You Call It Love

You Call It Love
By: pottersweetie

Author’s Note: A new story. Hopefully it won’t interfere with the updating of my other stories. One character is a little OC. Or a lot OC is more like it. The prologue isn’t in Hermione’s POV, but the rest is. Hope you like it! Enjoy, Read, Review!

Prologue

In the sparkling, dreamlike affair that was Hermione Granger- excuse me- Hermione Krum’s wedding, there was only one unhappy guest. Where as everyone seemed to be having a good time dancing and enjoying the food and glasses of bubbling champagne, Harry Potter sat nursing a glass of Firewhiskey by himself.

Though everyone else was under the large white, translucent tent on the beach, Harry sat alone, in a small hidden cove of rocks, shielding him from the rest of the guests. He looked over the water, watching the sun go down. He had never been to Bulgaria before and been able to really see it, he had always been working when he came to the country. It was beautiful, especially this beach where the wedding and reception were taking place, but he hated the circumstances under which he was there.

Krum was marrying Hermione.

He had never had a problem with Viktor Krum. But for some reason the idea of them being married had not sat well with him since it had been announced.

Hell, the idea of them dating hadn’t been easy to swallow.

Suddenly Hermione appeared behind the wall-like rock of one side of the alcove. She smiled at him, a vision in white. Her hair was half-up and her veil was still on, pinned to the back of her hair. And her long, strapless dress with it’s enormous ball gown skirt clung to her body in all the right places, making Harry’s bad mood worsen. All of that beautiful, amazing woman in front of him would belong to Viktor from now until.... Forever? Harry wanted to cry.

“Hey,” she said lightly with a smile.

“Hi,” Harry replied, without any emotion in his voice.

Hermione leaned against the rock only a foot or so away from Harry and she looked over the horizon.

“Wow, this is really beautiful, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said stoically.

Hermione stayed quiet for a beat and then cocked her head a little, knotting her eyebrows, “Harry, is something wrong?”

He looked at her, stared at her for a good minute. He thought she was so beautiful, so perfect in every way and it hurt him that she was marrying Krum. Maybe if she was marrying a nice, respectable guy he would be okay with her getting married at all, but Krum wasn’t nice or respectable. Krum was cold and awkward and there was something that wasn’t right about the way he treated her.

How could I have let her get this far into this relationship? Harry asked himself. How did I let it get this far?

He wanted to say something to Hermione, but he wasn’t sure what.

When he stayed silent and just stared Hermione spoke up again, “Harry?”

He shook his head.

“Harry, if something’s wrong I want to know,” she insisted as Harry took a long gulp from his glass.

He wouldn’t ruin her wedding, he wouldn’t ruin her fairy tale, he decided as he looked at her. When she had appeared behind the rock she had been smiling and her face was glowing, now her face was creased and serious, she was frowning. Harry would crush her spirits even more if she knew what he was feeling, knew what he was longing to tell her.

Harry looked away from her and out over the water again, “You better get back to your husband,” he said bitterly.

Hermione was hurt, she wanted to know why Harry was acting so odd but he wouldn’t tell her, he was pushing her away. He had always pushed people away when he wanted to keep something to himself to protect those around him. But Hermione wanted him to share what was wrong, she wanted him to have fun at the reception like everyone else was. Most of all, she wanted him to be thinking about his happiness for her, not about whatever was bothering him.

“You can tell me, you know that,” she said. “You don’t have to protect me from anything anymore.”

He looked at her, annoyed.

“Tell me,” she urged, straightening herself up from where she leaned against the rocks.

He looked away again.

“Harry,” she said, taking a step towards him.

He hated her saying his name, it made his heart ache and his whole body go weak. He looked at her again, staring at him with such a sad, longing in her eyes. He couldn’t see her get hurt, he couldn’t let this marriage get any further than the few hours it had already lasted. Harry didn’t want to say anything, he didn’t want to make Hermione unhappy, but he knew he had to tell her, had to save her, and he felt it bursting out of his mouth like a balloon popping, the words flowing between his lips with ease, and aggression.

