusque when he said, "No."

Her skin felt flush and hot and she knew that she was ready for something more. The tiny kisses they had shared beneath the tapestry, a few days after he'd asked her to the ball had steadily grown heavier as the fateful night had approached. They were moving quickly—far more quickly than normal or socially acceptable. But Hermione was not a normal person and neither was he. They were like two old souls trapped in young bodies.

Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat, nervousness eating away at her intestines, "I need…"

When she could not continue, he spoke very softly, "Vut do you need, mila?"

"I need you to…" She stepped closer to him, dropping down on the bed beside him, before she pressed her lips boldly to his. He did not touch her with his hands—no, but his lips caressed hers and his mouth opened to accept her tongue, as hers had once when he'd stolen her away from the library to sneak around Hogsmeade, "to…"

When he pulled away, Viktor pressed his cheek into her neck, "Mila, do you need me to make you vorget them?"

She felt like a complete arsehole. She felt like an idiot. Of course, he would see right through her and know she was trying to prove something to Ronald, to Harry, to the girls that doubted her beauty and charm.

And now she'd offended him.

"That's not—"

" you like me to make you veel vhat I veel when I look at you?"

He trailed kisses over her neck as he said it, and slid a rough hand over her other shoulder to slide the strap of her dress down… down… she shivered from the cold air that exposed her soft, rounded flesh, "Oh... yes. Yes, please."

His mouth captured her, his tongue hot and tantalizing over her frozen skin. She disappeared from her body for a moment, her mind aflame with excitement, overwhelming happiness and nervousness. Eventually, he slid away, and turned her so that she was pinned beneath him.

Dark eyes hovered above hers, concerned and stoic, "Yes?"

He didn't wait for her answer. He was already touching her skin—touching her in places no one else had, with hands and mouth and—

She arched beneath him, slung both arms and legs around him.

As seriously as she could manage in such a precarious position, she assured him, breath hot against his ear, "What do you think the answer is to your question?"

He pulled away from her for a moment, looking at her quite seriously. Panic settled somewhere deep in her belly—don't stop.

Finally, he whispered, sexily in that rough, angry brogue of his, his thumb running down the length of her inner thigh, "So, you have been thinking about this vor a long time, then?"

She swatted him with the ball of her foot, pulling him as close to her as possible, "Now is not the time for you to become talkative."

He growled and captured her mouth again, with fervor and passion she had not expected from anyone, let alone him.

·

Hermione found herself sneaking across the grounds before dawn, smiling like an idiot. The time turner hung around her neck, slightly warm from her having used it once during the night, and a second time when she had realized she had overslept.

Another girl might have given up after the first time, knowing how uncomfortable it would have been. But she had arrived prepared—equipped with one of the most wonderful inventive potions designed for the purpose of easing a witch's first time, allowing her to heal rapidly and effectively. She'd purchased it months ago… even then, a part of her had known that he would be the one she would choose.

Granted, it had likely been a stupid idea to use the turner with him, but… she trusted Viktor. She trusted him with her secrets and her life. He truly cared about her and if he thought it would cause her harm, he would not say a word.

Although the others would think their relationship an insult to Harry, his competitor, she knew he wouldn't mind—if he knew how happy Viktor made her and he was her friend, he would understand. She would tell him, tomorrow—explain to him how she felt. Ron would never understand, but Harry could withstand the news.

Not every minute detail, of course, but… she wanted to tell him about Viktor. She wanted to tell everyone… well, maybe not Rita Skeeter, or—

"Miss Granger."

She froze instantly at the sound of hisvoice. Professor Dumbledore stood to the left of her, waiting patiently for her to gather her wits and face him.

When she eventually squared her shoulders, she tried for innocence, "Good morning, Professor—"

"It is quite early, for students to be awake, my dear—or, in your case, quite late?"

She bowed her head slightly, but set her jaw, refusing to feel guilty for something that was no one's business but hers and Viktor's. She was older than she looked, and her parents had raised her to be responsible. She'd performed the necessary charms and brewed a potion to boot. Potions, she corrected—some for safety… others for pleasure. A blush bloomed over her cheeks.

Merlin, why did he have to appear now, of all times? Had he followed her?

Of course he had.

The gift of the time turner had come with a price, of course. Dumbledore never let her forget that.

"I needn't remind you that there are plots afoot that have put our mutual friend in grave danger."

