Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/474767.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Hermione_Granger/Viktor_Krum
  Character:
      Hermione_Granger, Viktor_Krum
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_(teenage)_sexuality
  Stats:
      Published: 2006-02-05 Words: 9416
****** Practical Magic ******
by Rozarka
Summary
     Hermione is in dire need of some practical guidance, but Viktor
     doesn't want to be a bandit ...
Notes
     Written for Inell's birthday challenge in 2006, the "Be My Valentine"
     Hermione Fest. This story contains underage (teenage) sexuality:
     Hermione is fifteen; Viktor is eighteen.
     There's a sequel to this story, set a few years later, after the war:
     Tiger_By_The_Tail.
She lay on her back with her fingers down her knickers, face burning, wrist and
knuckles sore from working, breath going in quick, shallow, carefully
controlled pants. Her cramping legs felt like they had run a mile, and her
heart hammered like a piston. It was impossible. Ginny must be right, this must
be what it felt like having a heart attack coming on. Having a heart attack
coming on and on and never bloody happening.
Except Ginny had told her (in whispered confessions through the intimate dark,
long after bedtime in Ginny's room at the Burrow, nearly unreal to think of in
the daylight later) that once you managed to do it, it was a whole lot nicer
than a heart attack and it was much easier making it happen the next time.
Hermione collapsed back, near to tears with defeat. She knew it. She lacked
natural talent at this, just like she did at flying, Quidditch, ball games and
almost any activity demanding physical prowess. If there had been a class in
attaining orgasms, she'd have certainly flunked it, she thought, despondent.
She was distracted for a moment by trying to decide who would teach such a
class, and her mood lifted a fraction as she pictured the idiosyncrasies that
each teacher would bring to the subject. She had to grin into the dark inside
her drawn bed curtains thinking of Hooch's brisk, no-nonsense approach, while
applying Snape's softly hissed demands brought a certain interested throb
between her legs, which made her drop the train of thought with a grimace.
She heard the tread of feet up the stairs and stiffened, reining in her breath
to soundless, staccato pants. Parvati and Lavender entered the dorm, bickering
with each other over something, and she was relieved that they were making
enough noise to cover up whatever suspicious sounds might escape her. She drew
her knees up almost to her chin, cradling the coiled, lonely ache between her
legs. Her eyes were closed on remembered visions and sensations: the way
Viktor's heavy lids would fall half-closed just as he decided to lean forward
and kiss her, the low sound in his throat as she'd open her mouth to the touch
of his tongue, the gleam of saliva on his soft lips when he'd gently withdraw,
leaving her in the clutches of that squirming, maddening warmth.
Viktor was so sweet and protective of her, mindful of her younger age -- so
much so, it made her want to scream at times. His kisses weren't chaste, but
his hands were, never giving anything more illicit than perhaps a stroke of his
thumb down the side of her breast -- and that outside her robes, thought
Hermione bitterly. It wasn't fair. She knew from the heat in his eyes, from the
cadence of his breath and the tightly controlled pressure of his body against
hers, that he must be just as afflicted by this infernal ache, but he had the
option of going back to the ship when they parted at night, locking the door of
his private cabin (lucky, privileged bastard), and Hermione thought she had a
fair idea what he'd do there to relieve the tension.
After weeks of valiant struggle to achieve the same -- well, months, really,
but it hadn't felt urgent before Viktor entered the equation -- sheer
frustration was making her resentful, although she knew deep down that wasn't
quite fair, either. She didn't believe that it was mere gallantry that held
Viktor back: it was his sense of responsibility, planted so deep and so
tenaciously in him, its roots clutched right at his heart.
And she had to admit that she liked that about him, almost better than anything
else.
Hugging her pillow closer, her fingers brushed against the book lying under it,
the copy of Woman, Know Your Body that her sweet young aunt Christine had sent
her as a present for her fifteenth birthday in September. Hermione had studied
the illustrations and text with dutiful (and maybe some prurient) interest, had
explored herself while making systematic comparison to the step-by-step
suggestions in the book, and had concluded that she had the requisite working
equipment for making a climax happen.