“This marriage was a mistake Hermione!”

She stared at him for a second, her face turned angry and incredulous, “What?”

Harry shook his head, “Hermione, Viktor doesn’t treat you right! He’s too- I don’t know- it’s just not right.”

“What are you even saying?” she yelled in return.

“I don’t have a good feeling about this, you can’t be married to him!”

She laughed acidly and shook her head, “It’s a bit late for that Harry, don’t you think?” she asked. “And you expect me to end my marriage that’s only a couple of hours old because you don’t have a good feeling?”

He cringed, it sounded so ridiculous when she said it like that. He felt so foolish and he just wanted to scream. He threw his empty glass against the sun where it half-sank itself and he looked up at her angrily. He was breathing out of his nose and he was tensed.

“Why do you always have to make everyone feel so stupid?!” he demanded, speaking out of anger.

Hermione felt slapped across the face, but she didn’t let it show, she coldly said, “Oh, so now I make everyone feel stupid? Viktor included then?”

“Why don’t you just listen to me?!”

“Why should I listen to you when you’re telling me to leave my husband!”

Harry was seething, jealousy and the anger for not being understood mixed together to create a foul mood, “Oh, you just love throwing that term around don’t you? Husband.”

“Why shouldn’t I throw it around?! I just got married- in case you haven’t noticed!”

“Oh believe me, I’ve noticed,” he said bitterly.

She shook her head, a little defeated, “What the hell is the matter with you Harry Potter?” he tried to answer but she kept talking. “Are you trying to ruin my wedding day?”

Harry felt guilty and he tried to move toward her, to reach out for her but she backed away, “I’m trying to help you Hermione.”

“By telling me my hus- Viktor- isn’t right for me?” she cried. Her face, which had been desperately sad, turned angry, “Leave. Now.”

“What-”

She cut him off, “I don’t want to see you right now, or ever- for that matter!” she shouted. “Leave!”

“Hermione, please-”

She was crying now, hot tears trailing down her face, “I said leave!”

A defeated, completely upset Harry nodded sadly and without a word, apparated away.

Hermione cried for several minutes behind the rocks. Everything had been so wonderful. The ceremony had nearly brought her to tears, the reception was elegant and festive. Everyone was so happy for her, everyone had been beaming and laughing, having a good time. She could still hear everyone celebrating- only Harry had ruined everything for her. Why would he say such a thing about Viktor- about our marriage? she asked herself. What could have gotten into him? Confusion and anger swirled in her brain. The day could have been perfect, but he had had to ruin it for her. She shook her head and resolved to stop crying. She leaned silently against the rocks, staring over the water until the tears stopped falling.

She allowed her face to dry off and her eyes to stop swelling, red and watery. A minute or so before she was going to arrive back at the tent, Viktor showed up.

“Herm-own-ninny?”

She smiled at him, “Hi.”

“Vasn’t Harry over here?” he asked.

She shook her head, “He left.”

“Oh, did he have to go to vork?”

She nodded, “Yeah, he did.”

“Come back to the party and dance vith me,” he said, taking her hand.

She nodded, and did as she was told.

Author’s Note: Prologue. I think you guys might be able to guess what happens, if not then you’ll have to wait for the next chapter! Thanks for reading! Reviews are always appreciated.

Author’s Note: I very much appreciate the reviews I received for the prologue! To writingismypower: I’ve never read Hopeless, though I think I’ve seen the summary. Any similarity to Vio’s story is complete coincidence, as I actually wrote the prologue for this story and thought of the whole idea sometime last year. Hope everyone likes chapter one! Please be patient with the chapters before you make too great a judgment on the story!