Dread filled her, "Is Harry—"

"Harry is fine for now. I was, actually, speaking for your safety, as well, Miss Granger. The castle and especially the grounds are not places to be roamed in the dead of night by students or friends. Given the range of dispositions our guests, it is wise that we are more careful than ever of who we trust with our secrets, especially when there is darkness to surround their true intentions."

His eyes dropped to the glitter of gold around her neck. She made sure to wrap her scarf tighter around it, hiding it from view.

He continued, "We have made promises to look after Mr. Potter. I trust you will think on that when you make future personal decisions."

Her blood boiled, but she had no voice to confront him, "While your relationship with Viktor Krum is thus far… innocent, for lack of a better term—" she felt her face flush beet red, "—it is my advice that you do not let your heart slip further away from you than it already has. Your choices are your own, my dear, but it is my hope that you will make good ones rather than rash."

Hermione wanted to tell him that he couldn't control her life and that to define her by a sole purpose was insulting and assumptive. She'd done everything he had asked of her, so far: helped Harry through the First Task—had turned back time in order to ensure his victory over the horntail when it proved too powerful for him, and had used her own magic to help his broom summoning. She'd risked expulsion by tampering with the games, she had!

And she wanted very much to tell him that if he was so inclined that he could happily take the time turner back. But if she gave it to him, she couldn't protect Harry like she wanted; that was what she had agreed to—and she had taken it, not because Dumbledore asked it of her, but because she knew it was the right thing to do.

He knew very well it would keep her from speaking against him. Hence, why he had asked it of her in the first place and now was using it against her.

"I understand, sir," she said with a tight, clipped voice, feeling slightly suffocated when he turned his twinkling blue gaze upon her again.

"Of course. Do enjoy the sunrise, my dear. I find that looking forward is the best way to start the day."

·

It was foolhardy—stubborn—but she continued to see Viktor, although arguably more secretively than before. He wanted them to be public, but accepted her desire for privacy. She wondered if he knew about her duties… she never asked. They carried on as normally to the observer, but behind closed doors, they were building fires—great, roaring, crackling fires that left her tingling from her head to her toes.

She felt her heart flutter at the memories. It was so very foolish of her, and selfish… of course, Dumbledore was right, and she was being an idiot. But she couldn't stay away.

He was like a drug, Viktor was: her first taste of desire.

"I do not like that one."

She looked up from her book. He was glaring across the library—at Draco, who was holding court with his cronies, making a show of bullying one of the younger Slytherins to fetch him the books he needed for the same essay she was working on for Arithmancy.

She played dumb, "Which one?"

"The vone who likes to hear his own voice at every meal."

"Draco?" Hermione snorted, "I don't particularly care for him either."

"Reason vhy I do not like him more. I do not like the vay he looks at you."

"Viktor—it's nothing. You understand, don't you? I'm…"

"Vŭzkhititelen?"

She rolled her eyes, although she could feel a blush tinging her cheeks, "I don't think Draco shares the sentiment."

"Then he is blind and stupid."

"It's not his fault… He's been raised to hate me because I'm a Muggleborn. You know that."

"Vhat does it matter, anyvay?"

They'd avoided the subject. He didn't care that she was the daughter of Muggles, and that was all she needed to know, "I thought Durmstrang doesn't accept—"

"Vizards like you do not attend Durmstrang, historically because of prejudice. Today, however, the majority choose to remain in… grazhdanin—Muggle—schools in Bulgaria which also teach magic, as vell as Muggle schooling, so they do not have to choose which vorld they vould like to live in, but experience both. Other vizards may choose this path if they so desire—I have not because it is tradition in my family to attend. Out of obligation to my grandvather's memory, I go to Durmstrang."

She blinked in surprise… she hadn't known that. That sounded… well, amazing, "Well, you know why he doesn't like me and why others might not—I'm sure he's voiced his distaste. But I could care less what Draco Malfoy thinks, Viktor. It's your opinion that matters… and what you don't seem to understand is that I can take care of myself if need be."

She could feel her temper rising. Of course, he was a man—he would want to protect her honor, just like Ron would. That was just the thing she needed… another haphazard duel in the corridors where she would end up getting struck with a heinous jinx. Although, there was a silver-lining to that story: she couldn't stop smiling now that her teeth were no longer jutting over her lip unhandsomely.

