Viktor settled into his usual chair in his parent's informal dining room and let himself relax. As much as he loved his apartment and the luxury of having his own space, it was good to be home.

His mother had no reaction other than delight when he had floo called her earlier in the week and asked to stay at short notice. His father had raised his eyebrows knowingly when he arrived, but so far, Viktor had avoided having to give anything in the way of an explanation. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he wanted to tell them, but with the markings appearing at the stadium and the increasing number of articles about what was happening in the UK, Viktor had decided to make a conscious effort to be home more often.

It was comfortable and familiar in the way it was with tight-knit families. Viktor thought it was possible others might find his life with his parents a bit quiet, but as an only child who had always had a predilection for taking life maybe a little too seriously, it had never been a rambunctious house. But to Viktor, that didn't mean it hadn't been happy.

Viktor tried to eat in a way that Sofiya would find acceptable for a child she had raised, but it had been a long time since he had sat down to a dinner that looked so nice. One enthusiastic forkful followed another, and he managed to swipe up the excess potatoes in the centre of the table before his father got there, for once.

One of the major drawbacks of his choice of profession was the strict dietary requirements. While Viktor had no trouble sticking to them (rules were rules for a reason), he didn't have the culinary imagination required to make anything genuinely delicious out of the very basic ingredients he was allowed to have. It was also not particularly motivating to come home and make a nice dinner when you were the only one who would enjoy it.

Viktor would never admit it to a living soul, but from time to time, it was nice to be coddled. Since he had arrived on Friday night, his mother had been making a fuss of him. She had made sure the kitchen was stocked with his favourite things and had taken tea with him the last two mornings while they talked about everything that was happening in his life. His mother had the uncanny knack of recovering events that he had already told her about over regular letters, without it seeming repetitive or annoying. There was clearly information that was more pertinent to her than to him, and he never questioned why she wanted to know certain things. Viktor had released that while ninety per cent of it was him tolerating her need to ensure he was okay, there was a part of him that enjoyed the attention.

He had been injured more times then he had anticipated this season. While some rough-housing was a given and viewed as 'part of the game', he had been deliberately and aggressively targeted on more than one occasion. Viktor wasn't delicate, in either form or sensibility, but he had as breakable a body as the next player, and he hated being treated at the games.

Absentmindedly, Viktor ran his fingers over the dip in his collar bone, pausing when the pad of his thumb drifted to where a red slash had been until only a few weeks before. Thoughts of other, more delicate fingers caressing that spot invaded his mind, and Viktor flushed.

Thankfully, his parent's didn't notice. They were too distracted by passively disagreeing over what salad they had shared on one of their early dates. Their ease with one another was something that had always made Viktor feel safe. When he had met Hermione, he had wondered whether he might be able to have something similar, one day. Now though these gentle, pleasant moments were undercut with a layer of dread that unfurled in his stomach. There was a darkness growing in the world, and it felt like it lingered at the corners of every scene, ready to pop any swell of happiness that was to be found. When Viktor sat back and watched his parents interacting his thoughts lingered on how much he loved them, and how devastated he would be if…

Viktor sat forward in his seat and shook his head. He was spending too much time worrying about the absence between himself and Hermione, and he was in danger of becoming maudlin if he didn't get it in check.

He played with the avocado slices remaining at the side of his plate before laying down his fork. "Dad?" he blurted, and Grigor looked up inquiringly. "Do you think... What do you think has happened to Karkaroff?"

His parent's exchanged a heavy glance and Viktor took a sip from his water glass, trying to ease his suddenly dry mouth. "There was a news story about him today, an article," he explained. "It never expressly stated why they were running it, but it read like… like an obituary."

The word hung in the air and drained the quiet contentment that had been flowing only a moment before. Viktor knew he had to ask. He had been driving himself mad thinking about it since he had glanced at the paper over breakfast. The article had been short and to the point, mentioning his former Headmaster by name and outlining his achievements but that was all. Viktor had been consumed with guilt when he saw it. Though his mind had drifted to thoughts of Igor Karkaroff a few times over the last few months, he hadn't dwelled on it by any means. Now it looked like...

