A Saga of Memory (Viktor Krum Fanfiction)

Chapter 4

The next few days nonchalantly eroded away. The frequented flashbacks didn’t cease. The intimate moments at night and in private grew progressively daring and intense, as Viktor and Hermione fell swiftly down this spiral of rapturing love. Each time he would caress her, her heart would leap just a little further and her pupils would dilate just a little wider. These days held a notion Hermione and Viktor had never encountered, intoxication atmosphere of sentiment drew them in closer and closer as a star into a black hole. Hermione sank in, day by day, hour by hour, into where the reception of his contact meant everything to her, drawing in each breath of life for the notion that Viktor was there to regard it. Each passing moment, with each passing flashback, she fell even further into this love spell.

Today was the final day before she would return home. She opened her eyes, in the soft hotel bed, relieved to her new gut instinct that Viktor was there, asleep right beside her. She was in his arms, his hard torso pressed against her back. It was now safe to continue living. Gazing up at the ceiling, past the moving portraits and out the small, high wiondow, she saw the dawning sun make its way from the East, creeping up on the earth outside. Not that it mattered, thought Hermione subconsciously, with her mind saturated from the most recent flashback. She shut her eyes and fell back asleep, her heart and lungs not daring to give away as the rise of fall of Viktor’s chest was there to guide them.

               Later that morning, Viktor was up. They kept their distance and silence for a bit.

“Tomorrow I have to leave,” Hermione said at last as he was out of the bathroom. “Today is the 7th day.”

            So for the rest of that day, all was given to watching the Quidditch parade, writing and sending letters to her friends in England, and watched him pay Quidditch. It was a rather passive day, for the somewhat dreading moment she would have to leave him was approaching.

               This past week had been astronomical, from the long hours at the top of the bridge to the clean, contained moments his mother offered her hot, strong tea or tobacco. Hermione had purchased some great books and artifacts, and learned some interesting things about the wizarding history in the Middle East and Eastern Europe. It made off well for a week away. One of Viktor’s friends made a rude comment to her about her being from a Muggle family, however. But only one, as his others could only speak so much English.

               Yet something within her had been attacked and thrown off balance by this enamouring sentiment. It felt like a bewitchment, a spell that was growing stronger. Hermione had on her clean clothes, gray jeans and a sweater, and occupied her mind with a Hogwarts History. She looked at her wizarding watch. It was 18:05 (6:05 PM). That’s less than 12 hours away from when I have to leave for the train, she thought rather glumly. However, before she could feel too bad,

               It was another beautiful summer’s day. The entrance hall was crowded with students ready to leave Hogwarts for the summer holidays. The cool, refreshing air and revitalizing sunlight filled the students with ambitious energy, like a dose of powerful vitamins. She stood out there with Harry and Ron.

The Beauxbatons carriage hasn’t left yet, Hermione thought, as she heard a familiar, musical voice laden with French accent call out, “Harry!” This voice was accompanied by rapid, gentle footsteps along the pavement. Fleur Delacour, the Beauxbatons champion of this past year’s Triwizard Tournament. As she rambled on to Harry, Hermione gazed off in the distance, somewhat expectant of that one man, Viktor Krum. Surely he would want to say goodbye? She glanced over at the Durmstrang ship, towering, cold and menacing, intact upon the Hogwarts waters.

She turned back to Ron and Harry when she heard Fleur say something about improving her rough, pidgin English. Ron, as always, was acting extra ludicrous around this girl. “It’s very good already,” he stuttered. Hermione rolled her eyes as Fleur ran back to the other Beauxbatons girls.