"It is the opposite, mila.I see you are very capable of taking care ov yourselv—more than any vitch in Britain… or Bulgaria."

He was so stalwart, calm, constant—a rock. No, a mountain unfazed by the waging storm that was her life.

Once more, she was flooded with… feelings for him. With a heavy sigh, she tried to suppress some of them—remembering her promise to Albus Dumbledore. When she met his gaze, however, her insides melted and all those thoughts went with them.

"Vill you allow me to teach you some tricks, mila?"

She looked around wildly, wondering if anyone had heard him, a devilish expression on her face, "What kind of tricks, Viktor?"

His dark eyes twinkled mischievously, "Vhile I heartily approve of your assumptions, I vas thinking of magic."

She broke her own rule and teased him, "It is a sort of magic, isn't it, when you do that thing with your—"

His lips twitched, but he interrupted her with a stern expression, "Hermy-own—boys like him do not play by the rules."

"Who says I do?"

He smirked slightly, "Coming from the vitch who covers her zadnik when she sneaks out of my bed?"

"Viktor!"

He laughed, causing a few of his admirers to glare at her from across the library. She shot them seething glances and leaned towards him possessively, yet making certain not to touch him. The last thing she needed was that Skeeter woman posting an article about her.

"Let me teach you the proper hexes to deal vith boys like him."

"Fine, but maybe you'll find I can teach you a few things, too."

"I have no doubt, mila."

·

The Second Task had scared her.

Not the dangerousness of it, but the fact that Viktor's feelings for her went to the depth that they did. She was precious enough to him that he would miss her if she was gone… they all knew what the egg had implied: he would miss her if she died. And there was no denying that the task could have gone to great lengths to find someone else close to him. Gabrielle was evidence enough of that.

Out of Bulgaria and Britain, all of Europe, the world, Viktor Krum would miss her the most.

Somehow, that made what they were doing realer. It scared her. And he could sense it in her. She felt guilt flood her belly when she saw him waiting for her and turned in the other direction to avoid him. She needed more time… she did not make decisions lightly, and to stay with him longer would be a big decision for her. While his had been made, she still had the chance to save the both of them from a tragic end.

It was not a good feeling, thinking about breaking off from, nor was it good thinking about staying. Wasn't it leading him on: how could she put him through this, knowing that she could not give him all of herself?

She knew he cared about her, deeply. She cared about him, too. But while the feelings she felt were growing stronger, she was also willfully suppressing them—knowing, someday, she would see him leave again, or worse, Dumbledore would ask her to let him go. At the end of the year, what would they even be to each other? He would graduate, and continue on with a glorious quidditch career. And she would be stuck here, at Hogwarts, at Harry's side. Where she was needed.

It was easier to let him go, a little each day… wasn't it?

"Hi," she whispered when she sat down.

It wasn't easier. And she was weak.

Dark eyes looked at her, mildly surprised. She could tell he was unsettled—he was hurt. He had missed her.

"Viktor—"

"You do not need to say vhat you are thinking, mila. I know."

"But—"

"I understand."

"You don't—"

"I enjoy vhat we have."

"You do?"

"It is enough to be near you, now, in this moment. The rest… the rest is desired, but not needed by me."

"I… I'm sorry."

"Do not be sorry. Sorry is for regrets. I do not regret you."

"Me either."

"Good."

·

"You do not look him in the eye."

"Professor Snape?"

"Yes."

"Vhy not?"

"I… I don't know."

"Perhaps you should think about vhy you do not do this, mila.You have good instincts, I think."

She glanced up from her book, puzzled. He was already ignoring her, lost in the depths of the book. Her gaze trailed across the title: Zashtita na Uma.

Translated, it was Protecting the Mind… Occlumency?

From then on, whenever she looked at Professor Snape, who'd shared with her such a mundane moment that night of the Yule Ball, she wondered… but surely, he wouldn't use such an ability—a historically dark ability—on students?

Had he ever used it on her? How would she know?

Viktor began to teach her the basics of Occlumency, although it proved to be a difficult magic. She learned more about him than she had about anyone before… and he, her.

·

"Off to let the Bulgarian bugger you again, Granger?"

Hermione stopped in the corridor. She had, actually, been headed off to meet Viktor—not for what Draco implied, but for something much more enjoyable: dueling practice.

"Is he going to use his broomstick this time, or his wand?"

