New York

New York

Hermione had always loved New York.

It really was a city like no other. Though she sometimes felt the party energy was contradictory to her personality, she also mused that maybe that was why she liked it so much. Who would ever picture simple, studious, homebody Hermione in the city that never sleeps? But there was also the cultural side to the city, which Hermione simply adored. The museums and galleries were always amazing and thought provoking.

But by far, the thing Hermione liked most about New York was Central Park. It was like crossing an invisible barrier to another world. The noise and people of the city were left behind in an instant and she was magically carried away.

She knows that Central Park doesn't always have the best reputation. Her mother would repeatedly warn her about the madmen prowling the park. She would scoff, because not only did she think those stories ridiculously exaggerated, but because if someone was foolish enough to attack her, her ever present wand would make them sorry in an instant. And besides, Hermione figured any dangerous criminals would still have enough sense to mug someone inside where it was warm, not out in the park in the middle of winter, a light snow falling all around them.

Hermione walked along the paths, lost in her thoughts. She was twenty one years old and still at times marvelled that she had made it to such a milestone at all. The War had been terrible, with many great losses. But she was thankful every day that she, Harry and Ron had made it through, together.

She kicked some snow, a smile on her face. She was so relaxed and lost in her own thoughts that when she first saw him, her eyes passed over him with no recognition whatsoever. He was just another person out enjoying the brisk winter air. But then the snow stopped falling and she took another look at him. The penny dropped, and she froze in place. It was really him.

Viktor Krum.

He was sitting on a bench, bundled up warmly, reading a book. Shock washed over her. What were the chances of them being here together, two people from different countries meeting in a city on the other side of the world, after not seeing each other for nearly four years? The odds must be astronomical.

Hermione and Viktor had owled back and forth since Fourth Year, normally only once every few months. They had seen each other once, briefly, at the height of The War. It had been so good to see him. They spent the night talking together in the lounge of Grimmauld Place, fighting the exhaustion that threatened to overwhelm them just to stay up and be together. And then, when he said goodbye in the morning, he left her with a chaste kiss on the lips.

They had continued owling each other, perhaps more sporadically than either would have liked. Hermione had always felt something for him. She considered Viktor to be the one person in the wizarding world that was just for her. All of her friends were also friends with Harry or Ron. She didn't really have anyone dissociated from that life, someone she could confide in completely, without fear of her innermost thoughts and feelings getting back to other people. But Viktor was that person for her. He was the one she could be honest with. He wasn't friends with any of her other friends, nor she with any of his friends. So everything they said to each other was honest and true.

He looked so good. His hair had grown back into shaggy locks, so different from when she last saw him, his hair shaven down to next to nothing. There was something about him that had changed since last they met. She didn't know how she knew, but she could just tell that he had lost the awkwardness which she found so endearing. She watched him for a moment, still scarcely believing he was here, hypnotized by the visible breath he rhythmically exhaled into the cold.

Her feet carry her forward, almost against her will. She bit her lip in a nervous grin as she got closer to him.

"Viktor," she said when she stopped in front of his bench, her voice sounding strange to her own ears.

He looked up, amazement instantly shining from his face. "Hermione?" he said, almost in disbelief.

The correct pronunciation of her name shocked her a little and all she could do was grin and nod in return.

He put the book aside and stood. She looked up at him.

"Hermione," he repeated, then leant down and kissed her cheek. His lips were warm against her skin, leaving little tingles behind. "How are you?"

"Good," she replied, slightly breathless.

He indicated to the bench and they both sat down.

"How are you?"

"I am good." He paused, and then, "I am so surprised to be seeing you here."

"Me too," she said, laughing. "What are you doing here?"

"Holiday. Break from Quidditch. Vos needing to go somewhere no one knows me. Guess it did not vork."

The sparkle in his eyes and the shy smile on his face told her he was joking. But she decided to play around with him anyway.

"Oh, well, I could leave if you would rather be alone," she said, making to stand up.

"No," he said urgently, placing a hand on her arm. "Stay."

She grinned, settling back down beside him. They looked at each other, the world around them fading in an instant. Hermione hesitantly reached out and touched a lock of hair that poked out from his beanie. "I like this."

He chuckled. "Last time ve met, I had hair cut as a bet. Short hair is not practical in European vinter."

"No, I guess not."

"So vot are you doing here, Hermione?"

"I'm taking a break."

"From vot?"

"From my life," she said, a ghost of a smile.

"Are you ..." he looked away for a moment. Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion but then he returned his gaze to her. "Are you still vith Ron?"

"No," she said, her voice a whisper.

"Vhy not?"

"It just didn't work out," she replied. He continued looking at her, pinning her under his stare. She sighed. She never could lie to him. "Nothing went wrong, as such. We had a nice time together. But the truth is ... I think we missed our chance. I don't know when it was, but we missed it. By the time we got through school and The War and everything, it was as though we got together merely out of obligation. We're still friends though."

He nodded. "And vot about your parents? And Harry Potter? Are they vell?"

"Yeah, they are all good. Thanks. What about you? How is Andon?"

A flicker of sadness passed over his eyes for a moment. "He is okay. It is hard for him sometimes, after everything that happened."

Hermione dropped her head slightly. Viktor's parents had died in The War, and his younger brother had not taken their deaths well. Clearly it was still a painful subject. She took a deep breath and then asked, "And what about Emiliya?"

He shrugged. "I hear she is fine."

Hermione looked up at him. "You aren't together still?"

"Not in ... over three years," he replied.

Hermione's brain, which sometimes worked in ways she didn't like, immediately calculated that they had broken up just after they had seen each other last.

"So, are you with anyone now then?"

He shook his head. "No. No one since then."

"Oh," she replied, a blush on her cheeks. Her mind, continuing its mutiny, somehow came to the conclusion that Viktor's being single since the last time they saw each other was not a coincidence. And despite the ridiculousness of such an idea, she couldn't help her smile at the thought.

They sat in silence for a few moments. A father and his daughter walked past them, the young girl bundled in layers of pink and green. He nodded at them and then took off after his daughter, who had just been distracted by a bird.

"I haff missed you, Hermy-own-ninny," Viktor said, so softly she thought she may have imagined it, nerves making him revert back to the incorrect pronunciation of her name.

She turned to him, thinking that maybe he hadn't lost that awkwardness she had loved. His dark eyes were intensely locked on hers and she felt her stomach tighten considerably in response.

"I've missed you too," she replied softly.

It wasn't a lie. She had missed him. Over the last few years, she would find herself, at increasing intervals, remembering the incredible feeling of dancing in his arms or the way she trembled as he leaned in to kiss her or his lopsided grin or the way she always seemed to be smiling when she was around him.

"Vould you like to go to dinner vith me?"

She grinned. How could she not? "I'd love to."

They both stood and began walking down the path together. The conversation flowed freely as the snow began to fall again. And when, after a few minutes, Viktor took her hand in his, she smiled.

Hermione had always loved New York.

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Authors notes: Thanks Cronje!

Post fic notes: Emiliya is a Bulgarian name that means 'rival.' :O)

Please, please, please review and let me know what you think - good or bad. I'm a review junkie - please don't leave me hanging too long for my next fix. :o)

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