Work Text:
Jealousy
Unavoidable in such a passionate, highly strung and masculine man. And not entirely unwelcome either. He doesn't deal with it by sulking and avoiding confrontation, quite the opposite. Woe to me, woe to me a hundred times should I be captured in a photo with a man. Any man aside from my family members. Former Death Eater or child, Viktor will find a thread of jealousy to pluck at, and if he's not diverted he will persist in plucking at it until he's generated a mess out of nothing at all. And he will keep going endlessly. It's quite the hidden talent. Muggles call it 'perpetual motion' and they've been attempting to unlock the miracle for centuries. Luckily the silly man is easily distracted. One good kiss or two and he'll forget all about the bee in his bonnet, at least until the next time.
"Hermione-" Viktor stills says my name slightly wonky, but I consider such a thing a love language by itself. "-Who is this."
He slaps the latest issue of The Daily Prophet down on our warmly wooden kitchen island, and I already know what the problem is. There I am on the front page, attending a soiree for the official opening of 'Dobby's Hope' a house-elf sanctuary on the Isle of Man, and there beside me stands Pius Thicknesse, looking just as bemused as he did while under the Imperius curse. A very nice man actually. Very strong willed. It doesn't help that physically he shares certain similarities with my dear husband, tall and thin, dark, handsome if you're into birds of prey (I am). Viktor was present at that party too, and a photo of us together graces the next page, but at the time the one with Pius was taken he'd been visiting the little boy's room.
"Oh, that's Mr Thicknesse. He was Minister of Magic for about five minutes." I'm not very good at being breezy, but I attempt it anyway.
My quidditch star blinks, a smile plucking at the corner of his lips. "And then five minutes more. Isn't he currently Minister? Yes. It says so here. I don't like you associating with politicians, Hermione. There are no slimier men besides quidditch team managers."
Sometimes even I forget that Viktor isn't stupid like his accent makes him sound, and he can read English. Time for Operation: Distract Krum. "Oops!" I spill my tepid coffee over myself. Very obviously, I might add. Just slosh it all over my chest and neck. Instantly my man's face changes, relaxing, his already dark eyes turning black. "Viktor! Help! Save me!" I cry, throwing my hands up in mock fright.
"Hermione! I'm here!"
Naturally, he picks me up and whisks me off to the bedroom, where I will, eventually, change clothes.
It's that easy.
Date Nights at Home
I'm famous, chiefly in Britain. Viktor is famous everywhere, in every nation that holds even the slightest fondness for quidditch. South Africa, Chile, Papua New Guinea, even Antarctica - it doesn't matter to which end of the earth we travel to, hordes of quidditch Viktor Krum fans are guaranteed to spontaneously generate like flies. No, that's mean of me, but they can be exceedingly annoying. I only want to frolic in a secluded South African wildflower field or enjoy a nice glass of wine in a backstreet cafe in Rome with my beautiful birdman, but no, mobs of fanatics must leap off of roofs or pop out of manholes to assail him for an autograph. And he's really very kind, so if one can get past his death stare, one can force him to stand around for hours signing things. Woe to any woman who whips her milk machines out, because then my wand will make an appearance. Travelling to highly populated places like India or Tokyo is completely out of the question. When Viktor has to for a game he must be transported to and fro in an armoured box, like a maximum security prisoner or a priceless artwork, or else his fans will tear him limb from limb and dip their clothes in his blood for souvenirs.
"Do you ever resent me for wasting so much time faffing around, Viktor?" I ask while we work together to cook a special anniversary dinner. We could have his chefs do this, but a life without such chores quickly turns into a half life, and with the one you love even chopping vegetables is an adventure.
"I never resent pretty girls," Viktor replies, shooting me a soft smile from both lips and eyes. "There was so much chaos back then. I am not surprised you clung to what had already got you through so much of it."
"I'll make up that lost time, darling."
"You already have, my love."
From there we nest together on a sofa, my big, tough man as soft and cuddly as a teddy bear.
Jealousy Part Two
Harry is a problem, of course, and Ron even more so, although Viktor does not respect the latter, and tends to forget he exists. With Harry he'll play genuine games of quidditch, and both will enjoy themselves as they compete to prove their talent, while with Ron there will always be this air of condescension, like Viktor has been ordered to teach infants to fly. Whenever the duo visit, I have to endure the sight of three pairs of cheeks rapidly growing redder and redder. At some point Ron will let loose a 'Vicky', and then Harry will hiss at him, and Viktor will furrow his brows which will cause my once-upon-a-time boyfriend to spit something even more passive aggressive. Thankfully Ginny and Padma have firm hands on their respective spouses, and the latter is very patient.
"That Vicky, thinks he's so hot. How dare-"
"Ooh, Ronald?" Padma's voice floats across our private quidditch pitch like the song of a nightingale and the scent of jasmine, causing my old friend to blink and look over his shoulder at us from where he sits, guarding the goals. Beyond him the sleek forms of Viktor and Harry race each other to be the first to grab the snitch, breaking off a dive masterfully before hitting the ground. From the friendly punches to the shoulder Harry inflicts on my husband, I gather the latter has caught it. Obviously.
"Yes, honeybun?" asks Ron, slight anxiety in his eyes as he gazes at his wife.
"I've been thinking."
"Yes, sweetie?"
Padma flips her beautiful hair over her shoulder, her beautiful gold drop earrings jangling. She looks like the sort of woman who inspired the Taj Mahal. "I've been thinking…I want another baby."
Poor Ron almost slips and falls off his broom, a wide grin casting the sun over his features, his eyes twinkly as the stars, all his attention only for his wife. "Oh yeah?! You wanna, ah, get on that immediately?"
"Finish this game first, gorgeous. Then we'll get started on a battle plan."
Not even Viktor's talent and fame can unnerve him after that.
Trad Wifeing
Viktor gave me something I never knew I wanted let alone needed - lots and lots of babies, as well as freedom from other people's expectations. That was the one demand he had when we reconnected - I couldn't be the woman I thought I needed to be in order to win the respect of everyone, but especially of those people who would look down on me regardless. The only one whose respect and happiness I had to be concerned about was my husband, who already loved me, and always had. But he'd grown and matured too in the time we spent between our first meeting and finally forming one entity.
"You may have the world's heart, Hermione…or you may have mine," he said, too confident in what he was offering to add that he'd give me everything the world could not. "I will play second fiddle to no one and nothing, but I will work with all my might to make our family as loving and secure as it's possible for it to be."
I didn't have to think about the choice at all.