Viciously, she turned on her heel. There was a trio of Slytherins at his beck and call: Blaise, Gregory, Victor. Across from them was a pair of Ravenclaws who watched them with trepidation. One of them, however, hardly hid the smirk that was on her lips. In her hands was the latest issue of the Daily Prophet: complete with a picture of Hermione (outdated, with her old teeth) gazing wantonly at something. In reality, she'd been looking at a book that had been checked out for two months—which was clutched by of one Viktor Krum at the very beginning of the term, when he'd been working up the courage to speak to her. When the girl saw her looking at the picture, she sniggered.

Immediately, Hermione decided she would not endure such insults publicly. With another glance, she assured that there were no teachers present. Of course, she didn't waste time waiting for Draco to wield his wand, but merely flicked hers towards him, almost lazily.

"Calvorio."

When Viktor leaned over to sneak a kiss on her cheek the next day—in private, of course, knowing her to remain as chaste as possible where they could be caught by watchful eyes—he grinned. He'd seen Draco that morning, as had the rest of the Great Hall.

He looked like a very naked ferret, as she had intended.

"Bald is not a good look for him."

"Who?"

"Ah… otrichane.Just as I taught you."

"I have no idea what you are talking about, Viktor."

"No? Remind me never to anger you. You… you could get avay vith murder, I think."

"I'll keep it in mind."

Would it ever come to that, she wondered?

·

Hermione looked at her hands carefully. They were still touching his cheek, as she had been kissing him when he asked. He always asked her these things when she was least expecting them—likely hoping to catch her with her guard down.

She removed her fingers, but he snatched them and returned them with a smug grunt. He liked it when she held his face in both of her hands.

Her eyes searched his, heart breaking inside of her, "Visit… visit you?"

"You do not have to answer me immediately."

"Viktor, I don't know—"

"You do not make decisions lightly, mila.I know this."

She sat up from where they were lying—a makeshift bed which they had transfigured together in an abandoned classroom. It was entirely inappropriate, but she had been practicing anti-animagus wards, as well as a few detection charms (not repulsion, as that would attract one hook-nosed professor). Not only would the anti-animagus ward alert her to an approaching McGonagall, but she suspected it would help her capture a certain bug-eyed reporter, too. If they had to, she would use the turner to escape detention or the snap of a photographer… and then she would lie in wait to finally bottle the bitch.

It would be the best use of the time turner, yet. Well, second-best.

Viktor's eyes were closed when she spoke again. She stroked his chest, kissed his neck, tenderly… as she did not usually do for him. His face, so harsh, softened, allowing her to see how much doing so affected him.

"I do care about you," she blurted suddenly, wanting very much to memorize his face forever.

Dark eyes opened, and he met her gaze with one that was too powerful for her to describe, "I have never velt the vay I veel about you vor anyone else, mila."

She dropped down to press her face in his neck and wondered—what if?

What if?

·

"You'll be careful?"

"I vill."

She thought about it for a moment, "Did your grandmother foresee you winning the tournament?"

He knew she was rooting for Harry, for Hogwarts, and his voice was slightly irritated when he answered, "She saw vhat she vanted to see."

She'd been a seer, or claimed to be. She foresaw he would be a great athlete, and would go on to win the World Cup.

She frowned at the tension in his arms. Something was off, but she couldn't place it.

Looking away from her, he asked, "What do you think, mila?"

Honestly, she spoke and her voice wavered, "I—I have a bad feeling."

His features softened and he looked at her, then nodded, "Then it is best I have vaith in your instincts. I vill look out vor your vriend, too, Hermy-own."

Breathlessly, she whispered, "Oh, Viktor."

His only reply was a squeeze of her shoulder with a steady hand.

Her heart swelled that he would care enough to sacrifice his win, just to make sure Harry was safe. Gently—lovingly—the Bulgarian champion brushed the tear that fell onto her cheek with his lips, then rubbed his fingers in an x motion over his heart, "Vor good luck."

She couldn't bear watching him leave her after that, so she turned around and walked away before he could kiss her lips. If he had, she feared she would crumble.

·

Hermione found herself standing immediately. She'd seen—well, actually she'd felt it. Harry! Harry and Cedric… they were gone, completely. She'd slipped Harry a tracking device, something of her own design. When the harmless plastic ring she wore on her hand grew cold, she knew he was far away from her. Knowing that that could mean nothing good, she jumped to her feet, intent to disappear to use the time turner to warn or prevent him.

