Black Russian
Rated: Strong R
Summary: Viktor Krum meets a girl who has no idea who he is. Part of miss_celestine's cocktail smut-a-thon.
Black Russian
Viktor Krum was used to heads turning whenever he walked into Zmey. It was well known that he and his team mates often turned up after a match to celebrate a victory or drown their sorrows after a defeat. Thus any female fans of his would crowd the bar hoping to snare his attention for an evening.
Under normal circumstances he didn’t particularly like it. They weren’t after him, per se. They were after a piece of him - they were after bragging rights. Perhaps even some of them were thinking to entrap him. He was always careful about never leaving his drink unattended, and he always carried an antidote to most love potions.
So why was it, when he walked into Zmey that night, that the one head he wished would turn remained immobile? He’d been sitting in a corner for over an hour, nursing a vodka, and watching her.
He’d never seen her in here before. If he had, he was sure he’d have remembered it. Elegant was the only word for her. Shiny black hair was piled elaborately, a few loose tendrils framing her high cheekbones. Her dark eyes were almond shaped and slightly tilted. Her full lips were driving him crazy; he couldn’t stop himself from imagining what they would feel like moving beneath his own. Her slim body was clothed in a form-fitting black sweater over a narrow, calf-length black skirt. She was exotic; she was exquisite….
She had no clue who he was, and for once that irked him. It made things so much more difficult. He was going to have to get her to notice him on his own merit.
“Viktor! Earth to Viktor!”
Dimitar Zograf, the only one of his fellow Vrasta Vultures to play on the national team with him, was calling him back to reality.
“Aw, leave him alone,” said Krasimir Daskalov, one of the Vultures’ Beaters. “He’s in his happy place.”
“It’s the only happy place he’s going to be,” said the other Beater, Stoyan Bogdanov. “She’s out of your league, mate.”
“And I suppose you think she’s in yours?” replied Viktor, annoyed.
“She’s in a league all her own,” said Bogdanov. “Anyway, she wouldn’t want your ugly mug.”
And that was the problem. Viktor knew that he wasn’t much to look at. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was an international Quidditch star, most girls wouldn’t give him the time of day. For once, he wished someone would look past his fame, past his forbidding features and see the real person inside.
He thought of the girl he’d met back in England several years previously when he’d competed in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Hermy-own-ninny. She’d seen beyond the fame and reputation; she’d seen past his looks. The last time he’d seen her, though, had been at Fleur Delacour’s wedding. She was with one of those red-heads now.
He downed his vodka, threw a few Galleons on the table, and stalked out of the bar.
*
The next time he sloped into Zmey, he kept his eyes purposefully on the ground a few feet ahead of him. He didn’t want to look for her; he wanted to pretend he hadn’t spent the past week hoping she’d be there. He wanted to pretend he hadn’t spent the past week thinking about her and what it might feel like to sink into her, to elicit sighs and panting and screams.
And if she was there, he didn’t was to see all the other girls’ heads turn but hers.
His gaze fixed on the path to his usual table, he didn’t see her until it was too late. His face burned like a school boy’s, as he mumbled an apology for being so clumsy. She laughed and said it was all right.
Her laugh was silvery - like bells; she spoke Bulgarian with a slight accent that Viktor couldn’t quite place. It only added to her charm. In her heels, her eyes were on a level with his. He looked down at those long, slender legs and wanted to know what they’d feel like wrapped around his waist.
He took his courage into his hands. “Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?”
She smiled, and his heart skipped a beat. “Of course.”
He followed her to the bar. As he ordered their drinks, he realised he was in full view of his team mates. They were nudging each other and smiling. Zograf gave him the thumbs up.
He deliberately chose a table for two in a quiet corner on the opposite side of the room. The last thing he needed was a bunch of loud, suggestive comments made for his benefit. They would have to be very loud indeed to reach his ears on this side of the bar. Not even Bogdanov was that crass. He hoped.
He sat and took a sip of his vodka. “My name’s Viktor,” he informed her. “Viktor Krum.”
No reaction. Not even the slightest hint of recognition. It has been a long time since something like that had happened. Even Hermy-own-ninny had known who he was.
She extended a hand. He took it. It was warm and alive and he wished he could keep hold of it.
“Natalia Andreyevna Yeltsova.”
That explained the accent. “You’re Russian,” he said needlessly.
“Yes.”
“And what are you doing in Bulgaria, then?”
“It’s sort of an exchange through our Ministries. Part of an International Magical Co-operation effort. I’m here to observe some of your laws in action. How you deal with vampire problems, say. Or Veela. Or werewolves.”
“And they’re letting you in on all our state secrets, then?”
“A representative from your Ministry is currently in Moscow, so I’d say it’s a fair exchange.” She took a sip of her drink and her glance wandered over to the other side of the room. “And who are those people? They seem to know you.”
She nodded her head at a point somewhere behind Viktor. He cringed inwardly, knowing without turning around that his team mates must be doing something stupid to attract his attention. He looked in spite of his reluctance and immediately wished he hadn’t. They were grinning and waving at him. Bogdanov was blowing kisses.
Viktor wished he could disown them. “They’re, erm, colleagues.” He drained his glass, and signalled a passing waitress for a refill. “Ignore them. They’re idiots.”
She laughed again. “There are many idiots in the Ministry.”
“Yours or ours?”
“Both. And what do you do to have such idiots for colleagues?”
“I play Quidditch,” he said, thinking it didn’t sound like much at all in comparison with an important Ministry position. “Seeker,” he added.
“Ah.”
Viktor could tell she was just being polite, and his heart sank a little. “Not a fan then?”
She gave an apologetic smile. “No, sorry. I suppose I was never much interested in sports.”
“What are you interested in, then?” he asked, praying it wouldn’t be anything dreadfully dull.
“History. Languages. Other cultures,” she rattled off. “I think I would’ve just stayed at school, if they’d let me.”
He listened to her prattle on about some of the other countries she’d visited through her Ministry job. He wasn’t necessarily following every word. He was too busy watching her enthusiasm for her job flash across her face. Her eyes sparked with it. He found himself wondering what he could do to elicit such a passionate reaction from her.
*
He should have expected the gossip. He was so used to ignoring it that the possibility of its very existence slipped his mind. Any girl with whom he might be seen in public knew what she was getting into. Natalia had no clue.
Someone had got a picture of them sitting together at Zmey. Zograf showed him a copy of The Tattler after practise. Viktor ignored the headline and the story to watch Natalia’s animated face as she rattled on while his photographic self simply stared at her, immobile, his chin propped in one hand.