But there must be something more. Something the book didn't tell about, some
secret key, some ... magic. Whether of the Muggle or the wizarding kind. Like
in Molly Weasley's Witches In Love paperbacks that she'd read on the sly during
rainy summer days: 'she surrendered to the sweet sorcery of their passion,' it
would say before the scene faded to black, or, 'his experienced hands ignited
fire in her willing body like an Incendio.'
It made her mind feel all twisted up with anxiety to think that everyone had
got this magic figured out -- even Lavender and Parvati, judging by the muted
sounds she sometimes could discern from their respective beds at night -- while
she, Hermione, was lagging behind.
She turned over onto her stomach, gently pressing her hips into the mattress.
Viktor knew about the magic, she thought. He knew what to do with his lips and
hands to leave her in that shaky state.
She'd gone to bed at nine, half an hour earlier than the curfew rules dictated.
When the castle bells had tolled out eleven and she still lay achingly awake,
she sat up, drew the curtain aside, and quietly pulled on a jumper over her
pyjamas; then, without thinking it through, she took her wand and her shoes in
hand before she tiptoed to the door.
"Where' you going, Hermione?" mumbled Parvati from under her covers.
"Can't sleep. I'll just go downstairs and read a little," Hermione whispered
back.
The Gryffindor common room was deserted. She stood indecisive for a minute,
looking at the dying flames in the fireplace, her mind in overdrive to sort
through her options.
It was Viktor's fault, she thought -- not vindictively, just reasoning: he'd
put her in this pitiful state. She didn't know anyone else to ask for help with
this problem. The thought of asking Ginny for further instructions filled her
with a misery of embarrassment -- Ginny was really sweet, but she knew so much
with all those wild brothers of hers, and sometimes Hermione got the feeling
that Ginny found her questions funny, which was all right when it was funny,
like when she was interrogating Ginny about finding Bill in the broomshed all
panting and red-faced with his hand busy and his bits hanging out, but this
particular situation didn't feel humorous at all.
Aunt Christine was too far away, and Professor Snape's allure as well as
availability were both considerably lower in reality than in her fantasy.
And that exhausted her alternatives. It wasn't like she could ask Harry or, God
help her, Ron. Hermione winced at the mere notion. Not that she thought either
of them would have displayed a grasp of the finer points of female anatomy,
anyway.
At the end of this chain of logic, Hermione found herself sitting on the couch
bent forward and lacing up her trainers, as though her feet had already known
where she'd be going before her head had caught up.
She walked quietly up the stairs to Ron and Harry's dorm and knocked softly,
praying that it wouldn't be Ron opening the door, because then there'd be no
other option than to pretend she had walked in her sleep and go back to her
dorm. Since the challenge in the lake, he had teased her so mercilessly about
being a shark's most sorely missed object that there was no way she was going
to give him any further ammunition.
It was Harry, with his hair on end. He looked at her bleary-eyed, still pushing
his glasses in place. "Huh-hermione, whassamatter?" he asked, his voice high-
pitched with anxiety.
"Shhhh," she hissed. "Nothing, nothing is wrong. I was ... I was wondering
whether I could borrow your invisibility cloak for a little. And ... and the
Marauder's map. I promise I'll get them back to you safely."
He scratched his head, looking at her with puzzled, narrowing eyes.
She told him please with her own.
With a sigh, he turned his back on her, returning with the shimmering cloak
over his arm and the map clutched in his hand.
"This have something to do with Krum, by any chance?" he asked her, studying
her face, still hanging on to his treasured possessions.
She bit her lip, knowing her guilty blush must be a dead giveaway. "Harry," she
pleaded, "don't make me explain."
"All right." His jaw was set in that way Harry's jaw did when he felt put upon.
"But how are you going to get out? Krum's not in the castle this time of night,
is he?"
"There's a hidden stairway with a door," she whispered, "from the stairwell
outside the kitchens. Dobby uses it. He showed me one night I was down there
telling them about SPEW. I can unlock it with the charm he used."
He reluctantly handed her the map. "Be careful." Then the cloak, even more
slowly.
"I won't let anything happen to them," she said, relieved yet scared now that
she had the means to carry out her plan. "Thanks, Harry."