It could not be a coincidence that Viktor had been dragged out from the field, too. Somebody was tampering with the games, just as she had suspected from the beginning, otherwise she would not have needed to use the turner so often to protect Harry.

And, just as before, if she had to, she would stop them. She had time on her side, after all.

"Hermione, what's wrong?" Ginny asked, her brown eyes snapping to her friend's.

She can sense it too.

"Probably off to go console her boyfriend now that he's lost the tournament. Ask him how it feels that Harry's won, will you, 'Mione?"

"Viktor is notmy—" She spun on her heel to face away from the scowling redhead, "You know what? Don't speak to me, Ronald Weasley. You're a complete git—sore winning is worse, if you ask me, you—you toe rag!"

"Oh, come on, 'Mione! Don't be such a nag. Go on! Give Vicky my love! Kiss it better, right? Just like the rest of his Krummies, you are."

She ignored him—he was worried about Harry, too, and was taking it out on her. Their conversation didn't matter. She would make it so that it never happened.

Hermione had nearly escaped the box, sneaking behind Flitwick who had been assigned to maintain the order of their section. Her arm was snatched as she did so and she found herself manhandled back inside the perimeter by a stony-faced Professor Snape.

"Professor," she spun around to face him with a plea, "Sir, I have to—"

"Miss Granger, you will return to your box."

She gathered breath through her nose, then expelled it through her mouth, "Please, sir. You don't understand—I can fix this—"

He ignored her, pushing her back into the box forcefully. She winced at the grip he held on her arm, so tight she feared he was going to leave a bruise.

Darkly, he released her, "Miss Granger, all students have been instructed to remain in their seats. As entitled as you might be, you are a student and will abide by the same rules. Sit."

Ginny glanced at her from the side, glaring at the back of Snape's head and pulling out her wand. Hermione shook her head, then looked across the crowd towards where the headmaster waited, surrounded by whispering, worried-faced adults.

She met his blue, twinkling eyes, gesturing towards the time turner which he knew was hidden beneath her shirt, but he didn't seem to want to meet her gaze, nor comprehend how desperately she needed him to let her turn back. Angrily, she shouted, "Headmaster!"

It was drowned out in the crowd, but surely he had been looking for her, knowing what had happened to Harry.

Angrily, she turned to Snape, feeling betrayed and helpless. When Viktor had been hurt, she'd stayed put. She hadn't grabbed the time turner—and she had known he would be watching her had anything happened to the Durmstrang champion. As much as she had wanted to reach for it, she hadn't, knowing that would be the sacrifice necessary to keep her mind on Harry. But as soon as the Boy-Who-Lived disappeared, she had reached for it, without question—had jumped from her seat to use it to protect him.

"Sit," the potions master seethed. He loathed repeating himself, but… but he could feel the bad aura, too. She knew he could.

She ignored his demand and, one last time, looked over towards the headmaster. Dumbledore had ceased his conversation with Amos Diggory and was looking towards her. When he met her eyes, he made a curt turn of his head—no.

"Fuck," she muttered.

Why not?

"Thirty points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for language," Snape growled, "Sit down and stay put, or it will be fifty more."

She didn't really hear what he said: she was too busy glaring at the headmaster, willing him to look her way and see the fury that was brewing in her gut. What, exactly, was the point of giving it to her, if she wouldn't be allowed to use it to save the boy she… she could have loved, and even the one he had asked her to protect?

Numbly, after she realized the headmaster was willfully ignoring her, she glanced towards a glaring Professor Snape. Hermione noticed immediately that his skin was sheened with sweat. He was frowning, more than usual, and seemed to be favoring his right side. She remembered what Harry had said earlier that year—that he had seen his mark, the night of the Yule Ball.

He was a Death Eater, or had been one, at least. There was no denying that.

The same night that she had thought he looked rather human, Harry had seen him as a devil. Which was it, then?

When her eyes flashed to his left arm, out of curiosity and contemplation, he sneered at her.

"Fifty points, Granger!"

The collective groan was enough to alert her that if they hadn't already been losing the House Cup, they were now.

"Please, Professor, you don't understand… I…" He must have seen the despair in her eyes, because he did not take even more points when she stood stubbornly higher. Snape merely glared down at her with glittering, blacker than ever eyes… they were darker than Viktor's, so black they were devoid of emotion and thought.