“That’s good,” said Zograf. “You look just like the picture.”
Viktor scowled at him and tore the paper out of his grasp.
He should have thought of this. He should have warned her. He couldn’t even bring himself to read the article. He knew the sort of things it would say. One look at the by-line - Baba Yaga, a penname for The Tattler’s most vicious gossip-monger - was enough to assure him that he didn’t want to read it. But what was Natalia going to think when she saw it?
He had to see her. He had to get to her before she had a chance to read these lies. The last thing he wanted her to think was that somehow he’d been a willing participant in this. How was he going to find her, though? All he had to go on was a name and a Ministry Department.
The entrance hall to the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic was crowded with witches and wizards on their way home from work by the time Viktor got there. He looked around wildly, hoping to spot her in the crush. It was all too likely he’d missed her and she’d gone home already.
He barely paid attention to the wizard at the security desk, who had to ask Viktor for his wand three times. Viktor was still keeping an eye peeled. Still no luck. She wasn’t in the entrance hall.
“Where’s the Department of Magical Cooperation?” he asked the security wizard.
“Fourth floor.”
Viktor was off in search of the stairs before the words were out of the security wizard’s mouth. He climbed the steps two at a time. When he reached the fourth floor, sweaty and panting with the effort of running, he let out a sigh of relief to find a receptionist still on duty. Perhaps there was still a chance.
“I’m looking for Natalia Yeltsova,” he said once he’d caught his breath.
“Do you have an appointment?”
Viktor thought the receptionist was smirking at him. “No. Look, it’s important. Is she still here?”
“I think she’s left for the day.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
“You mean you don’t?”
Viktor gritted his teeth while he mentally cursed gossip columnists. “No,” he admitted. “Can you tell me?”
“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to give out that kind of information. If she hasn’t told you herself -“
“Viktor?”
He looked up. It was going to be okay. She was still here.
“Natalia Andreyevna, I thought you’d gone home.” The receptionist’s tone had completely changed. Gone was the underlying superiority, replaced by a snappy professionalism. “I didn’t realise…”
“Of course I’m still here. Is there a problem?”
“Only this man who is trying to get in without an appointment.”
“It’s fine, Radka. Come along, Viktor.”
She led him into a maze of non-descript cubicles, each containing the same desk and chair, each surrounded by the same beige walls that reached to about shoulder height. There didn’t seem to be any windows in this part of the building. The entire effect was one of faceless oppression.
He wondered how Natalia could stand being cooped up here all day. She at least deserved a more glamorous environment than this. She stopped at one of the cubicles. Viktor wasn’t sure how she could distinguish it from all the others. Perhaps it didn’t matter.
“What did you want to see me about?” Natalia asked.
Viktor looked around. The department certainly seemed deserted. He wondered if Radka the receptionist had tried to follow them back here so she could eavesdrop.
“Do you think it’s safe to talk here? There’s no one around to listen in?”
Natalia shrugged. “I think everyone but me has gone home. But what have you got to say that you’re worried about someone overhearing?”
Now that Viktor was standing face to face with her, he wasn’t sure how to approach the subject. “I just don’t want to do anything that’s going to fuel the gossip.”
“What gossip?”
“You mean no one’s said anything?”
“Said anything about what?” She was beginning to sound annoyed.
“Us.”
“We had a drink together the other night. Why should anyone care?”
She didn’t know how famous he was. She couldn’t. And he couldn’t tell her without sounding completely full of himself.
He was still holding The Tattler, he realised. How he’d managed not to tear it to shreds, he’d never know. Wordlessly, he held it out to her. His heart began to pound as her eyebrows drew into a scowl. Then suddenly she let out a peal of laughter. It only sounded slightly hysterical, which Viktor supposed was a good thing.
“Did you know,” she said once her laughter had subsided, “that we’re planning a June wedding?”
“No, actually, I didn’t. I haven’t read what it says.”
“Yes. Apparently we were spotted registering china patterns last weekend.” Her expression darkened again. “But I’d better be careful. You’re going to drop me for the next girl who comes along. It says you make a habit of that.”
“I’d never drop you.”
He’d blurted the words out without thinking, and the blood rushed to his face. Could he have possibly been any smoother?
She smiled. “That’s good to know. I wouldn’t want you to drop me before we’ve even been out on a real date.”
He reached out and took her hand. “We could so something about that last part… if you wanted to.”
*
And so they began to see each other. They ignored the gossip columns, and Natalia ignored the catty remarks from the other witches at the Ministry. Many of them acted as if Viktor should have chosen one of his own countrywomen to date and not some foreign witch. None of that mattered to them.
He took her to a Quidditch match, hoping she’d learn to like it. She didn’t. He abandoned the idea of her coming to watch the Vultures play, when she spent most of the match with her eyes covered. Apparently she didn’t think the players’ more daring moves were thrilling. He got the impression that seeing him perform his famous Wronski feint would only terrify her.
“Maybe I should just take you flying,” he told her.
“Why would you do that?” she asked.
“Because you’re afraid of it.”
He had no clue where that idea had come from. It had just entered his mind fully formed, and even as he thought it, he knew it was true.
“No, I’m not.” She said it too quickly, confirming his suspicions.
He put his hand under her chin and lifted it so that her dark eyes were looking directly into his. “Yes, you are. I’ll show you - there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Then he kissed her until she finally agreed to the plan.
*
It was a lazy sort of afternoon in late April when they Apparated to a field fairly close to the Romanian border. The silver ribbon of the Danube reflected the sun’s rays in the distance. A warm breeze carried the scent of freshly turned earth. It was planting season, and the world about them was bursting into bloom.
Viktor knew the area well. His grandfather owned this land. He’d spent many summers here as a boy, flying over the countryside and perfecting his moves.
He could tell Natalia was nervous. She wasn’t saying very much. Viktor took a tiny broom out of his pocket and reversed the Shrinking Spell he’d put on it. It was an older Nimbus model, one he hadn’t flown in years, but he thought it would be less intimidating than the one he used for league play.
He let the broom hover in the air beside them. Natalia looked at it. He could see her swallow.
“Why are you afraid?” he asked quietly.
“I’m Muggleborn,” she said. “I never even heard of flying on broomsticks until I went to school. At our very first flying lesson, the broom I got did something funny. We were just supposed to kick off and come straight back down, but my broom didn’t want to listen to me. It kept going up, higher and higher. All the flying instructor could do was yell at me to come back down they way I was supposed to. Like it was my fault. I’ve never liked high places to begin with.”