"I saw it," his father confirmed with a weary sigh that made Viktor feel no better.

Viktor contemplated his response. His father was not a hard man, but he wasn't a shielder either. Grigor believed that if you asked a question, you had to be prepared to deal with the answer and that humouring people only led to confusion and eventual resentment. Viktor had learnt that the hard way when his first puppy had died. Looking back, it might have been the only time his parents had seriously argued in his presence.

"Do you think he's dead?" Viktor asked eventually and then gripped the side of the table in front of him. He wasn't sure what he was asking for, for some reassurance possibly, or maybe even some hope? Though, he couldn't fully answer the question of how he felt about the Headmaster himself. Igor Karkaroff had never even pretended to be a good man, and if the stories he had been told over the years were even half true, his former Headmaster had done some truly awful, unforgivable things. Yet, amongst all of those truths, there were others, memories that clouded already murky water.

Viktor could remember his first day at Durmstrang, as clearly as if it had happened last week. The school had been vast and freezing cold and from the outset, everything that was intimidating to an eleven-year-old. Viktor could remember standing outside and losing sight of the boy he had been following in the flurry of bad weather. He had been fiddling with his new, too big coat, worrying about messing up on the first day and embarrassing his family. But then, Karkaroff had been there. The Headmaster had put his hand on Viktor's shoulder and said, 'you must be Grigor's boy' and walked him to the entrance he needed before pointing him in the direction of the dining room.

There hadn't been much warmth in his greeting, Karkaroff hadn't cared much for Viktor either way, not until he was successful in any case. But there had been the greeting and familiarity, and in a small way, it had made Viktor feel less anonymous amongst the sea of faces, and more at home.

Grigor pushed his plate away from his place setting and considered Viktor carefully. "People do not usually last this long."

"But-" Viktor tried, but his father silenced him with a look.

"Karkaroff was an extraordinarily resourceful man, though perhaps he has had fewer options available to him of late. And from what I know of the Death Eaters, they would… make it known if someone had been found."

His mother clucked her tongue, and Grigor gave her a placating glance.

"So you think.. he could be safe?" Viktor asked, more eagerly than even he had expected.

"That's not what I said," Grigor replied slowly. "I try not to make assumptions either way, and in this particular instance I have no reason to believe that Karkaroff is either my foe or my ally, and so I draw no conclusions until I know more."

"But if you had to guess?" Viktor pressed.

"Dead," Grigor said plainly. "I would say that he is most likely dead."

"That was what I thought," Viktor murmured as his mother reached over to pat his hand just once before swiftly changing the subject.

Viktor walked around the busy hotel suite and tried not to show how much he would rather have been anywhere else in the world. It wasn't an easy task. Viktor was well aware that his resting face made him look, to quote one reporter from years before, 'less-than-delighted', but he felt making an effort to absently semi-smile, made him look almost lobotomised. He really couldn't win either way. Though, his reactions were natural enough if he had people around him that inspired them. Sadly, none of those people were here.

He made his way over to the small drinks station that had been set up and tried to find something that wasn't overly carbonated or ridiculously sweet. If he was only staying for a couple of drinks, he might as well try to enjoy them.

Despite what the public and the press seemed to assume, the life of a 'sports star' wasn't all champagne and celebrations, or at least, it wasn't at his club. Coach took their training seriously and any news of excessively boozy nights that threatened their performance, or outlandish antics that threatened their reputation and he would have come down on them like a ton of bricks. In fact, the last time it had happened the player in question had to do twenty laps of the pitch while being followed by a Bludger. It was entirely possible that being hit by a magnitude of bricks was a comparatively easier fate.

Under the threat of punishment, and a genuine desire from some to stay far removed from the spotlight, parties were few and far between. In any case, there were only three opportunities over the whole season where the conditions were fair enough for them even to try. These were the occasions when they had a two-week break between matches, they were staying in one place for a reasonable amount of time, and their training regime was light enough that the team would momentarily look the other way - at least, to a degree.

Predictably, Dragomir had offered to make the arrangements. He had pushed for the best suite their hotel had to offer, and things began once the official team dinner wrapped up.