She peered into the abyss defiantly, thinking…

"You do not look into his eyes… vhy?"

Snape smirked down at her. She glared back at him, wondering… willing him to dare and enter her mind, if only to make him understand—if he saw it, would he let her go to Harry? Would that allow her to see his loyalty to Dumbledore or… was he a servant of Voldemort?

She needed to know and so she invited him into her thoughts. Unfortunately, he took the bait she offered, slipping easily into her own thoughts—more easily than she could have ever suspected.

"You will know when it should be used, Miss Granger—and how often or not it will be necessary. Imagine how useful it could be… with it, you have spared a man's life. How many more could you save?"

She willed him to leave her head, then, as he had received the message, but he might not have heard her. Instead of abiding by her wishes or perhaps not having heard them, he pushed away from the headmaster, using that memory to find other threads to pluck from instead.

The first was her memory of first year, when she'd lit his robes on fire.

"Incendio!"

She didn't plea for him to leave her mind. She pushed at him, determined to push him out without asking, wanting to prove that she could do—that she could best him. He seemed to push harder into her memories—she could feel him pressing into her mind, almost as if he was pressing a finger into her temple… or maybe a knife, as it burned like hell.

She was sobbing into her knees on the staircase, and Snape was looming in front of her. In his eyes, she saw something kindred: loneliness.

"Good night, Professor Snape?"

"Hardly… for either of us, it would seem, Miss Granger."

She tried to close her eyes, but she couldn't. Instead, she pushed at him, trying to will him away with magic, and when that failed, with pure will and determination.

"Mila, may I kiss you… here?"

She smiled, shook her head yes.

"Oh, yes—yes, yes… yes!"

No… those thoughts led to similar ones, more intimate ones, and Snape shuffled through them ruthlessly. They were on the banks of the lake, in the moonlight, covered in Harry's cloak which she had nicked.

Viktor loomed over her, kissed her, "Obicham te."

She knew what it meant—she did not say it back.

He entered her anyways, burying himself inside of her to the hilt and groaning a kiss against her flesh as he did so. Hermione could feel him—every movement was bliss and she clung to him desperately, wishing to keep him with her always and yet knowing she would never be able to have him truly.

With trembling fingers, she took his face in her hands and kissed him.

"More."

She wanted more time, more opportunities. She wouldn't ever get them.

GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!

"You could get avay vith murder, I think."

She could hear her own thoughts, wondering if she would ever have to kill to protect Harry, and knowing, deep inside, that she would. Dumbledore would no doubt ask it of her. Such was the price of the time turner…

NO!

"It is enough to be near you, now, in this moment."

It wasn't, and that wasn't fair.

"Stop it!" She willed verbally.

She was not going to let him have a run of her mind. She was not going to let him see her thoughts, to experience hermemories! But she wanted to get him out of her mind, on her own, rather than allow him to leave of his own volition.

"Filthy mudblood!"

"Freak!"

"Hogarth, she's… god, how could we have made a witch?"

She could feel him being pulled away. The others were looking at her now—she could feel their eyes upon her. They didn't matter—all that mattered was her and Snape and his magic. She refused to let him leave! Hermione wanted to prove herself capable and hooked her fingers into his magic.

"We have made promises to look after Mr. Potter. I trust you will think on that when you make future personal decisions. While your relationship with Viktor Krum is thus far… innocent, for lack of a better term, it is my advice that you do not let your heart slip further away from you than it already has. Your choices are your own, my dear, but it is my hope that you will make good ones rather than rash."

She couldn't love him. She couldn't, if she wanted to focus on protecting Harry.

Seeing it through Snape's eyes made her realize that… and something in her broke in her chest. Feeling it again, she could feel the wound gape open more, spilling all of the emotions she'd tried to lock away with it. But it at least gave her the strength to drive him out.

Snape's spell was wavering. She could beat him.

Her teeth were still growing in her mouth. Snape loomed in front of her, his face cold, but his lips turned upwards in a smile he spared for no one unless he wanted them to feel fear and hatred. She whimpered when the bones jutted beneath the edges of her fingers—

"I see no difference."

GET OUT AND STAY OUT!

Snape snapped out of her mind, pushed by her mental expulsion, just as she felt her self-pity tearing her from the inside out. He did not look at her when he strode away and she glared at him as he did so.

