Fan Fiction Collection

Suddenly, Hermione felt a pair of hands grabbing her around the waist and lifting her down from her outlook on the chair. Shocked, she looked up, ready to reach for her wand, only to see the smiling face of Viktor Krum. He didn't give her any time to protest, but pulled her among the dancers and spun her round. The steps were easy enough, just little hops from one foot to the other in time with the tune, but the constant spinning made Hermione's head swim. When the music ended, Hermione was quite surprised to feel Viktor's lips brush against hers."Don't be angry, Herm-own-ninny, it's a tradition. That vas the Kiss Dance,"

From the moment he appeared on the pitch, Hermione's eyes never left the figure of Viktor Krum, who was circling high above the other players. Up in the air, he moved with elegance and grace, much like he did while dancing

He appeared fully concentrated, entirely focused on his task

Sometimes I wished that you'd just died too. Died, and gone on to whatever comes after, rather than stayed here to waste away, alive, but unable to live, in a world so full of darkness. Then I feel terrible for even thinking such a thing.

Something clear, but layered… rich with meaning. Dark without being dull.

She aimed a good-natured whack at his shoulder, which connected solidly and did absolutely no damage to him whatsoever.

He looked absurdly hopeful for a moment, and she laughed."In your dreams."

He had grown accustomed to watching her.

And then the Yule Ball had been announced.

She had popped into his mind instantly, as had a vision of them gliding across an empty dance floor as she stared happily up at him with those sparkling brown eyes . . .

His voice was rough around the edges, low and gentle.

And she was staring at his face, for Merlin's sake.

His voice was surprisingly gentle, his strong accent merely a melody for his words. She blushed furiously, her eyes actually closing for a moment as she breathed in the scent of him, attempting to gather her thoughts

The Yule Ball had been like another world, a few hours of bliss so perfect that he hadn't been able to stop himself from wanting – from allowing himself to think that there could be – more.

In Quidditch, there was skill. Though Viktor trained hard, he always understood that his opponent might be stronger or faster, more deserving of the win; and for that reason he had never resented losing, had never let it make him angry or bitter – had never let it make him afraid.

The Golden Snitch was tricky, but always governed by laws Viktor understood: physics, however magically enhanced, was logical enough. But Hermione, as sensible and well-read as she was – he didn't understand her. And he felt sure he'd never be a champion at this – at knowing how to talk to her. At winning her heart.