It seemed there were plenty of things to celebrate. The team was playing well, and they were in an almost incontestable spot at the top of the league table. Then that morning they heard the news that Viktor had received a nomination for Rookie of the Year. It was all going well, but if Viktor was honest, it was nothing less than he had expected for himself. He had been determined when he signed that contract that nothing but his best - or maybe just beyond it - would do.

Viktor still remembered the crushing disappointment he had felt at the World Cup. The loss wasn't something he could change, so it was illogical to give it much headroom, and yet, he still wondered sometimes, what he could have done differently. Could he have trained harder? Pushed for a different tactical approach? Inspired his teammates more? His Coach would tell him that one player could not carry a team. But Viktor still felt that he should have been able to lead them to victory.

A whizzing sound pulled him from his thoughts, and Viktor smiled to himself as he watched a couple of players he had met earlier set up a few magical decorations they had brought along with them. As there was so few in such ample space, the effect was slightly underwhelming, but they looked pleased enough with their efforts. Another guest complained about the plume of smoke that erupted from under a cascade of streaming stars now up on the ceiling, but Dragomir settled everyone down by passing out more drinks and patting people on the back before sharing more of his collection of outrageous stories - ever the consummate host.

Viktor picked up a drink and glanced at the clock. He had been there for an hour. He had promised himself he wouldn't leave before eleven, even if it did feel like time was moving backwards.

He'd been criticised when he was a junior player for being too severe and for not being focused enough on his teammates. The reprimand had shamed him as it had been far from intentional. Viktor had been trained to hone in on winning, and at times his manner could be seen as unyielding. Viktor was trying his best to correct that now that he had turned pro. While this wasn't exactly in his wheelhouse, letting off steam and socialising together was good for bonding, off-pitch and on, and he owed his fellow players that.

Viktor was very aware that his teammates could have taken against him as some other players in the league had done. They could have been annoyed by him getting such a prime spot so young, and yet they had been welcoming and willing to listen to ideas and suggestions he had. As Seeker, their game was built around the way he liked to play, at least to an extent, and he hadn't heard a word of complaint about that. Viktor supposed it helped that the changes had meant that they were playing better and winning more consistently, but he had known people that wouldn't have been enough to convince in the past. He was grateful he didn't have any of that sort around him on a day to day basis.

Viktor moved to the other end of the suite and sat himself down next to a couple of the older players and joined their conversation about the fight in the league for fourth and fifth place. With them being so dominant this season, the real action had been happening further down the table, and for all Viktor might now have been a 'top player', he was still an avid fan of the game.

Now and again, his eye would be drawn to some going on around him. The crowd was made up of the usual sorts, the team themselves and then the supporting crew of administrators, legal, medical and others. They would usually invite some local players in both their league and the lower divisions. Finally, the hangers on that were always present whenever they got whiff of a celebration.

In the beginning, Viktor had been a bit awed by the number of people that were around the professional game. His involvements with it had always been fleeting, composed of introductions that his trainers and managers thought might benefit his career in the future. But, as much as his views had changed over the years, the abundance of 'yes' people wasn't the worst thing about this life.

Travelling was the real downside of a sport that essentially meant you lived on the road for most of the year. Again, it had been another thing that had once seemed so glamorous. Viktor had been so excited to have the opportunity to visit all of these fantastic cities and to do what he loved, and yet, the reality was somewhat different.

Time in each place was limited, and so you mainly saw the world from a bland hotel room. Eating the same foods you had wherever you went, having the same fights with lumpy pillows in the early hours of the morning and having the same conversations with people who weren't really listening.

Viktor had come to believe pretty adamantly that there was nowhere lonelier than a hotel room. Especially when you were on your third consecutive night, and you were pretty sure the artwork was the same as the one you had seen in another hotel, a few months before. There were only so many times you could order a chicken salad from the room service menu before you began to wonder if it was all it was cracked up to be. But then, Viktor would remember the game, remember the rush of air in his face and his fist around the Snitch and all of his minor complaints would fade away.