Chapter One
Smile Like You Mean It

It’s not as if intelligent people can’t find themselves in these situations. I mean, I’ve always prided myself on just how clever I can be. But quick-witted, efficient, brainy, smart, what have you, they don’t prepare you for things like this, and they certainly don’t mean you’re immune to them. I can think about my problems all I want, I could try to work my way out and around them, but I’ll still be left guessing. Who cares if I helped The-Boy-Who-Lived-and-Conquered defeat Voldemort? What does it matter if I was in the thick of the biggest battle of the magical world, helping the victors to victory? I’ll tell you one thing, Fate certainly doesn’t care, and it seems as if she’s not very much on my side either.

I’m smart, yes, but I wasn’t smart enough to see this coming.

“You are to be vearing that tonight?”

With one glance down at my simple black cocktail dress, I say, “Yes.”

Viktor scoffs.

After contemplating my few choices of formal evening wear this afternoon, I had chosen my black dress because I thought it was pretty and conservative enough. And it’s the only thing that doesn’t swallow me in the fabric. I’ve lost nearly twenty-pounds since I married Viktor, he can’t expect me to look amazing all the time. A tired sigh escapes my lips and I turn to him.

I say, “What did you think I should wear then?”

“Vhy are you asking me?” he rolls his eyes a little and shuffles around the room. “Vhere are my sleeve-links?”

I glance at him, pulling the hem of my skirt as I gaze at myself in the mirror, “Your cufflinks are in the bottom drawer in your closet.”

He disappears into his closet across the room and I frown at myself in the mirror. I was so sure I looked okay. The dress hides the bruise on my hip, and I had concealed the dark circles under my eyes with make-up. My hair was so limp when I had gotten dressed that I had given up and put it in a chignon, but it looked nice when I finished it. But Viktor’s disapproving looks and unimpressed tone make me feel as if all my attempts have been dashed.

Feeling my shoulders sag with despair and fatigue, I feel myself resign and go back into my closet. I thumb through my clothes, passing over sweaters and trousers that no longer fit me properly. Compared to my size now, everything seems entirely too large to even wear without looking ridiculous. Lucky for me I don’t go out much, or at all, really, but what am I supposed to do now? I have to attend this party with Viktor and I don’t have any proper dresses to wear.

After stomping angrily around the room, cursing under his breath, Viktor appears in the doorway of my closet, “Vhat are you doing?” he makes it sound as if I’m cleaning a baby elephant for a ballet class.

“I’m looking for something else to wear-”

“Ve are not having the time for this!” he shouts. “Vhat are you thinking?”

Despite all of the things Viktor has put me through, I still can’t tolerate him scolding me as if I’m a child, “You told me you didn’t like what I was wearing!”

“I said no such thing.”

I shake my head incredulously, “You made a comment.”

“Am I not allowed to be speaking now or to be making comments to you?” he shoots at me sarcastically.

I groan and stomp out of the closet but he grabs my wrist, “Don’t be throwing fits like a child, Herm-own-ninny,” he says sternly, his voice low and hot in my face. “You are needing self-control.”

An acidic laugh escapes my throat, “I need some self-control?” I narrow my eyes at him and scoff. “Look who’s talking-”

He jerks my wrist and pulls my arm painfully, “Don’t. You. Dare.”

Yes, God forbid I defend myself.

With one last cold look I yank my wrist out of his grip and walk out of the closet, slipping into my shoes. I grab my black clutch off my dressing table and stuff a lipstick, some concealer, and a bunch of tissues into it. Viktor moves from the closet, his suit rustling softly as he moves. In the mirror I watch him move into his closet and shift through the clothes hanging up. His low set brown eyes aren’t angry right now, they’re just set on the task of moving through clothes. A snarl isn’t covering his lips right now and violent words aren’t spewing from his mouth. I want to sigh. He looks so unassuming over there in his closet.... Because right at this moment, I’m not doing something to anger him- But I almost want to cry. Looking at him like this, right now, with no hatred or fury lighting his eyes ablaze, he seems like he could be the loving, caring husband I thought I was marrying. It seems like he could actually still be the Viktor I fell in love with.