She stopped there, but Viktor could tell there was more to it. “And then?”
“I ended up falling, of course. I don’t know how high up I was, but it seemed like hundreds of meters.”
“It couldn’t have been. You’d be dead.”
“I know, but it still seemed that way. I was in the infirmary for a couple of days - I never wanted to get on a broom again. I don’t know why, but the instructor never made me.”
“He should have. You fall off, you get right back on as soon as possible.”
“I know. My mother once rode horses. She told me the same thing.”
“And how long has it been?”
“More than ten years.”
“It’s more than time.”
She took a step back. “Do you want me to get on that by myself?”
“No. With me. Do you trust me?”
“Yes, but….”
“But….”
“I’ve seen what these Quidditch players do. Rolls and dives and hairpin turns and I don’t know what else. Don’t make me do that.”
“I won’t make you do anything you’re not ready for. You’re in control. We’ll take this as slowly as you want to. When we’re as high as you can handle, you say the word and we won’t go any higher. Are you ready?”
He swung one leg over the hovering Nimbus and waited. After a moment’s hesitation, Natalia climbed on ahead of him. He wrapped his arms around her waist. She was quivering, her knuckles already white on the broom handle.
“Don’t let me fall,” she said in a small voice.
“Haven’t I already told you?” he whispered low in her ear. “I’ll never drop you. I’m going to kick off now, all right?”
She didn’t reply. She simply leaned back against his chest. He pushed lightly at the ground with one foot, and they began to rise together.
She let him go much higher than he expected. He pressed his cheek against hers. “Are your eyes open?”
“Y-yes.”
“No, they‘re not. Open them, Natasha.”
“Oh….”
He tightened his grip on her. “I’ve got you. You’re not going to fall. Look around you. The sun is shining. It’s a beautiful day. The farmers are ploughing their fields, preparing them for seed. You can see them down there. Over on those hills grapes are growing. There will be wine in the autumn. And if you look, far in the distance, you can see boats on the river. They are tiny, like a child’s toys.”
Natalia didn’t say anything, but he could feel her relaxing into him. He spread his fingers out over her abdomen and kissed her cheek.
“Do you want to go a little faster?”
“All right.”
“Higher?”
“No, this is good.”
He kept a steady stream of words in her ear, low and calm. It hardly mattered what he said, only that he kept talking.
The sun was fast making its descent towards the horizon by the time they landed. Natalia had eventually relaxed enough that her let her take over the flying for a little while. He talked her through a few basic turns, accelerating, slowing down - things she should have learned at school. He cursed her instructor for an idiot while at the same time wishing she’d been at Durmstrang with him. Something like her experience would have never happened there. He wouldn’t have let it.
Back on the ground, she looked at him steadily, her dark eyes full of promise. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Do you think you’d be ready to try flying on your own next time?”
She smiled rather knowingly. “I don’t know. It was nice with you there, wasn’t it?”
She laced her hands at the back of his neck and kissed him, lightly at first, but each succeeding kiss became more insistent than the last. They both sunk down into the new grass, oblivious to all else. Again, Viktor let her take control. If she signalled by any means that she wanted to stop, he would, but she kept leading him onwards, until they lay together, naked, entwined and sated, their heart rates slowly coming back to normal.
*
For the first time in his life, Viktor Krum couldn’t wait for the Quidditch season to be over. Natalia attended his matches now, but he was pretty sure she didn’t always enjoy them. Although he always focussed solely on the game, on the Snitch he was supposed to catch, sometimes when he came out of a dive he would remember she was among the crowd. He could imagine her, sitting in the stands, peering horrified through her fingers, the way she’d watched that first game he’d taken her to. She never reproached him verbally, but after one match against the Grodzisk Goblins where he’d taken a Bludger to side of the head and fallen ten meters to the ground, she’d been white-faced and tight-lipped when she visited him in the infirmary.
Once the season was over, he would have free time, and he was going to spend as much of it as possible with her. He was hoping she could talk her boss into giving her some time off. A few days sunning themselves - if they got out of bed long enough - at Zograf’s cottage along the Black Sea coast felt like just the break he needed.
He didn’t even care that in their final match of the season the Vultures were completely crushed by the Karasjok Kites. He was going to take his share of the blame for the defeat, of course. He’d been on the wrong side of the pitch when the opposing Seeker spotted the Snitch and he hadn’t been able to catch up. His relationship with Natalia had made it out of Baba Yaga’s gossip columns (although she was still speculating on when the baby might be due) and into the mainstream press. Tomorrow there were sure to be articles about how the once great Viktor Krum was off his game because he was in love and it was distracting him. That idea didn’t bother him in the slightest.
*
It was morning. A gentle breeze wafted through the curtains bringing with it the sound of waves lapping against the shoreline. Viktor wondered for a moment why he was awake; he certainly hadn’t had much sleep the previous night. Natalia’s head was pillowed on his chest, her black hair fanned out against his skin. Something wet hit his chest. He brushed the hair off of her face. Tears were leaking out from under her closed eyelids.
“Natasha?”
She screwed her eyes shut and began to shake. She was clinging to him for dear life, and he could do nothing but tighten his hold on her until she was all cried out. At last she sat up, drying her eyes on the sheet.
“I’m sorry.”
Her voice was small and shaky. She sounded about four years old. He hugged her back to him, stroking her hair.
“What was all that about?”
“It’s just… I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you. And there is no easy way.”
His hand stopped mid-stroke. The only thing he could think of was Baba Yaga’s speculations on his impending fatherhood. But that was impossible. They’d always taken precautions.
“Just tell me, then.”
“I’ve been reassigned.”
He’d always known in his head that she was in Bulgaria temporarily; his heart had never acknowledged that fact, though. In his heart, her assignment was for a period of years. Many years. Still it couldn’t be as bad as all that.
“Where? Warsaw? Prague? I can come visit you. It’s not so far.”
“I’ve been to Warsaw and Prague. I’ve told you about living there.”
He’d known that too, just as he now realised that she couldn’t have stayed in either of those places for very much more than six months apiece.
“Bratislava. You haven’t been there.”
“No, I haven’t, but it’s not Bratislava, either. Or Budapest or Bucharest.”
If she couldn’t come right out and tell him, it couldn’t be good.
“Where then?”
“Almaty.”
“Where’s that?”