Viktor eventually extracted himself from a friendly yet heated conversation on the career opportunities for ex-players and went to find himself another drink. In the hour since he had been at the drinks table, the alcohol supply had taken a significant hit, and people were beginning to feel the effects if the amount that had been sloshed all over the work surface was any indication.

While Viktor was rooting through an ice bucket to find a beer that wasn't some kind of novelty flavour, he felt a hand land on his shoulder, and he whipped around. The witch behind him was tall, with long flowing blonde hair and bright, happy blue eyes. She smiled at him with a knowing quirk of her lips and made a production of giving him the once over.

Viktor glanced at her in silence with one eyebrow raised. He had seen the woman a few times around the room, in her bright yellow dress she would have been hard to miss.

"I'm sorry to disturb you," she said saccharinely sweetly. "I was wondering if you could pass me a glass of wine?"

Viktor looked back at the table that was at least six feet long and therefore more than equipped to handle two people using it at once, but he didn't mention it. A lady had asked him for a drink and whatever her intentions, he couldn't exactly tell her to get it herself without seeming like a massive arsehole.

"Of course," Viktor replied and reached for the nearest bottle, proffering the rose liquid before she nodded eagerly. He managed to find a clean glass, which at this point of the evening was nothing short of miraculous and then he passed her a drink as he opened up a beer. He nodded at her before attempting a tactical retreat. Though, predictably, he didn't get far.

She secured her neatly manicured hand around his bicep and held onto him firmly, wrinkling his shirt. "Hang on a moment," she said with a small laugh. "I didn't even get a chance to thank you for the drink."

"You're welcome," Viktor said and offered her a perfunctory smile.

"I'm Blanche," she greeted warmly, and Viktor thought she might release his arm to shake his hand, but she didn't.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Viktor."

Her head tilted, and she settled her wine on a nearby ledge so she could fiddle with the ends of her wavy hair. "Oh, I know who you are," she replied, taking a step closer. "I was wondering, how long are you going to be staying here for?"

Viktor shrugged. "A few more days?"

He wasn't being deliberately evasive. For once he genuinely didn't know. The team were officially moving on in two days, but he had been toying with the idea of staying on for a while before heading back.

"Well," Blanche replied, her eyes brightening. "I'm not sure how much you've seen of the place, but I would love to act as your guide if you need one."

Viktor took a swig of his beer and used the cover to make a quick scan of the room. Generally, in this situation, there were ample people happy to intervene to try their luck at deflecting a woman's interest. Sadly there didn't seem to be many people around him at that moment.

"That is kind of you," he said at last, "but I have a lot of training; my time is not my own."

"How about dinner then?" she suggested, clearly unperturbed by what was becoming an obvious reluctance on his part. "Once you've finished your training, that is. I'd really like to get to know you better."

"I have a girlfriend," Viktor said softly, and she finally loosened to her grip enough for him to pull back his arm without it looking as if he had wrenched it from her grasp.

"I hadn't heard that?" she said lightly, though her tone was doubtful, questioning even. Viktor tried not to roll his eyes as she reached for her glass.

"I do not talk about my private life with the press," he explained shortly.

She nodded, apparently trying to look understanding. Viktor didn't much believe her expression.

"Anyway," she said after taking a long sip. "I'm sure your girlfriend wouldn't mind you getting a little city tour from a… new friend."

Viktor imagined Hermione's likely reaction and nearly laughed. Hermione could be surprisingly laid back about many things, and he knew she trusted him and that her trust was returned. She had male friends to spare, but Viktor had never been the jealous type, especially not when in a relationship that had defined boundaries.

Viktor shrugged. The truth of it was that although he would never intentionally do something to hurt Hermione's feelings, it was a more selfish interest that was the driving force in obstructing this request. He couldn't imagine anything more infuriating than doing something so potentially romantic with anyone that wasn't her. He missed Hermione enough as it was.

"I would prefer to explore the city with her when I get the opportunity."

"Is she here?" Blanche asked tightly though the fact that she didn't scan the room told Viktor she already knew she wasn't.