He slips into his dress robes and turns off the light in his closet, closing the door as he steps back into the bedroom. I quickly turn off my own closet light and close the door, quickly shrugging into my own dress robes while Viktor leaves the room and shuts the light off, leaving me in darkness. Practically jogging after him, I catch up on the stairs and we meet Viktor’s butler, Penko, in the vast front hall.

Penko says something in a rush of Bulgarian, and gestures to the portkey, giving me a slight scathing look as he steps aside. On the oak table in the center of the marble foyer is a tattered old newsboy hat; our way of transportation to the business party in London.

Viktor says thank you to Penko in their native tongue and steps toward the portkey.

“Where is the portkey taking us exactly?” I ask.

Giving me a slightly annoyed glance, Viktor checks his watch and says, “An empty flat in London- Ve vill be taking a cab to the party from there.”

After staring at his watch for another minute he makes a reach for the portkey. He’s obviously not going to wait for me so I hurry and grab on when he does. Within nanoseconds I feel myself being pulled and pushed, with air pounding against me, knocking the wind out of my lungs. The light is swirling and flashing, and finally it grows darker and darker, until everything slows down and we end up in a pitch-black flat. I had landed on my feet but stumbled, so now I lay clumsily on the floor. Viktor, is standing over me, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. I heave myself up and dust myself off, smoothing out my hair and dress.

“You might vant to be freshening up vhen ve arrive at the party,” he says condescendingly, and strides to the front door of the dark, empty flat.

I follow him out the door, down two flights of stairs and finally out of the building all together. The late spring night is cool and still as we make our way onto the sidewalk. Viktor looks around, ignoring the strange looks we’re getting from passersby. As far as he’s concerned, everyone else is weird and his magic-based attire is perfectly normal. I try to ignore the people as well, but some snicker and point, as if they haven’t seen anything more bizarre in the heart of London.

Viktor says, “Vell, find us a cab,” as if I should have known.

Peering down the street, I see a cab coming and it looks to be empty. I walk into the street, near the curb and put my arm out. Thankfully, the car stops and Viktor and I get in.

“Where to?” the cabbie asks.

Remembering the invite, and where the party is being held, I tell the driver the address. When we start to move down the street I allow myself to lean back against the seat and relax for a minute. A sigh is waiting to escape my body, but I don’t feel like hearing Viktor berate me for being lazy, selfish, stupid, ignorant, inconsiderate, etc. This party, a kickoff celebration for the new season of professional quidditch for several big-name teams, is not something I’ve been looking forward to. Every party I’m forced to attend is several hours of fake smiling, fake small talk, fake laughing, fake appearances. I talk to people who don’t really want to talk to me, pretend Viktor is the husband I’ve always wanted, fake like I understand and love quidditch, turn a blind eye to Viktor’s flirting with the mascot veelas that are usually in attendance, and just put on a big act the whole time.

And I’m sure tonight will be no exception.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________________

I disappear into the loo after saying hello to the host and hostess Mr. and Mrs. Fitzer, huge financial supporters of Puddlemore United. Their home is a lavish townhouse in one of the nicest parts of London, and by the decor and dress you can tell Mrs. Fitzer is a muggle-born. Viktor drags me around for a few minutes after saying hello to them, and then tells me I ought to have gone to the bathroom when we arrived to make myself look presentable. Maybe if I hadn’t been pulled about for small talk I would have been able to go to the loo sooner.

The mirror is in the shape of a seashell, and I peer into it closely. A groan audibly escapes my throat and I cringe. My eyes are ringed with shadows, and the whites look irritated and red. I know I haven’t gotten a decent night’s sleep in a long while, and it shows. The fact that I hardly eat anymore is present in my appearance too. I run a hand along the fabric of my dress to smooth it out and I feel the individual bones of my ribcage through my skin. Moving away from my sides, as if I’ve been burned, I take my hair out of its hold and shake my hair around my shoulders. Because it was up for quite some time, it’s curling slightly at the ends, looking presentable enough. I rake my fingers through it, put a little more concealer under my eyes, and wash my hands.

