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It is half past ten when a familiar owl flies through her window. Hermione knows as she unfurls the parchment, even before reading the contents, that the decision was neither one Viktor made lightly, nor one with which he is settled.
She glances at the clock and listens to the wireless playing in the other room. Ron has been shouting about it with Harry and Ginny for the past half an hour. She’s fairly certain they’ll wake the children at this rate, but as she runs her palms across the front of her trousers, she decides she doesn’t care enough to hush them.
He must have sent it immediately, she realizes, and though she cares little for the sport, her heart aches for him. Grabbing her quill, she jots a response and watches the owl fly away.
Hermione pauses to reflect for a moment. She believes she ought to feel guilty for not telling Ron, but she doesn’t. He wouldn’t understand. He never has before.
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“You came.”
She whirls around and laughs, the hood of her cloak falling backwards. “I told you I would.”
“I vos unsure if you could get away.” A smile plays at the corner of his mouth and then disappears as he lifts the hood back over her head. She notices then how covered he is in the heat of the day. He is hiding, she realizes, and he wants to keep her hidden, as well.
“You are important to me, Viktor. I am your friend.”
“You are very busy.”
“Never too busy for you.”
He seems to be chewing on his tongue for a moment before he responds. “It is much too varm here. Let us make our vay inside where it is cooler.”
Hermione nods and follows him through the street, across a park and into an alleyway before they turn into a small, empty cafe.
“Viktor.” The barman nods and the doors close behind them as Viktor inclines his head.
“He is a friend from childhood.” Viktor murmurs as he pulls Hermione’s chair out for her.
“They are hounding you more than usual, I imagine?” Hermione queries.
“I did not go home last night. There vill be no peace for some time now.”
“I heard the announcement just before your owl arrived. Ron was listening to the game.”
Viktor nods. “If ve are being honest--”
“Are we ever anything but?” Hermione laughs as she places her palms onto the table.
Viktor’s eyes twinkle for a moment before the shroud of seriousness settles over them again. “I vos surprised he did not mind you coming to see me.”
A blush creeps up Hermione’s neck and she takes a deep breath, lifting her chin and forcing the heat in her cheeks away. “I do not ask permission, Viktor.”
He laughs then and Hermione rolls her eyes and purses her lips. “You did not tell him.”
She clears her throat haughtily before speaking again. “It didn’t seem important.”
“No? For you to travel suddenly to Bulgaria?”
“I thought we were here to discuss you, my friend. But, I’m happy to leave if you disapprove of my coming.” Hermione rises from her chair and turns to gather her cloak when Viktor’s hand shoots out, resting gently upon her elbow.
“I am teasing, of course. Please, stay.”
“Deflecting, I think you mean.” She tuts as she sits down, but relaxes when he looks properly chastised.
A round of drinks is set upon their table and she offers a soft “thank you” to the barman’s retreating back.
“You knew you were retiring before the game.”
When he doesn’t respond, she continues. “Your owl would never have arrived that quickly if you hadn’t.”
He remains silent and so she presses on. “You’re still not quite settled with this decision though… and since it wasn’t made in haste, it begs the question...why?”
“Are you happy, Hermyowninny?”
She bites her tongue to keep from smiling at the familiar comfort of her name on his lips. “I’m not fighting a war. My children are safe. My family is well. I’m doing work that fulfills me...”
“Are you happy?”
She furrows her brow. “I’ve just answered that.”
He chuckles. “No. No, you haff not. But, I vill continue.” He takes a sip of his drink, letting the liquid roll around his mouth before continuing. “I vant to be happy.”
“Quidditch no longer makes you happy?”
He snorts derisively and she fights the urge to roll her eyes again. “Quidditch is my life. But, I vant more. I vant children and marriage.”
“Lots of quidditch players are married and have children, Viktor.”
He shakes his head. “To be perfect requires…” he trails off. “To play, at my age, to be perfect enough-- there is no time to be good at anything else, my friend.”
Hermione laughs, reaching out to take his hand across the table. “Oh, Viktor. I think you greatly overestimate my life. I am not perfect at anything. I fail daily as a mother, as a wife, as a friend, at work, at home, at--”
His eyes flash as he leans across the table. “You underestimate my opinion of you. You are quite perfect.”
“Perfection, Viktor, is something I gave up on a long time ago.”
“But--”
“No.” She shushes him with a squeeze of her hand. “You misunderstand. I don’t strive for perfection, Viktor. I strive only to be good. To do good. Striving for perfection throws good right out the window. I’m not perfect, but I…”
“You are perfect to me.” It’s a whisper, but she hears it nonetheless.
Squeezing his hand once more before withdrawing her own, Hermione smiles. “You are too good to me, Viktor.”
“You are happy.” He nods with resignation.
“I am.” She smiles. “You’re free now, Viktor.”
He nods, peering into the contents of his glass. “I am.”
He looks up slowly when he feels her standing next to him, bending to place a kiss on his cheek. “Go be happy, Viktor. You’re free.”