"She may as well be," Viktor replied pointedly and when the girl's eyes dimmed a little he knew she had picked up his meaning. Her smile came back pretty quickly though it was more brittle now.

"Ah… what a pity, for me, and you," she said before she flounced off, Viktor didn't watch to see where she went.

He smiled to himself at her display of self-confidence; it was quite inspiring really. Blanche may have been determined, but she wasn't half as bad as some of the women he had endured before. Back when he had just barely turned seventeen, he had almost been dragged into a closet by a benefactor of the club he was playing with. He had smelt the alcohol on her breath when she had whispered in her ear, and Viktor had debated just making a run for it. In the end, he had reminded her of who his mother was before she could say too much and she had slunk away in haughty defeat.

Viktor drained his glass. He'd made it to ten-thirty. Good enough. He saluted Dragomir, who was sat between two animated blondes and unlikely to care that his teenage teammate was making an early exit.

Viktor stood in the corridor for a couple of seconds before making a slow walk back to his room. Next time, he was bringing Mikhail.

Hermione sat down in a condensed huddle as if keeping herself small would somehow render her undetectable. It was probably some sort of psychological hangover from hiding under the invisibility cloak so many times over the last few years. Sadly, she didn't have that at her disposal presently, so she was just folded as close as she could be to the wall. It was highly probable that she looked so strange she was more noticeable this way. But it was too late to try any better plans now.

Coming here had been taking a considerable risk, but, no matter what she said, Harry wasn't even entertaining listening.

Her friend had not been having the best year, they all knew that, but the mandatory Occlumency lessons with Professor Snape had been making a bad situation worse. And as much as Hermione had done everything in her increasingly limited power to encourage Harry to attend, privately she had wondered what Professor Dumbledore had been thinking.

Neither party had looked particularly enthused at the prospect of spending more time together, and Sirius had been practically foaming at the mouth when he'd heard about it. Hermione had always assumed that their Potions master despised everyone, with Harry and Neville being at the top of the list. But seeing him interact with Sirius just once over the Christmas break had shown her what the professor was like when he sincerely abhorred someone, and it was terrifying to behold. Though apparently, it had no impact on Sirius, who had never looked less intimidated and had to be bodily restrained from vaulting over the kitchen table to wring Professor Snape's neck.

Ron had been delighted to see that fight, but Hermione had been deflated. She couldn't really blame Ron; it had been a needed distraction for him from what had happened to his father. But, Hermione had begun to realise that her mother's comments about boys maturing later than girls might have been incredibly understated. She might not have loved Lavender Brown, but you didn't see her drawing her wand every time she entered the dorm at night and yelling at an unhinged way about her faults.

But then, after all the initial chaos, Sirius had calmed down enough to take on some parental responsibility, and he had insisted that Harry attend the classes. He had even gone as far as to admit that 'Snape' was the best at it. Though it had looked as if it had almost choked him to say so.

So, Harry had gone to the classes, still reluctantly, but at least punctual and with the appropriate textbook. He never wanted to speak much when the sessions were over, but Hermione gleaned enough to see that they were making some progress if apparently slower than either Harry or Professor Snape would like.

Then, last week it had all ended rather abruptly. Harry had come back to the common room, slammed the portrait hole and made his way straight up to his dorm. A few of them had got out of their seats, debating following, but the expression on his face had been enough to make them reconsider.

The next day Harry wouldn't be drawn on it. He insisted that Professor Snape had terminated their lessons because he now had a 'good grasp on the basics'. Hermione didn't believe him. Whatever had happened it had made Harry deeply upset, and after a few days of walking around the castle despondently, he had resolved that he needed to speak to Sirius.

Which has how Ron and Hermione had found themselves hiding in the corridor outside Umbridge's office.

Harry had gone in a moment before, and so far the corridor had been quiet, unusually quiet. The Weasley twins had promised a distraction, and apparently, it was working. They were only there as a backup, not that Harry knew that.

It had been Ron's idea. When they had realised just how determined Harry was, he had suggested they stand guard so they would have a chance of delaying anyone that managed to get past whatever Fred and George had cooked up. Or, in the worst-case scenario, take the fall.