“Kazakhstan.” He gave her what must have been a blank look, for she clarified. “In Central Asia, close to China.”
Viktor felt like there was a heavy band around his chest and it was tightening painfully. He forced himself to ask, “And why are they sending you to the other side of the world?”
Didn’t the Russian Ministry know he needed her to stay in Bulgaria for at least ten years yet?
She drew a shaky breath. “It was always supposed to be this way.”
He was on his feet, running a hand through his hair, leaving it to stand on end. He didn’t even care that he was completely naked. “You knew? You’ve known all along?”
He’d never raised his voice to her before. He’d never wanted to. She was on her feet now, too. “I thought you realised! When I told you about all the other places I’d been, I thought anyone could put two and two together and work out that I wouldn’t be around forever!”
“So is that all this was to you? Just a fling? You were just going to have a little fun while you were in town and forget all about it once you left?”
Her voice, when she replied, was like ice. “If you recall, you approached me.”
“I bumped into you!”
“And then you offered to buy me a drink.” She was starting to cry again. She took an angry swipe at her eyes. “And if you’re going to stand there and fight with me over whose fault this is, there’s no point, is there? It won’t change the fact that I’m leaving one way or the other.”
She bent and picked up her dressing gown which had been tossed unceremoniously on the floor the previous night. She thrust her arms through the sleeves and tied the belt firmly around her waist. Then she made to push past Viktor who was blocking the door.
“Excuse me. I’d like to go through.” Her voice was still hard.
He grabbed her wrist. “No. First you’re going to tell me why you’re doing this to me.” He didn’t yell this time, but his voice was shaking with the effort to control it.
She faced him, her eyes snapping. “I’m not the one doing this to you. Don’t you see? I don’t want to leave you!”
Another tear had escaped. The band around Victor’s chest tightened another notch.
“Then don’t! Quit your job and stay here.”
“It doesn’t work like that! I’m not a citizen. Even if I quit, I’d still have to go back to Russia. Do you know where I’m from? Novosibirsk! That’s almost as far from here as Almaty!”
“But I don’t want you to go!” Now he was the one sounding like a child.
“I don’t want to, either, but it’s just the way things are. I should have known better than to get involved.”
Those words stuck him with the force of a Bludger. The band around his chest was making it impossible to breathe. He dropped her wrist. “Does that mean you regret… this… us… everything that’s happened then?”
She shook her head. “No, never. If I were going to regret this, I wouldn’t have allowed things to go this far.”
The band loosened then. Viktor took a deep, shaky breath. It was time to face reality. “How much longer do we have before you have to leave?”
“A week.”
He took a step towards her and put a hand on her cheek, drawing her face towards his. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair in disarray, her cheeks stained with tears. She’d never been lovelier to him.
“Then let’s not waste the time we have left fighting about it.”
She didn’t resist his kiss. She’d never been able to. She opened her mouth to him, while melting into his embrace. He kissed her hard, and long, trying to pour into her all the emotion that had been building within him in the past half hour. One hand found the knot at her waist and he gave the belt a tug, parting the silken fabric, his hand skimming back up her body to push the dressing gown from her shoulders.
He pushed her back towards the bed. If he couldn’t convince her to stay with words, he would try and win the argument with his body. And he knew he could win. He knew just where to touch, where to nibble, where to lick, to make her cling to him and beg for more.
He let his teeth graze the pulse point below her ear, and she gasped. His fingers teased her nipples to hard peaks, preparing them for his tongue. She arched her back in a silent plea, while her hands tugged at his hair. Her nails raked his shoulder. She was clutching at him with a wild desperation that would fast drive him over the edge.
But he didn’t want things to end so quickly. It seemed as if all his life he’d been focussed on the end, the destination, the catching of the Snitch that ended the match. But this was about more than that - it was about the journey itself. It was about stretching out the time that remained to them, rather than rushing things to a final conclusion here and now.
And so, even though it made her hiss with frustration, he slowed their pace. He took his time to acquaint himself with every millimetre of her body, to fully appreciate it. He was deliberate in his quest to discover what new sensations might make her gasp and sigh and grasp at him. He wanted to push her to the limit, but only just, to see how close to the brink he could bring her without pushing her completely over.
It was a near thing.
As her need for release became more desperate, she tried to take over, doing all in her power to make him lose control. He gritted his teeth and endured as best he could. At last, unable to resist any longer, he thrust into her.
Natalia let out a loud moan of relief, while he growled deep in his throat. He legs clamped around him like a vice. He opened his eyes and pushed himself up onto his elbows, so that he could stare down into her face. He wanted to watch her as she fell apart. She met him stroke for stroke, her face flushed, her back bowed.
“More! More!” she cried, and he gave her all she asked for.
He was getting close now, so close. He fought for control. He had to hold on. Natalia’s breathing was growing erratic, her movements more jerky. She stiffened and let out a high keening cry. He felt the rhythmic pulsations of her internal muscles begin. His own orgasm loomed ahead. He let it crash over him, and with a harsh cry, he spilled himself into her.
After a few seconds, or maybe a few minutes, it felt as he a temporary blindness was lifted from him. He looked into Natalia’s flushed face. Tears were leaking from the corners of her eyes. He felt his own eyes begin to burn as he understood.
He hadn’t won the argument. This hadn’t been their last time together, but it had been one of their last. Their days were numbered now.
He rolled off of her and gathered her close. His arms wrapped protectively around her while he moistened her hair with his tears.
*
When the days of their getaway were spent, they went back to Natalia’s flat in Sofia and he helped her pack up her possessions. When their final week had passed, he accompanied her to the Ministry, where her Portkey awaited. After she had gone, he remained rooted in place for a long time, staring at the spot where she had last stood.
*
The sun floated, red and angry, just beyond the eastern horizon. The day was already hot and promised only to become more so. Viktor took one final look around his empty flat. He had everything he needed, shrunk and packed in a rucksack. In his hand was his broom. On the floor lay the remains of his old life, all things that would weigh him down on the long journey ahead. Among the debris lay a copy of a newspaper bearing his scowling face below a headline that blared:
Viktor Krum Resigns in Quidditch Shocker.
He felt no regrets at all. Tucked inside his shirt, next to his heart was a scrap of parchment that he’d received a mere two days before the date on the rejected newspaper. On it, written in flowing Cyrillic script was Natasha’s message to him: Я тебя люблю. Underneath there had been just enough space for him to scribble a reply: обичам те.
He would deliver it in person.