"Well, I take that as given. That you won't lose my cloak and map doing ... er,
whatever it is you do with Krum. But I meant, be careful with you," Harry said
quite sharply. "You have your wand, right? You may need a Lumos to read the
map."
She raised her wand from her side. "Yeah ... thanks," she said again,
inadequately, and turned to leave.
"Good luck," said Harry quickly, and she looked up over her shoulder. His jaw
was still pretty tightly clenched, but he did look like he meant it.
She gave him a nervous smile, and then slipped the cloak over herself and
disappeared. Harry gave a weary wave in her direction and backed inside.
"Now who's there?" murmured the Fat Lady, startled and sleepy, as she climbed
out. "Potter?"
"Shh," she whispered. "'s okay. I'll be back soon."
"Doesn't smell like Potter. Honeysuckle ... rather girly. Oh well, then. You'll
have to get back inside too, you know," sighed the portrait, almost half-asleep
again.
***
The grounds were quicksilver-bright from a barely waning moon, and Hermione was
part of the light as she ran, wrapped in Harry's cloak, down towards the lake
and the Durmstrang ship. Now that the night air was cooling the sullen heat in
her body, the possible ways this might backfire were starting to draw more of
her attention, and she was having some very alarmed second thoughts. She had
almost resolved to return without attempting anything risky ... and then the
ship was there, washed in moonlight, and she stopped.
She knew the ship must be protected by powerful spells, and that it wasn't
worth the risk of being caught -- oh, the unimaginable humiliation of having to
explain herself! -- to try to get past them. But she also knew which of the
small windows was Viktor's. He had pointed it out to her when they took a walk
around the lake some days earlier. And the light was still on -- she walked a
little closer, and all of a sudden, he came into view. She could see him moving
about, toothbrush in his mouth, his ... oh God, his torso bare. Long and pale
and strong. He had ... hair on his chest, a dark shade down the middle.
Hermione's mouth went cottony dry.
She was quite decided to turn around, to be sensible and go and return Harry's
things, then find her bed and sleep until morning. Quite decided. Yet somewhere
outside herself, a braver (or maybe just less sensible) Hermione bent and
picked up a small pebble from the ground, took aim and lobbed it gently against
Viktor's window. As soon as she heard the soft jangle of impact, she wished she
could take it back, her hands flying to cover her mouth as though that had been
where the sound came from.
In the next moment the light snapped off, and she could glimpse movement -- he
must be at the glass, peering out into the night. There was a second or two
before she remembered the invisibility cloak and shrugged it down to her
shoulders, stepping closer to the ship, her heart pounding painfully in her
chest. Viktor went absolutely still. And then she sensed him gone. She threw on
the cloak again, and waited.
It didn't take long at all before he walked barefoot and quiet as a cat down
the ship's gangway. Only a pair of pyjama bottoms on him, and God, he was
annoyed. She could tell how much from his intense scowl which she had never
before seen aimed at her. He walked right towards her with some strange
instinctive aim, and she played with the thought of turning and running for her
life, up to her safe bed. But she knew that if she didn't face the music now,
he'd confront her with this later, with much less chance of getting him to help
her out.
So when he was so close she could have reached out to touch him, she let the
cloak slide off her shoulders again. Viktor didn't even stop in his stride. He
closed his hands hard on her shoulders, looking at her in disbelief.
"Hermione." It must be the shock that let him say it correctly, she thought
with nervous, wild amusement. "Vot are you ... vy are you here? It's
dangerous!"
"For you or for me?" she said archly, and his expression darkened even further.
"For us both, you crazy girl ... vot is this?" He fingered the strange half-
visible material of the cloak in abrupt, wondering distraction.
"Cover," she whispered, and threw it over them both.
Inside the shadow of the cloak, she felt the heat of his breath and his body
with a near unbearable awareness. Her raised hand holding the cloak brushed his
naked skin and he made a soft, hoarse sound and took a step back. She clutched
at his hand to stop him.
"Take me onto the ship. Into your room," she pleaded.
He went so quiet, he couldn't even be breathing. "Is ... not a good idea," he
finally exhaled.
