Disclaimer: Viktor and Hermione, all spellbooks and various parchments, as well as setting and squids and sailing ships are the property of JK Rowling.

A Quiet Place to Study

The small promontory afforded a quiet, secluded place to study. The smooth and ancient grey granite extended in a narrow outcrop nearly twenty meters into the lake, and was cut off from a view of the castle by a low rise of rowan trees, their scarlet foliage still brilliant in the lateness of the season. The only thing wizard-made in view was the Durmstrang ship. It had a ghostly, abandoned look about it, as if it had only recently been resurrected from the deep. The sails were of old mildewy canvas, and the beams were worm-eaten and worn. Hermione wondered, not for the first time, how it would be to live on such a ship. The ship, the headmaster, and the students themselves gave off the aura of threadbare affluence, worn by time and hard luck. Communism clearly had taken its toll on the old glory of the ancient and noble school. And, possibly, other unwholesome philosophies had contributed to its decay. Without admitting Muggleborns, there would be no new money to refresh the coffers. Hermione herself would not be welcome in its halls, nor to any of its students, no matter how persistently annoying they happened to be.

Not that she was interested in the ship. In fact, the very reason she had been driven out there in the first place was due to Viktor Krum's persistently annoying habit of haunting the library. Viktor Krum, possibly as famous as Harry, who carried hordes of fangirls and fanboys with him wherever he trod, no matter that it was supposed to be quiet in the library, her only retreat from the stress of the tournament. Viktor Krum, who she noticed (not that she cared) was striding purposefully out onto the deck. Which was ironic, since if he was on the ship, the library would be quiet rather than reminding her of the exotic bird gardens in Hampshire. But it was too late to go back now. By the time she gathered all of her things, he might have changed his mind.

Was he wearing just a pair of swim trunks? She shivered in automatic sympathy, even though she was dressed warmly in her woolens. He must be coming out for a breath of air after working out. Even from where she was, she could admire the fine, graceful lines of his lithely-muscled body. Not that that sort of thing was important to her.

Was he looking in her direction? Not possible. No.

And then, to her complete astonishment, he executed a graceful and powerful swan dive from the deck of the ship and disappeared underneath the surface of the lake.

It was a few moments before she collected herself enough to remember why she had come out here in the first place. Right. The heavy book on the duration and state of permanence of various types of Transfiguration fell open to her gentle and familiar touch, and she picked up the thread of her reading. Transfiguration of furniture… never meant to be permanent… could suddenly dump the unsuspecting witch or wizard out on the rug… not to be used to impress because of the instability of… much research into the transient nature…

…how long had he been under the water, anyway? Even a champion swimmer has to come up for air. And to be certain, he was strong, and fit, but it had been five minutes, at least. Wasn't there something about his having had a head cold? Surely swimming in the freezing lake was not the healthiest thing… She scanned the smooth cold surface of the lake, but could not see even a ripple. Could he have come up on the other side of the ship?

Of course. That was it. She shook herself, attempting to retrain her normally steady concentration, chiding herself for letting him distract her all the way out here. Where was she? Right. Transient furniture transfiguration. All things had a natural form, and sought to hold that natural form at all costs. Transfiguration was a test of wills against the natural form of the object Transfigured, so the strength of will of the wizard or witch was very important…

… had to have been ten minutes, at least. She stood up, unable to help herself, full with concern. And as she looked down into the water just beyond her rock, she saw a dark, sleek shape glide by, just under the surface, and above, the sharp curve of a dorsal fin.

Panic struck a burning bloom in her breast. Were there sharks in the water? Did Viktor know? Had he been hurt? His name burst out of her, a sharp cry that echoed on the surface, and she clutched at her wand, without any idea of how to help, or even if help was necessary. He was capable. He was a champion. He was eighteen. She was being foolish.

And then, where the dark shape had been, the water erupted in a white spray and she found herself pointing her wand at the boy who had inspired her panic. Relief and chagrin flooded through her. She had been foolish.