Before leaving the bathroom I pick up one of the rose-scented soaps near the sink and press it to my nose. Taking a deep breath, the sweet, relaxing smell fills my head and I feel comforted for a moment. I place the soap back in the dish and leave the bathroom, feeling a little better about myself. For now, anyway.

I search for Viktor for a few minutes without spotting him once, so I grab a glass of champagne and stand beside a large picture window, observing the party before me, trying to have fun by myself.

I notice a man walk passed me, slowing his step and staring at me intently. What? I almost want to ask, but I don’t say anything. I feel as if I know him, but I’m sure I don’t. He’s got light brown hair, light, focused eyes, a little stubble on his pale face, and he’s dressed in dark dress robes. Because he’s staring at me so intently I give him a sort of friendly, uncomfortable smile and he comes over to me, a drink in his hand.

Damn.

If Viktor sees this he’s sure to think I’m flirting with the man.

“Pardon me,” the man says. “But, are you Hermione Granger?”

“Hermione Krum,” I correct him. “Yes?”

A look of astonishment comes over him and his mouth falls open in a disbelieving half-smile, “Of course, Mrs. Krum,” he smiles a little. “Is that really you Hermione?” he gives me a good looking over and his eyes sort of fall. “Well- Well, I hardly recognized you!”

His voice is familiar, only maybe deeper. But I know this face too, I know those eyes and that smile.... That look of astonishment and sort of disappointment-

“Wood?” I finally realize. “Oliver Wood?”

He nods enthusiastically, “What a surprise to see you! Of course you’re here with Viktor.”

“Yes,” I say, genuinely pleased to see someone from Hogwarts after all this time. “I should have known you’d still be involved with quidditch after all these years.”

He laughs a little, and then a look of realization comes over his face again, “You have to say hello to Harry.”

“Excuse me?” I’m nearly knocked off of my feet.

“Harry!” Oliver chuckles. “He’s here with Ginny, I think.”

I swallow hard. Harry and Ginny? I can’t possibly see them. Not now- Not when I look and feel like this. Besides why would I say hello to Harry. We haven’t exactly been on good terms- I mean- Well, I haven’t spoken to him since my wedding day nearly six years ago.

Before I can object, Oliver says, “I’ll go find him. Don’t move,” and he disappears into the crowd.

I press my back against the wall behind me and look around, as if an extreme panic is descending upon me. Gripping my glass in my shaking hands, I take a long gulp of champagne until I’ve finished it all. What will I say to Harry? What will he say to me? Oh God- Oh God- I can’t do this. I was such a bitch to him all those years ago- And he was right, he tried to help me from getting into this awful marriage. I put a hand to my face and clothes my eyes. Maybe I can sit in the loo until dinner, it’s not as if Viktor will miss me-

“Here she is!”

My eyes snap open and the wind is knocked out of me completely.

Striding over, is Oliver, a bright, proud smile on his face. He’s so pleased that he’s reuniting old friends, but I’m so petrified. Behind him is Harry, looking smart in a clean suit, but also looking incredibly confused and incredulous. Attached to Harry by the hand, is Ginny, looking just as muddled, but radiant in a pretty green dress that goes off the shoulder, black pumps, expert make-up, carefully chosen jewelry, and a sheet of shimmering deep-red hair. They spot me and both look extremely surprised, if not happy.

I try to smile brightly, but I’m afraid my lips are wobbling, “Hello!”

“Hermione,” Harry finally manages to say, and comes up to me slowly, giving me a gentle hug. “How are you?” he steps away and looks me over, and I can see the confusion and despair in how he feels about my appearance now.

The last time I saw him I was a normal weight, my hair was bouncy, and I was glowing with happiness over my new marriage.

No more.

I smile as Ginny leans in and hugs me too, “I’m good. How are you both?”