Hermione's heart hammered in her chest as they waited, somehow the quiet was jangling her nerves more than a disturbance would. When Harry had been in there for over twenty minutes, she thought there was a good chance she would have a panic attack. Just as she began to try to regulate her breathing, Ron reached for her hand.

It had been a long time since they had had any physical interactions. The full hugs of their early years had drifted to one-armed embraces and then nothing at all in recent months. Hermione allowed the feeling of him being there to anchor her, and she rested her chin on her chest and tried to get herself to calm down.

"It's going to be okay, Hermione," he insisted brightly, and Hermione chewed on her lip.

"I feel silly, worrying about being expelled When..."

"I know," he interjected, squeezing her fingers. "But it's going to be okay!"

As soon as the comforting words were out of his mouth, there was a quack beneath their feet and then a reverberating boom that rang out from somewhere on the other side of the castle. It was so loud and fierce that it made a cloud of dust and debris fall from the ceiling. Hermione jumped out of her skin, and so she wasn't prepared when Harry came creeping out of the office in front of them. He wasn't even wearing his cloak. And people said she lacked stealth!

"What are you two doing here?" he asked suspiciously before his brows pinched when he noticed their linked hands. They let go of each other as a reflex.

"Coming to find you," Ron interjected quickly. "Did you hear that? We should go and Investigate."

Ron took off down the corridor before Harry could ask how they got to him so fast, and Hermione determinedly kept her gaze ahead. At least Harry had got out of there safely; now they just had to see what the twins had done to make sure it happened.

Things had taken a dramatic turn since Fred and George's hazardous exit. Not that things weren't usually a bit hectic towards the end of the last term, but this year it was more palpable. Hermione spent each day waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Somewhat unsurprisingly, Harry tried to blame himself for the twin's curtailed education, but no one would hear of it. As Ginny patiently explained in the common room one evening, setting off upwards of thirty fireworks inside the entrance hall, while on brooms, was hardly a spur of the moment decision. Fred and George had obviously been planning this for ages and timed it for when it would have maximum effect. Harry had just given them an opening. Everything else was on them.

Though it went against everything she held dear, Hermione tried to be comforted that the twins would now be Hogwarts legends, maybe even surpassing their idols the Marauders, and that was all they ever wanted. Ginny was quietly pleased that Harry seemed to be listening to her, and Ron was delighted that his mother wasn't currently able to send letters.

The sense of contentment didn't put Hermione at ease at all. She had lived through the eye of the storm too many times to be fooled by it again.

Hermione quietly excused herself from dinner, narrowly avoiding a tumble when she and Neville collided at the door. It was one of those days where her presence at the meal seemed surplus to requirements. Ginny and Harry were sat close together, quietly discussing something that was giving them both uncharacteristically shy smiles and Ron was doing his best to charm a newly aloof Lavender.

It was exactly the sort of lull in time where she would have written to Viktor. However, that avenue was no longer open to her. Hermione had considered writing letters anyway, or maybe even putting her thoughts into a journal, but nothing felt sale anymore. She wasn't quite fanciful enough to draft a note in her mind, and so she decided it was best to keep herself occupied.

Back in her room, Hermione went in search of her Charms homework and found Dragon curled up asleep on Crookshank's back with his softened claws pressed deep into the mass of thick orange fur. Her beloved cat raised an eyebrow as if daring her to say something, but Hermione only smiled and gave him a scratch behind his ear.

She opened her trunk to retrieve a ream of parchment and was so surprised she lost her grip on the lid, causing it to fall backwards. Luckily it got caught on the edge of her bedding, and thus it was prevented from slamming. Crookshanks would have scratched her tights to shreds if she had disturbed him during his afternoon downtime.

Hermione sank out of her crouch and dropped onto her knees before reaching into her trunk.

There, on top of her newly reordered possessions was a neat stack of envelopes tied in an ageing ribbon.

Her letters were back.

A/N: Dun dun dun! :) So there we have it. To forewarn you lovely people, the next chapter is DoM, and we will be seeing through the eyes of someone outside of our main couple. Stay safe xx