Viktor held up his large hands in alarm, his dark eyes wide. "Please! I am not meaning… I am.. not hurt you," he finished, flustered, his English altogether betraying him. Blushing, she lowered her wand and exhaled shakily. His lower lip curled slightly upwards in an ironic half-smile, and he lowered his hands, treading water effortlessly.

"Please, I think you should get out of the water." Her voice was strong enough to reach him, but still heavy with concern. He raised his heavy eyebrows in surprise, but at her pleading look, he nodded. But instead of heading back to the ship, he stroked easily over to the rock and hauled himself out of the water, his pale skin shedding droplets tinged with gold in the weak winter sun. His shoulders and chest were leanly muscled, without a hint of tan. He smoothed his short dark hair back with a large, calloused hand and shook himself like a dog, spraying her with icy droplets. "Oh!" she exclaimed, and stepped back a bit, stumbling on a loose rock. He lunged to catch her elbow and steady her, and then color flooded his cheeks.

"I am sorry. I haff frightened you and gotten you vet all at vonce." His voice was rough around the edges, low and gentle. And he was still holding her elbow. And she was staring at his face, for Merlin's sake. She dropped her eyes forcefully to the rough stone rather than stare at him.

"No, it's alright. Really. I thought that you were… I saw a shark, or I thought I did, because I don't think sharks live in this lake, although it's so deep you never know, and you had been under for so long, and I just…" As her voice faded, her gaze lifted to his hand still holding her elbow, and she felt her ears flood with heat. He dropped his hand, belatedly, and abruptly cleared his throat.

"You… you saw shark?" He glanced nervously at the calm water, and then back at her, his eyes filled with concern. His eyes—she had never noticed in the deep shadows of the library how dark his eyes were. As her breathing slowed down, she nodded with more steadiness.

"Yes, or something very like. I'm glad you're alright. It was just a few meters out, just there." She pointed, but he was looking at her hand rather than out where she directed. The expression on his face was a mixture of concern and something that looked suspiciously like he had been caught at something he shouldn't have been doing. He straightened then, a good half a foot taller than she, and she was reminded forcefully that he was eighteen, and how much difference a few years made. And that he was wearing only swim trunks. She could smell the lake on him, he was so close, and something else, like leather and warm silk.

"You vere vorried about me?" His voice was surprisingly gentle, his strong accent merely a melody for his words. She blushed furiously, her eyes actually closing for a moment as she breathed in the scent of him, attempting to gather her thoughts, and then the realization that he was deliberately changing the subject hit her with the force of a blow.

A weight of comprehension sunk heavily into the pit of her stomach, feeling something like shame, and something like accusation. "You were never in any danger, were you?" It was his turn to blush and look at the ground. "It was you all along. Why you never surfaced in all that time. You didn't need to. You can breathe underwater." Her voice was growing steadily louder, and he shot her a desperate, pleading look. Her voice lowered to a harsh whisper. "You're an Animagus. I did see a shark." He looked up at her then, his eyes deeply worried. Deep brown, like molten bittersweet chocolate. How could she have not noticed? Outrage warred with the growing awareness that she was attracted to him. Stupid, stupid Hermione. He was eighteen. He was beautiful. He was beautiful. An unregistered Animagus. How many were there? And dammit, why wasn't she one?

"You vill tell… you vill tell Dumbledore?" Misery leached out into his voice. Gods help her, when he was so clearly out of her league, and with his advanced knowledge of the Dark Arts he could reduce her to a squid snack before she could reach her wand, not to mention being able to overpower her physically, and here they were, completely private… but he was beseeching, not threatening her. His eyes full of resigned wretchedness, his posture utterly dejected. And as quickly as the truth had come to her, she realized that she would be keeping his secret.

"No. I won't tell Dumbledore. It's not like you're a werewolf or anything." Her voice was so quiet she could barely hear it herself. But he was so close to her, he could not have missed it. He stood for a moment in the same position, not daring to believe.

"Or Harry Potter, or red-haired boyfriend?"