Summary: Viktor Krum meets a girl who has no idea who he is. Part of miss_celestine's cocktail smut-a-thon.
Black Russian
Viktor Krum was used to heads turning whenever he walked into Zmey. It was well known that he and his team mates often turned up after a match to celebrate a victory or drown their sorrows after a defeat. Thus any female fans of his would crowd the bar hoping to snare his attention for an evening.
Under normal circumstances he didn’t particularly like it. They weren’t after him, per se. They were after a piece of him - they were after bragging rights. Perhaps even some of them were thinking to entrap him. He was always careful about never leaving his drink unattended, and he always carried an antidote to most love potions.
So why was it, when he walked into Zmey that night, that the one head he wished would turn remained immobile? He’d been sitting in a corner for over an hour, nursing a vodka, and watching her.
He’d never seen her in here before. If he had, he was sure he’d have remembered it. Elegant was the only word for her. Shiny black hair was piled elaborately, a few loose tendrils framing her high cheekbones. Her dark eyes were almond shaped and slightly tilted. Her full lips were driving him crazy; he couldn’t stop himself from imagining what they would feel like moving beneath his own. Her slim body was clothed in a form-fitting black sweater over a narrow, calf-length black skirt. She was exotic; she was exquisite….
She had no clue who he was, and for once that irked him. It made things so much more difficult. He was going to have to get her to notice him on his own merit.
“Viktor! Earth to Viktor!”
Dimitar Zograf, the only one of his fellow Vrasta Vultures to play on the national team with him, was calling him back to reality.
“Aw, leave him alone,” said Krasimir Daskalov, one of the Vultures’ Beaters. “He’s in his happy place.”
“It’s the only happy place he’s going to be,” said the other Beater, Stoyan Bogdanov. “She’s out of your league, mate.”
“And I suppose you think she’s in yours?” replied Viktor, annoyed.
“She’s in a league all her own,” said Bogdanov. “Anyway, she wouldn’t want your ugly mug.”
And that was the problem. Viktor knew that he wasn’t much to look at. If it wasn’t for the fact that he was an international Quidditch star, most girls wouldn’t give him the time of day. For once, he wished someone would look past his fame, past his forbidding features and see the real person inside.
He thought of the girl he’d met back in England several years previously when he’d competed in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Hermy-own-ninny. She’d seen beyond the fame and reputation; she’d seen past his looks. The last time he’d seen her, though, had been at Fleur Delacour’s wedding. She was with one of those red-heads now.
He downed his vodka, threw a few Galleons on the table, and stalked out of the bar.
*
The next time he sloped into Zmey, he kept his eyes purposefully on the ground a few feet ahead of him. He didn’t want to look for her; he wanted to pretend he hadn’t spent the past week hoping she’d be there. He wanted to pretend he hadn’t spent the past week thinking about her and what it might feel like to sink into her, to elicit sighs and panting and screams.
And if she was there, he didn’t was to see all the other girls’ heads turn but hers.
His gaze fixed on the path to his usual table, he didn’t see her until it was too late. His face burned like a school boy’s, as he mumbled an apology for being so clumsy. She laughed and said it was all right.
Her laugh was silvery - like bells; she spoke Bulgarian with a slight accent that Viktor couldn’t quite place. It only added to her charm. In her heels, her eyes were on a level with his. He looked down at those long, slender legs and wanted to know what they’d feel like wrapped around his waist.
He took his courage into his hands. “Can I buy you a drink to make up for it?”
She smiled, and his heart skipped a beat. “Of course.”
He followed her to the bar. As he ordered their drinks, he realised he was in full view of his team mates. They were nudging each other and smiling. Zograf gave him the thumbs up.
He deliberately chose a table for two in a quiet corner on the opposite side of the room. The last thing he needed was a bunch of loud, suggestive comments made for his benefit. They would have to be very loud indeed to reach his ears on this side of the bar. Not even Bogdanov was that crass. He hoped.
He sat and took a sip of his vodka. “My name’s Viktor,” he informed her. “Viktor Krum.”
No reaction. Not even the slightest hint of recognition. It has been a long time since something like that had happened. Even Hermy-own-ninny had known who he was.
She extended a hand. He took it. It was warm and alive and he wished he could keep hold of it.
“Natalia Andreyevna Yeltsova.”
That explained the accent. “You’re Russian,” he said needlessly.
“Yes.”
“And what are you doing in Bulgaria, then?”
“It’s sort of an exchange through our Ministries. Part of an International Magical Co-operation effort. I’m here to observe some of your laws in action. How you deal with vampire problems, say. Or Veela. Or werewolves.”
“And they’re letting you in on all our state secrets, then?”
“A representative from your Ministry is currently in Moscow, so I’d say it’s a fair exchange.” She took a sip of her drink and her glance wandered over to the other side of the room. “And who are those people? They seem to know you.”
She nodded her head at a point somewhere behind Viktor. He cringed inwardly, knowing without turning around that his team mates must be doing something stupid to attract his attention. He looked in spite of his reluctance and immediately wished he hadn’t. They were grinning and waving at him. Bogdanov was blowing kisses.
Viktor wished he could disown them. “They’re, erm, colleagues.” He drained his glass, and signalled a passing waitress for a refill. “Ignore them. They’re idiots.”
She laughed again. “There are many idiots in the Ministry.”
“Yours or ours?”
“Both. And what do you do to have such idiots for colleagues?”
“I play Quidditch,” he said, thinking it didn’t sound like much at all in comparison with an important Ministry position. “Seeker,” he added.
“Ah.”
Viktor could tell she was just being polite, and his heart sank a little. “Not a fan then?”
She gave an apologetic smile. “No, sorry. I suppose I was never much interested in sports.”
“What are you interested in, then?” he asked, praying it wouldn’t be anything dreadfully dull.
“History. Languages. Other cultures,” she rattled off. “I think I would’ve just stayed at school, if they’d let me.”
He listened to her prattle on about some of the other countries she’d visited through her Ministry job. He wasn’t necessarily following every word. He was too busy watching her enthusiasm for her job flash across her face. Her eyes sparked with it. He found himself wondering what he could do to elicit such a passionate reaction from her.
*
He should have expected the gossip. He was so used to ignoring it that the possibility of its very existence slipped his mind. Any girl with whom he might be seen in public knew what she was getting into. Natalia had no clue.
Someone had got a picture of them sitting together at Zmey. Zograf showed him a copy of The Tattler after practise. Viktor ignored the headline and the story to watch Natalia’s animated face as she rattled on while his photographic self simply stared at her, immobile, his chin propped in one hand.
