Work Text:
Crimson & Clover
He would never get use to the sudden flash of the photographer’s cameras.
“Krum!”
“KRUM! OVER-HERE!”
Or the way, wherever he would go, people would yell out his name as if they knew him.
“How does it feel to no longer be the Bulgarian Bonbon?”
He hated that epithet
“Krum, sign my face!”
‘Came with the game,’ he reminded himself, his eye twitching as he held back a laugh.
He’s been asked to sign more precarious places before.
He can practically feel Hermione laughing as well, and almost smiled at that, when another flash of light caused him to stumble.
“What does your family think…”
“Is it true that you gave up—"
“… of you turning your back…”
“— your citizenship—"
“… on the team…”
“—just so you could—”
“…that first bolstered your career…”
“—have a chance at the World Cup?”
“…when you were just a student?”
Their rapid fire questions might as well have been jeers—
“How did you come to the decision to play for the Irish Nationals?”
This wasn’t one of his better plans, a public outing in Diagon Alley so soon after the official announcement. He grimaced at another flash, this time he inhaled and coughed from the magical camera's smoke.
Now, he was even more annoyed.
While fame came with being a Pro-Quidditch player, he still balked at the attention. Especially when he knew that people like Hermione, who was currently holding his hand leading him through the crowd, should be celebrated more so than himself.
He just catches a Snitch for a living.
And while he loved the game, loved flying, (which was more natural than walking to him) he... he... loved....
And, well, Hermione was going to improve their world.
She already made his brighter by returning to it.
“How long have you and Harry Potter’s muggleborn friend been together?”
He sneered at that, as they continued to make their way back toward the Leaky Cauldron (disapparition was still barred in Diagon.) They knew her name, and they had the audacity to reduce her to just, someone's ‘muggleborn friend.’ Even if that someone was ‘savior of the Wizarding World.’ She was there too. He wished he was a better orator, with the ability to summon the courage and take the reporters to task for choosing to concern themselves with which team he played for than the workings and injustices in their own government.
“Granger, do you think associating with Viktor Krum will assist in influencing certain Wizengamot Warlocks in—"
He noticed Hermione’s wrinkled nose as she struggled to mask her expression with the collar of her coat.
The noise of the overcrowded alley drowned out her mumbled reply of, “ugh honestly, the nerve,” from most everyone but him.
He wondered if she could get use to this, the press, for him, if she thought he was worth…all of this.
She turned to look over her shoulder feeling him falling away and squeezed his hand tighter, helping him regain his balance, “We’re almost there.”
He hoped she thought he was worth it.
Because he could get use to holding her hand.
It fit perfectly in his.
But he knew she hated this type of media fluff and wanted to keep her personal life under the radar especially with the submission of her bill, (Protection of Magical Creatures, specializing in House Elves,) to the Wizengamot for sponsorship.
And yet he had insisted on a stroll through Diagon Alley.
As they navigated the crowd, finally escaped from the press, he thought back to the first time he had seen her.
He had been dodging followers then too.
Of a different type. Giggling, but harmless.
She had seemed completely oblivious to the commotion, except for the wrinkle of annoyance at her brow and her nose. It was that he had notice that small detail, her, just another student so entranced with her studies, and the freckles across her nose while he was being stalked in the Hogwarts library, that he knew from the beginning he could fall for her.
It took weeks to pluck up courage to approach her, it had been a small handmade badge with the acronym S.P.E.W., two sickles for a membership, that had finally given him an entrance.
He's pulled from that memory as she pulled them into an alley, disapparating them into a wooded area of sweetgum and oak trees, it’s burgundy and gold leaves decorated the canopy and grounds of the grove.
When she let go of his hand his heart dropped.
“I still cannot believe they think they can treat you this way!”
“It is nothing, Hermione,” he swallowed heavily.
They had just begun again.
“It's not… nothing. I— UGH! This is so frustrating. Are you okay? They practically assaulted you back there.”
He was almost certain she would call it quits now.
He walked over to her and carefully reached for hand again, soothing her hand between his own palms, and looked at her through his eyelashes, hoping this wouldn’t be the last time, "Yes, I would be much happier though— if you tell me, you are okay… are you? Okay with… with me?”
Hermione smiled.
A temporary balm to his soul.
“More than okay. Just frustrated with how today went. I had actually... got you something… and wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to give it to you…”
“Something… for me?”
She blushed and slipped her hand away from his, reaching into her bag, “It’s a bit unconventional... And-even-though-you’ll-be-in-Ireland-now... I thought... not-only-could-this-bring-you-luck... but also closer-to-me,” she smiled nervously and extended a box.
His heart soared into his throat at her rushed words, and he choked out, “Thank you Hermione, this — you shouldn't've—”
“Don’t-thank-me-yet-its-rather-simple-you-can-just... go-on-open-it. Please—”
And inside the velvet box laid a crimson clover on a leather throng.
“I thought a clover would be fitting with your new team... and-it’s-also-a-portkey... to you know.... well, my place... I-hope-you-don’t-think-that-it’s-too-presumptuous... the amulet is made of red coral the properties...”
Yes, he could love her.