She barked a small laugh, startled. "He's not my boyfriend. You are asking for a lot, if you want me to keep this from them." He studied her, hope hovering in his expression. She thought about it. If Ron knew, then he would have power over her, as she had power over Viktor now. Would Ron betray her? She thought about his stormy temper, and the jealous looks he gave her when she stayed too long for his liking in the library. He had been acting so funny lately. She shook her head slowly. "I can see that it would not be wise to tell Ron. So you have my word, then. Your secret is safe."

"You haff boyfriend?"

"No!" she snapped. "Are we getting off topic here?"

"Important to know this about beautiful girl who knows my secret." He smiled hesitantly at her, his bottom lip curving slightly upwards.

She lost the thread of the conversation and just stood for a moment. Viktor Krum had called her beautiful? A swell of anger took her by surprise. "I'm not susceptible to flattery. If you ask me to keep your secret, I will, but don't try to sweet talk me." She turned to gather her books, but felt his large hand on her shoulder. He spoke before she even turned to look at him.

"I am sorry. I am not accustomed to girl who thinks I am flatterer. I am no such thing. All my life, no one think anything of me until Qviddich, and now no one thinks anything else of me." Hermione looked down at her shoes, and then up at him, taking in the hint of loneliness in his striking features.

"I am sorry, too. I am not accustomed to a boy who thinks I am beautiful."

Outrage creased his features. "Vat? You joke, surely. Vith red-hair boy so… how say… ? Besotted vith you? He does not tell you this?"

Hermione smiled uncertainly. "Ron doesn't like me like that." Viktor, his hand still on her shoulder, rocked back to look at her at arm's length, a bemused smile on his lips. He looked suddenly so adorable that she grinned up at him.

"Here I haff heard you are smartest witch in class. How could you then not see something so obvious? Whole school knows. Ron knows. You are not interest in him, then?" This last was said with such obvious indifference that she expected him to whistle innocently, too. She relaxed for the first time in this strange encounter.

"Ron's not my type. But I'm sure you're mistaken. We're just friends." Viktor nodded, his eyebrows waggling suggestively. She giggled, and then threw a hand over her mouth, horrified that such a sound had escaped from her. His hand lifted from her shoulder to ease her hand away from her mouth.

"Do not hide laugh, please. Too rare to keep hidden." His lips closed, his dark eyes on her, and the silence stretched between them until she had to say something, anything to break it, before she panicked and ran.

"I will keep your secret on one condition."

"Name it." He didn't even pause.

"When I go to the library, I am there to study. When you are there, it is totally impossible!"

He laughed, totally disarming her. "Am I so distracting to you?"

"No!" But she was smiling as she said it. " I don't mind you—it's your fan club! Giggle giggle twitter twitter—I can't study. Please. Have mercy."

"Alright. I vill stay clear of library. If you vill do one thing for me, I vill not need to go."

"You vill… will not need to go? What do you mean?"

He took a breath. "Hermy-own."

"Hermione"

He grimaced. "Is impossible to say. Her-mi-ninny?"

"Good enough. Is that what you needed?"

"No. Impatient, beautiful girl."

"What then?"

"Vill you go to ball vith me?"

She stood, completely gobsmacked. "What?"

"Impatient, beautiful, hard-of-hearing girl."

"You want to ask me to the Yule Ball?"

"I had hope. Did I not say correctly?" He shifted nervously, finally looking cold after having been out in the weather and the freezing water for almost half an hour.

"Yes. You did. And yes, I'll go with you. And I'll keep your secret," she finished shyly. He clenched his fists in triumph.

"You vill not regret." And then he leaned close and kissed her cheek. "You make me very happy, Her-mi-ninny." And then, with a long last look at her that made her flush to her toes, he slipped into the water, a sleek white shape under the surface. She stood for a long time, bemused, her hand touching the warmth that his lips had marked her with, until she saw him climbing back onto the ship, the outline of a dorsal fin receding quickly between his shoulder blades.

Now she had two secrets, and at least one of them was going to burst out of her. She gathered her books, essay forgotten, and ran all the way back to the castle to find Ginny.