“That’s good,” said Zograf. “You look just like the picture.”
Viktor scowled at him and tore the paper out of his grasp.
He should have thought of this. He should have warned her. He couldn’t even bring himself to read the article. He knew the sort of things it would say. One look at the by-line - Baba Yaga, a penname for The Tattler’s most vicious gossip-monger - was enough to assure him that he didn’t want to read it. But what was Natalia going to think when she saw it?
He had to see her. He had to get to her before she had a chance to read these lies. The last thing he wanted her to think was that somehow he’d been a willing participant in this. How was he going to find her, though? All he had to go on was a name and a Ministry Department.
The entrance hall to the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic was crowded with witches and wizards on their way home from work by the time Viktor got there. He looked around wildly, hoping to spot her in the crush. It was all too likely he’d missed her and she’d gone home already.
He barely paid attention to the wizard at the security desk, who had to ask Viktor for his wand three times. Viktor was still keeping an eye peeled. Still no luck. She wasn’t in the entrance hall.
“Where’s the Department of Magical Cooperation?” he asked the security wizard.
“Fourth floor.”
Viktor was off in search of the stairs before the words were out of the security wizard’s mouth. He climbed the steps two at a time. When he reached the fourth floor, sweaty and panting with the effort of running, he let out a sigh of relief to find a receptionist still on duty. Perhaps there was still a chance.
“I’m looking for Natalia Yeltsova,” he said once he’d caught his breath.
“Do you have an appointment?”
Viktor thought the receptionist was smirking at him. “No. Look, it’s important. Is she still here?”
“I think she’s left for the day.”
“Do you know where she lives?”
“You mean you don’t?”
Viktor gritted his teeth while he mentally cursed gossip columnists. “No,” he admitted. “Can you tell me?”
“I’m afraid I’m not allowed to give out that kind of information. If she hasn’t told you herself -“
“Viktor?”
He looked up. It was going to be okay. She was still here.
“Natalia Andreyevna, I thought you’d gone home.” The receptionist’s tone had completely changed. Gone was the underlying superiority, replaced by a snappy professionalism. “I didn’t realise…”
“Of course I’m still here. Is there a problem?”
“Only this man who is trying to get in without an appointment.”
“It’s fine, Radka. Come along, Viktor.”
She led him into a maze of non-descript cubicles, each containing the same desk and chair, each surrounded by the same beige walls that reached to about shoulder height. There didn’t seem to be any windows in this part of the building. The entire effect was one of faceless oppression.
He wondered how Natalia could stand being cooped up here all day. She at least deserved a more glamorous environment than this. She stopped at one of the cubicles. Viktor wasn’t sure how she could distinguish it from all the others. Perhaps it didn’t matter.
“What did you want to see me about?” Natalia asked.
Viktor looked around. The department certainly seemed deserted. He wondered if Radka the receptionist had tried to follow them back here so she could eavesdrop.
“Do you think it’s safe to talk here? There’s no one around to listen in?”
Natalia shrugged. “I think everyone but me has gone home. But what have you got to say that you’re worried about someone overhearing?”
Now that Viktor was standing face to face with her, he wasn’t sure how to approach the subject. “I just don’t want to do anything that’s going to fuel the gossip.”
“What gossip?”
“You mean no one’s said anything?”
“Said anything about what?” She was beginning to sound annoyed.
“Us.”
“We had a drink together the other night. Why should anyone care?”
She didn’t know how famous he was. She couldn’t. And he couldn’t tell her without sounding completely full of himself.
He was still holding The Tattler, he realised. How he’d managed not to tear it to shreds, he’d never know. Wordlessly, he held it out to her. His heart began to pound as her eyebrows drew into a scowl. Then suddenly she let out a peal of laughter. It only sounded slightly hysterical, which Viktor supposed was a good thing.
“Did you know,” she said once her laughter had subsided, “that we’re planning a June wedding?”
“No, actually, I didn’t. I haven’t read what it says.”
“Yes. Apparently we were spotted registering china patterns last weekend.” Her expression darkened again. “But I’d better be careful. You’re going to drop me for the next girl who comes along. It says you make a habit of that.”
“I’d never drop you.”
He’d blurted the words out without thinking, and the blood rushed to his face. Could he have possibly been any smoother?
She smiled. “That’s good to know. I wouldn’t want you to drop me before we’ve even been out on a real date.”
He reached out and took her hand. “We could so something about that last part… if you wanted to.”
*
And so they began to see each other. They ignored the gossip columns, and Natalia ignored the catty remarks from the other witches at the Ministry. Many of them acted as if Viktor should have chosen one of his own countrywomen to date and not some foreign witch. None of that mattered to them.
He took her to a Quidditch match, hoping she’d learn to like it. She didn’t. He abandoned the idea of her coming to watch the Vultures play, when she spent most of the match with her eyes covered. Apparently she didn’t think the players’ more daring moves were thrilling. He got the impression that seeing him perform his famous Wronski feint would only terrify her.
“Maybe I should just take you flying,” he told her.
“Why would you do that?” she asked.
“Because you’re afraid of it.”
He had no clue where that idea had come from. It had just entered his mind fully formed, and even as he thought it, he knew it was true.
“No, I’m not.” She said it too quickly, confirming his suspicions.
He put his hand under her chin and lifted it so that her dark eyes were looking directly into his. “Yes, you are. I’ll show you - there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
Then he kissed her until she finally agreed to the plan.
*
It was a lazy sort of afternoon in late April when they Apparated to a field fairly close to the Romanian border. The silver ribbon of the Danube reflected the sun’s rays in the distance. A warm breeze carried the scent of freshly turned earth. It was planting season, and the world about them was bursting into bloom.
Viktor knew the area well. His grandfather owned this land. He’d spent many summers here as a boy, flying over the countryside and perfecting his moves.
He could tell Natalia was nervous. She wasn’t saying very much. Viktor took a tiny broom out of his pocket and reversed the Shrinking Spell he’d put on it. It was an older Nimbus model, one he hadn’t flown in years, but he thought it would be less intimidating than the one he used for league play.
He let the broom hover in the air beside them. Natalia looked at it. He could see her swallow.
“Why are you afraid?” he asked quietly.
“I’m Muggleborn,” she said. “I never even heard of flying on broomsticks until I went to school. At our very first flying lesson, the broom I got did something funny. We were just supposed to kick off and come straight back down, but my broom didn’t want to listen to me. It kept going up, higher and higher. All the flying instructor could do was yell at me to come back down they way I was supposed to. Like it was my fault. I’ve never liked high places to begin with.”