"Viktor, I can't sleep. I can't --" she swallowed. "I can't. You see, I ..."
Her voice shook. "I thought maybe you could help me."
She hadn't consciously meant to manipulate him, and the wobbly voice felt only
humiliating, but the fact was that Viktor was a pretty soft touch for any low
mood of hers. His anger fled for concern. "Vot is wrong?" he asked. "I vill
help you, if I can."
"I can't talk about it here."
He studied her in the hint of moonlight filtered through the cloak, his gaze a
dark glitter. "Karkaroff took his broomstick to Hogsmeade, vos going to
apparate somevere," he said suddenly. "Don't know ven he vill be back."
"Then--"
"You can come aboard. But you mustn't stay too long." He stepped out of the
cloak, letting it drape more protectively around her. "Stay close at my back,"
he warned.
She followed him up the gangway and onto the deck. Masts rose over them like
bare trunks in a winter forest, the sails all rolled up for the ship's long
stay at anchor. Viktor pushed a heavy door open to a cramped, steep flight of
stairs, and at the bottom of the stairs, another door into a narrow corridor of
cabins. Hermione's nostrils were flared at the ship's rich scents -- ancient
wood and spice of tar, ingrained rain and sunshine, and the heady tang of
saltwater journeys. As still as the night was, she noticed little of waves,
only an indolent, almost teasing sway once in a while as though underwater
creatures had sent a playful ripple through the lake.
Viktor stopped at the second door in the corridor and opened it to a cabin that
had been magically enlarged to at least three times the size it appeared from
the outside. Although Hermione had thought of the possibility on a couple of
occasions when she had walked past the ship, it still made her exclaim in
surprise. There even was a door ajar to a private, if tiny, bathroom, and a
fireplace in the corner with charred and smoldering logs in it.
"Yes," murmured Viktor, having thrown a locking and silencing spell. "A little
better than you expected, maybe. The fireplace is not real, but varms vell."
Apart from the fireplace, the room was plain, but nice enough, thought
Hermione. There was a low bookshelf on one wall, stocked with heavy old volumes
-- Durmstrang magical books? she itched to get her hands on them -- and some
newer paperbacks that looked like novels. On a slim desk next to the bookshelf
was a framed photograph of Viktor between a middle-aged wizard and witch whom
Hermione assumed must be his parents. In the corner next to the fireplace was a
large and very comfortable-looking armchair.
On the wall opposite the desk and bookshelf, Viktor's bed had been placed. Just
looking at it made Hermione blush, thinking of what she had been up to in her
own bed earlier. Had Viktor done the same, tonight? She had a vision of long
sinewy limbs writhing and tensing with purpose and felt faint as she looked
away, avoiding his eyes. She had no idea what she was going to tell him. Or
rather, how she was going to tell him.
Shyly she walked to the bookshelf, ran a finger across the spine of one of the
old books. "What are those?" She knelt on the floor and leaned in closer,
tilting her head to the side, tried to read the worn gold leaf letters on the
back. Strange letters, nonsensical, or was that just the turmoil in her head? -
- no, it was the Cyrillic alphabet, of course ... she tried to dig it up from
memory, transliterate the foreign words --
Viktor's hand stayed her arm by the time she had the book halfway out. His
touch was gentle, but firm. "If I let you look at those books, I vill haff to
kill you after."
She stared up at him in horror, and he shook his head, arching an eyebrow with
an uncertain smile.
"Joke ... bad joke?" he tried. "If Karkaroff learns I let you look at those
books, he vill kill me. That any better?"
She shook herself and took the hand he offered, let him pull her up to her
feet.
"No," she said. "Not better at all. I'm sorry."
He sat down on the edge of the bed, gesturing to the armchair. "Take the chair,
Her-my-nee. You did not come to see my books."
"Hermione," she corrected him breathlessly, although she usually didn't bother
to any more -- sitting down on the very edge of the big armchair. She didn't
know what to do with her gaze, her hands, or the deep hot blush that was
burning on her face under his worried scrutiny. The dilemma with the hands was
solved quickly enough as Viktor leaned forward and took them in his own.
"Are you going to tell me vot is the problem?"