Upon standing together again, Harry puts a hand on Ginny’s waist, “We’re great.”

“You’re here with Viktor?” Ginny asks.

Now I feel pathetic because I’m standing here stupidly, all by myself, while my husband’s probably tickling a veela or laughing with his teammates, “Yes.”

“How is Viktor?” Harry wonders, and it seems that his question holds a heavy meaning.

Was I right about him? is what he’s really asking.

I nod, “He’s very good- Traveling a lot for quidditch, you know,” I trail off. “What are you two doing here? Are you two in quidditch now?”

“No,” Ginny laughs. “I’m a journalist for the Prophet, and Harry’s still an auror,” she says proudly. “Mr. Fitzer works at Gringott’s and I did an interview with him once so he invited us.”

Taking this all in, I say, “Oh.”

“What about you?” Harry begins. “What are you doing these days?”

I swallow, feeling even more like a dejected loser as the conversation goes on, “I’m- uh- I’m just living in Bulgaria and taking care of the house- You know.”

“You?” Ginny says, as if I’m joking. “Hermione Granger? A housewife?”

My smile falls. Viktor won’t let me be anything else but a puppet who stays at home, watching servants clean and cook. I meet Harry’s eyes and notice that’s he staring at me, not smiling. I almost think he understands, like he knows why I am the way I am and why I’m not laughing at the insane idea that I’ve chosen to be a housewife. I feel like he’s going to say ‘I told you so’ within moments.

Instead, he says, “That sounds nice.... Bulgaria’s beautiful.”

I nod sadly, trying to smile again.

We fall into a lull of silence.

I can’t bear to continue this conversation or be near these people right now. My stomach is churning and anxiety is itching under my skin. A tightness spreads across my chest and I feel my breathing is growing difficult and long. I need to escape. I need to get away. My head feels as if a pressure is building around it and everything just seems to be too much. I feel sick- Oh God I feel so sick with anxiety.

“If you’ll excuse me, I better go and find Viktor,” I try to smile, as if I need to find him because I can’t bear to be away from my wonderful husband for too long.

I don’t even care if they’re watching me as I deposit my empty glass on a table, weave through the crowd, and make my way out of the living room and into a dark hallway.

I need privacy and space and time and- I just need to be alone right now.

Without thinking about invading anyone else’s privacy, I go upstairs and find a bathroom that is probably off-limits to the guests and go inside, locking the door behind me. The pressure around my head feels as if it’s increasing and I press the heels of my hands against the sides of my forehead, taking deep, slow breaths. The skin against my chest won’t loosen, and the violent tossing of my stomach is getting worse every time I think of Harry and Ginny. Harry and Ginny looking at me with pity. Harry and Ginny asking me questions. Harry and Ginny being happy with their lives, with their jobs, with each other, feeling bad for me. Harry and Ginny being together at all.

This panic attack reaches its climax and I fall to my knees on the floor, lean over the toilet, throwing up what little I’ve managed to eat today.

Hermione, what on earth has become of you?

Author’s Note: Now, I know you can probably guess what’s going to happen now, if you couldn’t guess before, but don’t judge the story just yet. I want to keep the characters true to the books, but I also want to show how people can change with certain situations, how certain things can change a person or happen to anyone. Just because Hermione’s so smart and brilliant doesn’t mean she couldn’t be in a situation where she doesn’t know what to do. I want to bring integrity and truth to this story instead of making it a piece of pathetic fluff. Please, keep that in mind when thinking about how this story will turn out. Thanks for reading, reviewing is always appreciated!

Author’s Note: I’m very pleased, and very grateful that so many of you liked the first chapter, and that quite a few of you expressed your understanding for what I was trying to convey in my author’s note. The story will be explained in later chapters, don’t worry, but it will be complicated and filled with realistic (hopefully) drama, obviously. Here is chapter two! Hope you like it!

Chapter Two
The Ice is Getting Thinner

“Vhat is your problem being?”