She stopped there, but Viktor could tell there was more to it. “And then?”
“I ended up falling, of course. I don’t know how high up I was, but it seemed like hundreds of meters.”
“It couldn’t have been. You’d be dead.”
“I know, but it still seemed that way. I was in the infirmary for a couple of days - I never wanted to get on a broom again. I don’t know why, but the instructor never made me.”
“He should have. You fall off, you get right back on as soon as possible.”
“I know. My mother once rode horses. She told me the same thing.”
“And how long has it been?”
“More than ten years.”
“It’s more than time.”
She took a step back. “Do you want me to get on that by myself?”
“No. With me. Do you trust me?”
“Yes, but….”
“But….”
“I’ve seen what these Quidditch players do. Rolls and dives and hairpin turns and I don’t know what else. Don’t make me do that.”
“I won’t make you do anything you’re not ready for. You’re in control. We’ll take this as slowly as you want to. When we’re as high as you can handle, you say the word and we won’t go any higher. Are you ready?”
He swung one leg over the hovering Nimbus and waited. After a moment’s hesitation, Natalia climbed on ahead of him. He wrapped his arms around her waist. She was quivering, her knuckles already white on the broom handle.
“Don’t let me fall,” she said in a small voice.
“Haven’t I already told you?” he whispered low in her ear. “I’ll never drop you. I’m going to kick off now, all right?”
She didn’t reply. She simply leaned back against his chest. He pushed lightly at the ground with one foot, and they began to rise together.
She let him go much higher than he expected. He pressed his cheek against hers. “Are your eyes open?”
“Y-yes.”
“No, they‘re not. Open them, Natasha.”
“Oh….”
He tightened his grip on her. “I’ve got you. You’re not going to fall. Look around you. The sun is shining. It’s a beautiful day. The farmers are ploughing their fields, preparing them for seed. You can see them down there. Over on those hills grapes are growing. There will be wine in the autumn. And if you look, far in the distance, you can see boats on the river. They are tiny, like a child’s toys.”
Natalia didn’t say anything, but he could feel her relaxing into him. He spread his fingers out over her abdomen and kissed her cheek.
“Do you want to go a little faster?”
“All right.”
“Higher?”
“No, this is good.”
He kept a steady stream of words in her ear, low and calm. It hardly mattered what he said, only that he kept talking.
The sun was fast making its descent towards the horizon by the time they landed. Natalia had eventually relaxed enough that her let her take over the flying for a little while. He talked her through a few basic turns, accelerating, slowing down - things she should have learned at school. He cursed her instructor for an idiot while at the same time wishing she’d been at Durmstrang with him. Something like her experience would have never happened there. He wouldn’t have let it.
Back on the ground, she looked at him steadily, her dark eyes full of promise. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“Do you think you’d be ready to try flying on your own next time?”
She smiled rather knowingly. “I don’t know. It was nice with you there, wasn’t it?”
She laced her hands at the back of his neck and kissed him, lightly at first, but each succeeding kiss became more insistent than the last. They both sunk down into the new grass, oblivious to all else. Again, Viktor let her take control. If she signalled by any means that she wanted to stop, he would, but she kept leading him onwards, until they lay together, naked, entwined and sated, their heart rates slowly coming back to normal.
*
For the first time in his life, Viktor Krum couldn’t wait for the Quidditch season to be over. Natalia attended his matches now, but he was pretty sure she didn’t always enjoy them. Although he always focussed solely on the game, on the Snitch he was supposed to catch, sometimes when he came out of a dive he would remember she was among the crowd. He could imagine her, sitting in the stands, peering horrified through her fingers, the way she’d watched that first game he’d taken her to. She never reproached him verbally, but after one match against the Grodzisk Goblins where he’d taken a Bludger to side of the head and fallen ten meters to the ground, she’d been white-faced and tight-lipped when she visited him in the infirmary.
Once the season was over, he would have free time, and he was going to spend as much of it as possible with her. He was hoping she could talk her boss into giving her some time off. A few days sunning themselves - if they got out of bed long enough - at Zograf’s cottage along the Black Sea coast felt like just the break he needed.
He didn’t even care that in their final match of the season the Vultures were completely crushed by the Karasjok Kites. He was going to take his share of the blame for the defeat, of course. He’d been on the wrong side of the pitch when the opposing Seeker spotted the Snitch and he hadn’t been able to catch up. His relationship with Natalia had made it out of Baba Yaga’s gossip columns (although she was still speculating on when the baby might be due) and into the mainstream press. Tomorrow there were sure to be articles about how the once great Viktor Krum was off his game because he was in love and it was distracting him. That idea didn’t bother him in the slightest.
*
It was morning. A gentle breeze wafted through the curtains bringing with it the sound of waves lapping against the shoreline. Viktor wondered for a moment why he was awake; he certainly hadn’t had much sleep the previous night. Natalia’s head was pillowed on his chest, her black hair fanned out against his skin. Something wet hit his chest. He brushed the hair off of her face. Tears were leaking out from under her closed eyelids.
“Natasha?”
She screwed her eyes shut and began to shake. She was clinging to him for dear life, and he could do nothing but tighten his hold on her until she was all cried out. At last she sat up, drying her eyes on the sheet.
“I’m sorry.”
Her voice was small and shaky. She sounded about four years old. He hugged her back to him, stroking her hair.
“What was all that about?”
“It’s just… I’ve been trying to find a way to tell you. And there is no easy way.”
His hand stopped mid-stroke. The only thing he could think of was Baba Yaga’s speculations on his impending fatherhood. But that was impossible. They’d always taken precautions.
“Just tell me, then.”
“I’ve been reassigned.”
He’d always known in his head that she was in Bulgaria temporarily; his heart had never acknowledged that fact, though. In his heart, her assignment was for a period of years. Many years. Still it couldn’t be as bad as all that.
“Where? Warsaw? Prague? I can come visit you. It’s not so far.”
“I’ve been to Warsaw and Prague. I’ve told you about living there.”
He’d known that too, just as he now realised that she couldn’t have stayed in either of those places for very much more than six months apiece.
“Bratislava. You haven’t been there.”
“No, I haven’t, but it’s not Bratislava, either. Or Budapest or Bucharest.”
If she couldn’t come right out and tell him, it couldn’t be good.
“Where then?”
“Almaty.”