"Hermione—Hermione, you're bleeding!"

Ginny scooted closer, pulling out a handkerchief and pressing it to Hermione's upper lip—the blood was flowing so freely from her nose, it had already soaked her shirt.

"What a git—bloody greasy bat. Did he hex you?"

You don't even know the half of it, Ron.

"No, I…" Hermione sought for an answer, "I was just so angry."

"So angry your nose bled," Ginny shook her head, "Yeah, sounds about right."

Hermione didn't laugh, and neither did the redhead.

"Oi, Granger! You cost us eighty points!"

"SHUT IT, LEE!"

Hermione could tell Ginny was on edge. The furious glare she sent towards Jordan rivaled her mother's.

"I'm okay, Gin," she assured, removing the hanky from her neck and clearing the mess with magic, "Thank you."

"Are you, really?" she allowed Hermione to clean her scarf of the blood and accepted a shake of her head as adequate response. She was not as foolish as Ron to believe this to have been a mere cause of frustration, and her eyes trailed after the black figure of the potions master as he approached the teacher's box, "Something is terribly wrong, isn't it?"

Her eyes trailed from Snape's back to the headmaster, anger flowing through her veins when he met her gaze. The dark-haired man glanced up towards her and frowned, before turning back to speak with the man. Dumbledore's eyes did not leave her as they spoke.

"Yes… something is terribly wrong."

·

"Miss Granger."

"Professor," she said in surprise. She had tried to sneak away, several times. First, Snape had been there… then there had been chaos, and even though she had tried, she could not get away. They'd forced her to the hospital wing, having seen the blood on her shirt… and when they (Mr. Weasley and a hollow-eyed Harry) were all asleep, she'd planned to go back—to turn and fix it all.

The longer she waited, however, the harder it would be to change the past—

"It's too late, Miss Granger."

She stood in front of him, just outside the hospital wing, in an alcove where she had planned to slip away without alerting or waking anyone. He'd been waiting for her to emerge, of course.

Cursing, she realized she should have just done it from her hospital bed. Bugger anyone who woke and saw her, or anyone who was there when she arrived. She wouldn't have ended up back there if she could—

"Sir—I can… I can go back ten hours, at most—to save Cedric, I would need even less. Please—"

"There is nothing that can be done, Miss Granger."

"Headmaster… headmaster, why?"

He was quiet. For the first time, he looked truly old, burdened, tired.

She stood in front of him: just a girl who wanted desperately to save someone's life, as she had Sirius Black's.

"If you were to go back, then I fear that Mad-Eye Moody would be killed in the process, or Harry himself. The old mantra that Death collects all dues is quite true, in my experience, and I fear what might happen if you prevent this event. Harry might not escape, if... well. Even if you could prevent him from taking the portkey, there is no guarantee that Crouch would not take him there himself. I fear that Mr. Diggory's death is a necessary sacrifice. He is the least useful casuality."

"A necessary…least useful?"

Dumbledore met her gaze: it was no longer the headmaster who looked at her, but a man who was going to lead a war. Even if she could spare a life, as he had said she could not so long ago, he was worried that the outcome would be worse than it had been. He was weighing options: letting Death take the favors of young lives when they were innocent of crime or sin.

It came down to this: Mad-Eye Moody was an asset. Cedric Diggory was not. Harry's life was precious for some reason, more precious than his, or hers, or perhaps anyone's. So would she face the same fate as the Hufflepuff champion if she proved herself a similar nuisance?

"You're going to try again."

"What? No, I'm—"

She hissed as she felt him swipe at the crude wall she built around her mind.

"I will say this once and only once, Miss Granger. Should you disobey me, I will not hesitate to see that you find yourself at a loss to remember the time turner, Harry Potter, this school, magic at all... Should you turn back time, now, and undo Diggory's death, you will no sooner find yourself a nameless, ordinary Muggle."

She lost all thought. Was he... threatening her?

"That is how severe this situation is. And if you had trusted me, we would not have needed to have this conversation. Now, do I need to confiscate the device from you, or will you comply with my orders?"

She opened her mouth… closed it. She shook her head. She would comply.

"Smart girl. Now, get some sleep, Miss Granger. You will find soon enough that it will escape your grasp in times such as these."

