A Penned Affair

Chapter 3--Villie

"What?"

"My parents have forced me to marry Adriana Neklov, against my vill."

He looked at her. She looked into his eyes, brimmed with tears. She felt relieved that he hadn't willingly left her in the dust, angry that he'd allowed his parents to force him, sad that--sad about all of this mess.

"I-I don't understand," she lied. He gave her a bewildered look which looked so out of place on his strong features.

"I suppose not," he said heavily. "And for that, I am truly sorry. But vot is done is done, Herm-own-ninny. I cannot change the past. My parents--they hope I will 'grow to love' her." He sounded bitter and he grimaced out the window, his nose wrinkling with distaste.

Hermione said nothing. She too peered out the window, looking at what Viktor had been distracted by. A young couple were buying things together, hand in hand as they strolled down the neat streets this fine morning. The man conjured up a bouquet of flowers, lilies. Hermione's favorite.

"You could've written, Viktor," she said in a small voice. She could feel it coming. The blockade she had set up so carefully was about to come tumbling down. "I sat in my room sometimes, thinking about those letters. Do you know what happened after the war?" She didn't wait for an answer. "My first thought was, 'Harry's safe, thank God,' and my second was, 'Now Viktor and I can live in a world where it's safe.' My heart was torn into--into a thousand tiny pieces which you just--" She didn't finish her sentence. She just let the solitary tear that escaped roll down her cheek onto her jaw.

"Viktor Krum?"

A stabbing voice came from the door. A tall, thin girl with banana colored hair which was curled into thick corkscrew curls and obnoxiously aqua eyes was standing there, hands on her hips. "Viktor, how good it is to see you! I mean, I'd heard you'd got yourself married, but oh, Merlin, it's to a right pretty witch!" She strode over, looking like a blur in her robes of tangerine.

"Hello, Vilhelmina." Viktor's tears had miraculously dried, though he was speaking quite thickly.

"Oh, pleeease, Viktor. I've asked you millions of times to call me Willie! But let's not go into that, shall we?" Willie reminded Hermione distinctly of Rita Skeeter, the unfortunately nosy reporter Hermione had caught as a fake Animagus in her fourth year. "So, Viktor. Who's the ah-dooorrrable wifey?" She had a sharp, shrill laugh which sliced the air easily.

"Villie," Viktor said in a low, uncomfortable tone, "this isn't my vife."

Hermione made a desperate sound.

"Oh, deeearr!" Willie continued in that sing-song trill. "Did I interrupt a little spat?" She eyed the two seated at the table sharply.

"Now is not a great time, Villie," said Viktor. "Herm-own-ninny and I were just leaving. Veren't we, Herm-own-ninny?"

"Yes," said Hermione briefly. She decided not to give Willie any more ammunition for a conversation.

"Well, I'll come with you!" giggled Willie. "Have you been to Zonko's lately? A parrrty! Let's go!"

"Villie," said Viktor. "Please." He pulled Hermione up by the hand and Willie's smile faded. She looked much less attractive without her plastered poster beam.

"Fine. I'll just sit here myself, shall I?" She plopped down into one of the recently abandoned seats and frowned. "Brilliant. I travel from bloody America, and Viktor Krum can't spare me a moment's time. Just perfect."

Viktor said nothing and Hermione, feeling very numb, let herself be lead out of the bar.

"Who," said Hermione heatedly once they had got out of earshot, "was that awful woman?"

"Her name is Vilhelmina Broache, and she's...she's my ex-girlfriend," said Viktor, looking fixedly at the shop on the other side of the street.

Hermione's day was getting better and better.