“Where’s that?”
“Kazakhstan.” He gave her what must have been a blank look, for she clarified. “In Central Asia, close to China.”
Viktor felt like there was a heavy band around his chest and it was tightening painfully. He forced himself to ask, “And why are they sending you to the other side of the world?”
Didn’t the Russian Ministry know he needed her to stay in Bulgaria for at least ten years yet?
She drew a shaky breath. “It was always supposed to be this way.”
He was on his feet, running a hand through his hair, leaving it to stand on end. He didn’t even care that he was completely naked. “You knew? You’ve known all along?”
He’d never raised his voice to her before. He’d never wanted to. She was on her feet now, too. “I thought you realised! When I told you about all the other places I’d been, I thought anyone could put two and two together and work out that I wouldn’t be around forever!”
“So is that all this was to you? Just a fling? You were just going to have a little fun while you were in town and forget all about it once you left?”
Her voice, when she replied, was like ice. “If you recall, you approached me.”
“I bumped into you!”
“And then you offered to buy me a drink.” She was starting to cry again. She took an angry swipe at her eyes. “And if you’re going to stand there and fight with me over whose fault this is, there’s no point, is there? It won’t change the fact that I’m leaving one way or the other.”
She bent and picked up her dressing gown which had been tossed unceremoniously on the floor the previous night. She thrust her arms through the sleeves and tied the belt firmly around her waist. Then she made to push past Viktor who was blocking the door.
“Excuse me. I’d like to go through.” Her voice was still hard.
He grabbed her wrist. “No. First you’re going to tell me why you’re doing this to me.” He didn’t yell this time, but his voice was shaking with the effort to control it.
She faced him, her eyes snapping. “I’m not the one doing this to you. Don’t you see? I don’t want to leave you!”
Another tear had escaped. The band around Victor’s chest tightened another notch.
“Then don’t! Quit your job and stay here.”
“It doesn’t work like that! I’m not a citizen. Even if I quit, I’d still have to go back to Russia. Do you know where I’m from? Novosibirsk! That’s almost as far from here as Almaty!”
“But I don’t want you to go!” Now he was the one sounding like a child.
“I don’t want to, either, but it’s just the way things are. I should have known better than to get involved.”
Those words stuck him with the force of a Bludger. The band around his chest was making it impossible to breathe. He dropped her wrist. “Does that mean you regret… this… us… everything that’s happened then?”
She shook her head. “No, never. If I were going to regret this, I wouldn’t have allowed things to go this far.”
The band loosened then. Viktor took a deep, shaky breath. It was time to face reality. “How much longer do we have before you have to leave?”
“A week.”
He took a step towards her and put a hand on her cheek, drawing her face towards his. Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair in disarray, her cheeks stained with tears. She’d never been lovelier to him.
“Then let’s not waste the time we have left fighting about it.”
She didn’t resist his kiss. She’d never been able to. She opened her mouth to him, while melting into his embrace. He kissed her hard, and long, trying to pour into her all the emotion that had been building within him in the past half hour. One hand found the knot at her waist and he gave the belt a tug, parting the silken fabric, his hand skimming back up her body to push the dressing gown from her shoulders.
He pushed her back towards the bed. If he couldn’t convince her to stay with words, he would try and win the argument with his body. And he knew he could win. He knew just where to touch, where to nibble, where to lick, to make her cling to him and beg for more.
He let his teeth graze the pulse point below her ear, and she gasped. His fingers teased her nipples to hard peaks, preparing them for his tongue. She arched her back in a silent plea, while her hands tugged at his hair. Her nails raked his shoulder. She was clutching at him with a wild desperation that would fast drive him over the edge.
But he didn’t want things to end so quickly. It seemed as if all his life he’d been focussed on the end, the destination, the catching of the Snitch that ended the match. But this was about more than that - it was about the journey itself. It was about stretching out the time that remained to them, rather than rushing things to a final conclusion here and now.
And so, even though it made her hiss with frustration, he slowed their pace. He took his time to acquaint himself with every millimetre of her body, to fully appreciate it. He was deliberate in his quest to discover what new sensations might make her gasp and sigh and grasp at him. He wanted to push her to the limit, but only just, to see how close to the brink he could bring her without pushing her completely over.
It was a near thing.
As her need for release became more desperate, she tried to take over, doing all in her power to make him lose control. He gritted his teeth and endured as best he could. At last, unable to resist any longer, he thrust into her.
Natalia let out a loud moan of relief, while he growled deep in his throat. He legs clamped around him like a vice. He opened his eyes and pushed himself up onto his elbows, so that he could stare down into her face. He wanted to watch her as she fell apart. She met him stroke for stroke, her face flushed, her back bowed.
“More! More!” she cried, and he gave her all she asked for.
He was getting close now, so close. He fought for control. He had to hold on. Natalia’s breathing was growing erratic, her movements more jerky. She stiffened and let out a high keening cry. He felt the rhythmic pulsations of her internal muscles begin. His own orgasm loomed ahead. He let it crash over him, and with a harsh cry, he spilled himself into her.
After a few seconds, or maybe a few minutes, it felt as he a temporary blindness was lifted from him. He looked into Natalia’s flushed face. Tears were leaking from the corners of her eyes. He felt his own eyes begin to burn as he understood.
He hadn’t won the argument. This hadn’t been their last time together, but it had been one of their last. Their days were numbered now.
He rolled off of her and gathered her close. His arms wrapped protectively around her while he moistened her hair with his tears.
*
When the days of their getaway were spent, they went back to Natalia’s flat in Sofia and he helped her pack up her possessions. When their final week had passed, he accompanied her to the Ministry, where her Portkey awaited. After she had gone, he remained rooted in place for a long time, staring at the spot where she had last stood.
*
The sun floated, red and angry, just beyond the eastern horizon. The day was already hot and promised only to become more so. Viktor took one final look around his empty flat. He had everything he needed, shrunk and packed in a rucksack. In his hand was his broom. On the floor lay the remains of his old life, all things that would weigh him down on the long journey ahead. Among the debris lay a copy of a newspaper bearing his scowling face below a headline that blared:
Viktor Krum Resigns in Quidditch Shocker.
He felt no regrets at all. Tucked inside his shirt, next to his heart was a scrap of parchment that he’d received a mere two days before the date on the rejected newspaper. On it, written in flowing Cyrillic script was Natasha’s message to him: Я тебя люблю. Underneath there had been just enough space for him to scribble a reply: обичам те.
He would deliver it in person.