A Penned Affair

A Penned Affair

It had been three years. Three years since she'd heard Viktor Krum's name, seen his hand in the letters he sent oh so frequently, seen so much as a photo in the Prophet. Three years does something to you, Hermione found out. It was odd. They had remained pen "pals" in her fifth year. Viktor talked about pursuing a career in medicine, after his Quidditch days were over. He talked about coming to England to visit. Talking, Hermione also found out, is not the same as doing. Because in the summer between her fifth and sixth years, the letters stopped coming. At first, she thought it had been a mistake. She had sent the owl her mum had gotten her for her birthday out to Bulgaria, expecting a rather late response and a hasty apology. But none came. Instead, a terse note scrawled on a piece of parchment arrived, no envelope.

Hermione. I can't write anymore. I'm sure you'll understand one day.

--Viktor.

She would remember that letter for the rest of her life. One day. The briefness was a cover for hurt, Hermione could tell. Viktor Krum, though he was a man of few words, was not short or intense. Something was wrong.

And yet, Hermione couldn't bring herself to do anything about it. Going to seek him out would only bring the pain sooner. Instead, she let herself rot. She went back to school, different somehow. She was sure Harry and Ron would notice. But they didn't. Harry was hung up on Draco Malfoy and Ginny and Voldemort. And Quidditch and Cormac McLaggen and Dumbledore and Slughorn and a whole host of other things. And Ron was hung up on...well, Ron was just Ron. He didn't sense anything out of the ordinary.

So she went on with life, as much as possible. She wrote letters in her room to Viktor, planned what she would say if she ever saw him again. She never sent any of them.

And then there was their seventh year. Pains replaced other pain as the war began. She stopped worrying about Viktor until she was alone at night, thinking about him like there was no Voldemort, no Ron, no evil in the world. Then she would go to him, find him, tell him how he'd hurt her. She would make him hurt the way she'd hurt, and then forgive him. But the morning always came, and Ron thought he had an increasing chance romantically every day. She started to think of him as a substitute. She wasn't sure she could keep holding on to a past that seemed so inevitably gone.

And then there was the Great Battle--and Harry had won. She was never so happy in her life--her friend had lived, the Order remained somewhat in tact, Voldemort was gone...and she and Viktor had a chance. Little did she know that Voldemort was not the reason for Viktor's withdrawal. But she still was so immensely happy.

It was because of Harry, because of Ron, because of everyone, that when she was eighteen, she sent a letter to Viktor Krum.

Dear Viktor,

I need to speak with you. I need to see you, face-to-face again. So much has happened these past years; we need to catch up.

Much love,

Hermione Granger

She felt stupid, but it didn't stop her from sending it. She knew what the reply would be. I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't. Signed, Viktor. That's what it would say. But she had to know for sure.

The next few days were filled with turmoil. She sulked in her room at the Leaky Cauldron where Ron and Harry visited her frequently. She waited by her window, watching the skies for the great tawny owl that was hers, Rosaline.

And there she was. July sixth, a flashbulb day. Rosaline came soaring in, hooting, bringing in the sweet air with her heavy wings. Not bothering to glance at her owl, she hastily untied the heavy parchment attached to Rosaline's leg. There was a starched envelope with her name on it in Viktor's handwriting. Her heart sped up, her hands grew clammy, she tore the envelope to shreds as she searched for the letter, dreading what it would say. But, to her great surprise, the letter did not have the awful reply she knew it would. Instead it stated, although in brevity, good news.

Dear Hermione,

I realize that I have hurt you. If I have hurt you, I have pained myself a thousand times over. We need to meet, in person. Can we meet at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade on July seventh? Love Signed From,

Viktor Krum

The seventh. The next day. She was not prepared for this. She had to...she had to...the thoughts weren't connecting, and for once in Hermione Granger's life, she didn't know anything. She was void of thought. She had to get a new outfit. She had to...change her hair...what did she think she was doing?

She rushed out into Diagon Alley, looking for new robes. She ran into Madame Malkin, almost knocking the plump woman over. She purchased mauve robes with silver lining, not caring about the price. This was Viktor Krum. She didn't notice Ron in the corner, bewildered, slightly panicked. She didn't notice anything. The only thought in her head was, Viktor Krum Viktor Krum Viktor Krum. It formed a mantra in her head, coursing through her veins. She would live to see Viktor Krum again.