I’ve been staring out the window of our cab as it drives through rainy London, feeling confused and angry, but as Viktor’s low, rumbling voice interrupts the quiet stillness of the car, I turn and look at him. The question isn’t angry or gruff, but it isn’t exactly caring and worried either. Basically, he just wants to start a conversation and my silence seems a good enough way for him. In the light of the passing cars I can see him staring at me quietly, plainly. He’s not annoyed or angry, just there, asking me a question.

Giving him a tired smile, I say, “Nothing. I’m fine.”

He stays silent and faces forward, watching the road as the buildings pass us by.

“Did you have fun at the party?” I ask.

He rolls his eyes just a little, not so much at me, but at the idea of the party, “It vas not that great.”

No. It wasn’t.

After sitting on the floor of the Fitzer’s bathroom for a good fifteen minutes, I managed to clean myself up, regain my composure, and get back into the crowd of partygoers. I found Viktor talking with some of his teammates, checking out the veelas, and laughing raucously. He didn’t call me over, so I walked passed him and worked on avoiding Ginny and Harry all night. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be. I circulated around the room, keeping Ginny’s bright red hair in sight, and went the opposite direction of it.

Well, my technique worked until dinner, when everyone was seated around one massive table in the dining room. And, as if the night couldn’t get any more difficult, diagonally across from Viktor and I, sat Ginny and Harry.

Viktor leaned in and whispered to me, “You vere not telling me Harry and that girl would be here.”

“I didn’t know,” I whispered back, turning to see Harry looking at us, his mouth in a straight line, just like the look I had received from him on my wedding day.

Mrs. Fitzer nearly cheered, “Isn’t this wonderful? We have so many alumni from the same Hogwarts years, all here tonight.”

The only thought that crossed my mind when she said that was, Merlin.

“That’s right,” Mr. Fitzer interjected. “Ginny, you, Harry, and Viktor’s wife were all in the same year.”

Ginny smiled softly, “Well, Harry and Hermione were in the same year with my brother, Ron. I was a year younger, but we all got on really well.”

“Hermione? I didn’t know you were friends with Harry and Ginny in school,” Mrs. Fitzer looked at me in wonder.

I had only ever met the woman three or four times in my life, so I didn’t see why she would have known Harry, Ginny, and I had been friends. Nodding my head, I smiled wanly, hoping the conversation would shift from this dangerous topic.

Oliver took a sip of his wine and then said, “Are you kidding Mrs. F?” he chuckled. “Harry Potter and Hermione Granger were downright inseparable.”

“Hermione Granger?” another woman, one on the Puddlemore United team, echoed. “You mean from Rita Skeeter’s articles? Harry Potter’s Secret Heartache!” she giggled drunkenly. “I used to love those articles- You two were so cute!”

Harry spoke up, his voice slightly terse, “We weren’t dating.”

An awkward silence drifted over the table.

And then the woman said, “Even so- Those articles were a hoot to follow!” her eyes brightened, as if she had just realized something else. “And Viktor was in one of them too, because he and Hermione were involved!”

Chuckling wavered across the table and I ground my teeth together, digging the handle of my fork into my palm.

“What an insane turn of events! You and Viktor being married now!” she added shrilly.

Ginny muttered, “Yeah, insane,” as if the topic was tiring.

And it was. I didn’t want to talk about my fourth year involvement with Viktor, or the rumors that had been passed around about Harry and I. Even when Viktor and I were dating as adults, I got accusations from him, asking if I liked Harry, if we had ever been together. I can’t imagine what he’s going to say now, when we get home. Although he hasn’t mentioned anything yet.

Did you sneak off vith Harry and kiss in the bathroom vile I vasn’t looking?

Yes, right between panic attacks.