·

Viktor was standing in front of her, stark naked, stretching languidly. Although he was not classically handsome, there was a masculinity to him that made her feel… gooey, especially when his muscles rippled like that.

He turned and collapsed onto her, groaning as he did so, kissing her nipples one after the other then lifting himself hover over her, heart to heart. For a moment, he lingered so that as much of his skin could touch hers. His legs tangled with hers, just as his fingers locked in the curls that framed her face to tilt her head back. He whispered her name as clearly as he could manage before delving his tongue against the pulse of her neck, slowly drifting downward.

After losing his mind—after being imperiused—he'd been desperate for her touch, had kissed her as if it could drive every demon from his door. Although it was a terrible idea to fall so deeply into him after what had happened, she let him do it. It would be the last time, and they were both very much aware of the fact.

To think about what would happen hurt her physically in her heart, but she couldn't deny him anything he asked when he looked so lost. So she let him touch her with all the passion that he needed to make himself feel less hollow, let him whisper in her ear that he loved her with words she knew how to translate, even knowing that she could not spare him the same sentiment.

It was not that she was unfeeling. She kissed him back with passion, driven with the same need that he showed her. She turned twice—three times, even though they had to abandon their location each instance to avoid overlapping—allowing them to explore each other's bodies hungrily, greedily, giving them as much time as she could before she would shatter completely.

In a way, she was giving him a small part of her—forfeiting it for him to keep with a small, desperate hope that he could return it to her someday.

Maybe, just maybe, if she survived this, whatever it was, she could find him again. But for now, she was choosing her memories, her magic, over him. If she were a better person, a braver one, perhaps she would make a different choice...

But she had to think of Harry. Her desires didn't matter anymore.

"Velikolepen," he murmured against her skin, touching his lips to the softest, most tender part of her, "Any vun that does not think so is blind."

"Viktor," she moaned desperately. He continued, making certain she knew… knew how beautiful she was to him.

He pulled away from her core to press his mouth into hers—she could taste herself on his lips. It made tears gather in her eyes, knowing this would be the last time she would have with him.

The last time she would feel beautiful.

As much as she wanted that piece of her back someday, it was easy to accept that they would not find one another again. A part of her was aware, deep down, that if she did not go to him that summer that what they had would be too damaged to ever be the same.

The magic would be taken from them, just as her innocence had been taken when Dumbledore denied her the opportunity to go back and save Cedric and spare Harry's guilt.

"Mila…do not cry."

"I… Viktor, I lo—"

"No, mila. It is enough that you are near me, now—in this moment. Do not hurt over me and do not lie to spare me pain. I am stronger than I look, no?"

In her heart, she had known, from the very beginning that they would not last forever. It didn't make it hurt any less when she told him she would not be coming to Bulgaria. But this—this was not what she had been prepared to hear from him…

Had he pushed her, would she have crumbled into him?

"I c-can't visit you this summer," she managed to whimper, her voice cracking again. She was going to add, my parents won't allow it,but the lie tasted too horrible. He didn't want lies and the truth would not hurt him as terribly as she thought it would.

Even if she told him why, he would understand and she didn't want him to understand. She wanted him to fight her, to make her fight for him. But he wouldn't, because he loved her too much to change her.

Instead of fighting, he merely smiled, and said, "I know this, Hermy-own."

Because he did. He knew her. And she didn't love him, not yet. But she could have, given the chance. She would have, had he allowed her, or if she had allowed herself to, or if Dumbledore hadn't spoiled him for her.

It wasn't enough, this almost love, and it wasn't fair. But she had made a promise and she would keep it. Harry needed her more than she needed Viktor.

It wouldn't serve either of them to cry more over what they could not—would not—change. So Hermione merely wrapped herself around him and let them both escape in that moment, crying his name when he touched her rather than cursing her heart for betraying her. The young witch moaned for him to make her feel beautiful, to make her remember him forever, but she did not turn again to keep him with her longer than she deserved. This time was the last and they parted with a single embrace.

There was no good-bye, just a soft, chaste kiss and a look between them: he knew her, she knew him, but they were no long them.

Only after, when she'd returned to her dorm and crumpled into the sheets with tears and sobs, did she acknowledge that it wasn't enough, not really, to have a single moment in time with someone when you cared about them, when you could seethem and they could see you. Nor, she realized, would it ever be enough when it was someone you loved.

She only hoped she would never be cursed with such feelings again.