Harry and I exchanged a brief glance. And immediately he managed to steer the topic towards quidditch at Hogwarts, making me wonder if he could see the desperation and pathetic anxiety in my eyes. Viktor was stiff and silent throughout the remainder of the meal, and ignored me for the rest of the night. I managed to keep away from Harry and Ginny after that by starting random conversations with people I didn’t know, asking them questions about their lives that they would happily enthrall me with. And when Viktor finally told me it was time to leave I slipped out without saying goodbye to anyone other than the hosts and one or two storytellers.

So now we’re in the cab, pulling up in front of the rundown flat for our portkey. After we’ve paid, ascended the stairs, and find our way into the dark, empty room, Viktor slams the door. I jump a little, startled. I thought he was in a better mood, but when I see his angry eyes and clenched fists, I realize that he isn’t, that I’ve made a mistake. The effects of Harry and Ginny being at the party, and the conversation at dinner, have all made him angry again, not necessarily at me, but, angry in general.

“I vould haf liked for you to haf been telling me that they vere going to be there,” he says gruffly, pushing past me.

I turn and am nearly trotting at his heels to reach the portkey with him, afraid he’ll take it when it’s time, leaving me here, alone. I say, “I didn’t know they would be there- If I had known I would have told you.”

“Vould you haf?” he glares at me.

I wouldn’t have gone in the first place.

I nod, “Of course.”

He snorts a little, huffing, and makes a grab for the portkey, which I follow quickly. Before I know it, I’m being pulled and pushed, back on my way to Bulgaria, back home.

AA

The following afternoon, after Viktor has left the house for the day to do some training, I take a walk along the beach, only a few meters from our house. I’ve got one of Viktor’s dog, Vip, the only living creature in the house that seems to like me, with me. With the waves occasionally lapping at my feet, and the wind brushing against my face, I almost feel content, like everything is okay. And then I catch a glimpse of the house, huge and taunting from where it stands, and I’m jolted back into reality, nearly gasping for air in the anxiety that swarms me. Half the day has gone by, and I haven’t been able to shake this strange, anxious and excited feeling. It’s not a good feeling, not the kind of excitement that makes you smile, the kind that leaves you upset and on edge. I can’t figure it out- It’s almost as if I’m waiting for something.

But, I don’t expect anything that my brain is edging towards.

Yes. I saw Harry and Ginny yesterday. That doesn’t mean all of my old friends are going to start getting in touch with me. It was a chance meeting, that’s it, not a precursor for my life opening up again. I’m being stupid. I’m not going to receive any owls to visit them in England, or to come over and see the house and the beach- I’m being so foolish. Nothing is going to change.

This realization makes the hopelessness creep up, as if there was ever a possibility for change.

Vip barks at me, jumping back and forth from his hind legs to all fours.

I throw the damp piece of driftwood in my hand, as far as I can manage to throw it, and he chases it, kicking up sand as he does so.

Turning slightly, I peer over the water, wandering if I can see other countries from here. Could I swim if I wanted to? Not even when I had the strength to get up in the morning, could I manage that. I sigh. It would be nice to get away, to be on my own, to be able to relax, and to be myself, to do what I wanted. Tears sting behind my eyes, before I can talk them away. My throat aches deeply, but I swallow, shut my eyes. This is ridiculous, I tell myself. Why are you crying?

The dog reaches me again, prancing around me with the wood in his mouth, hoping I’ll take it.

I grab it from his mouth, saying, “Are you my only friend now?” he doesn’t answer, so I throw the wood again, and he’s off.

I’ve succumbed to talking to the dog. The fact is almost painful.

What would I do if Harry or Ginny or Ron owled me? Would I go to England and visit? Would I invite them here if Viktor said it was okay? Would I dive into their lives again? Probably not. But if I could, I would try. And if I could run away I’d get a small studio flat in London, and I’d work with books or arguments, I smile. I could be a lawyer, or a librarian. I shake my head. What is the point of daydreaming? I mean, I don’t want to run away. Somewhere, deep, deep down, I love Viktor. I don’t know why I still do, but it’s true.

It’s strange, but I keep asking myself how it’s possible. And I still don’t know the answer.