"I guess." She took a shaky breath. It occurred to her that her fingers must
still carry the scent of her sex, and she tried to pull them back, but he
tightened his hold.
"Look at me, may help," he suggested gently, as the silence stretched on.
Hermione steeled herself and very slowly raised her gaze to meet his dark,
concerned one. On the way up there, she had an eyeful of his slender, muscled
stomach and chest, and the dark dusting of hair appearing at the waistline of
his pants and running up the centre of his torso, and it didn't help to make
her any calmer. She opened her mouth to speak, but only a silly little gasp
came out.
Viktor was beginning to look seriously alarmed. "Her-my-nee, tell me," he urged
her. "Someone hurt you? Something bad happened?"
"No ... no," she stammered. "Nothing ... nothing happened. That's ... sort of
the problem," she rushed to say before she could change her mind.
"I don't understand."
She told herself to just put her problem forth like she would do if there
really were such a subject at school and she were asking a well-founded
question that proved she had been paying attention. "Viktor, when you ... when
we kiss --"
He knotted his brow. "You ... vant me to stop kissing you?" he asked, his
expression abject.
"God, no! Well, I ... no! Just let me say this, okay?"
"I need change my ... vot do you say ... toothpaste?" he said, a mixture of
relief and humour lightening the gaze that had just been full of worry.
She couldn't help laughing. "Viktor! Please shut up."
"Am shutting up now," he said, putting a finger across his lips, looking
mischievous.
"You're doing it on purpose, aren't you?" she asked with a sigh.
"Vot on purpose?"
"Being impossible and wonderful."
"I am vonderful?" he said with a small grin of surprised pleasure. He didn't
question the 'impossible' part, she noted.
"Yes, rather. Viktor --"
"All right," he said. "Ven ve kiss --"
She swallowed hard. "Yes. I ... have a problem. But it's nothing to do with
you. It's me. It feels ... so good. So good that I ... get problems later."
The surprise that registered on his face made it clear that this wasn't
anything he had expected. After a second, he squeezed her hands gently. "You
vill haff to explain that ... more."
"When we kiss," she whispered, "... do you ... get this strange tingly
sensation in your stomach?"
"Oh, yes," he said with feeling, his mouth quirking up. It made her stomach
tingle all over again.
"And ... other places? Like something is building and building and if something
doesn't happen soon you'll ... die, or explode ... or something?"
Viktor was finally silent, his lips parted on an unuttered exclamation. A blush
crept over his cheekbones, but he nodded warily. Hermione took another deep
breath, diving headlong into really unchartered waters.
"And then when you get a chance, when you're alone in your bed at night maybe
... you ..." She couldn't bring herself to pick the words to say this after
all. She hung her head. "You know what I mean."
Looking dazed, he nodded. He cleared his voice, and said, "I know. And I think
you haff guessed ... the answer to that."
"Well," she whispered. "The thing is ... I do that thing too."
Viktor's dark eyes seemed slightly glazed. "Merlin ... Her-my-nee, you trying
to drive me from my mind?"
"You didn't think I did ... the thing?" she asked, wanting to sink through the
floor.
"No," he muttered. "No, that is not it. But hear you talk about it is ..." It
was his turn to breathe from the depth of his lungs, letting it out in a long
shaky exhale. She could see him tumble the thought around, grappling to
understand her problem. "You think this is wrong, vot you do?"
"Of course not," she said quickly. "I know it's perfectly healthy and natural.
It says so in my book. Everyone does it. It's just ... I'm no bloody good at
it." The last came out choked with sudden tears of tension and embarrassment,
as she anticipated laughter, big howls of it, because this must surely be the
funniest, most pathetic thing ever uttered by a girl to Viktor Krum.
To Viktor's credit, he stayed absolutely serious -- well, stunned might perhaps
be a more precise descriptor. He raised his hand to swipe his thumb under her
eyes, brushing away the wet salt there. "I'm sorry," he muttered. "I am very
sorry. I had no idea."
"I don't see how you'd be expected to," she said, trying to be stoic about it.
He shook his head, pressing his lips together. "I haff been selfish, did not
think. So you ... your problem is you can't --?"
"I can't make myself ... come," she forced out. "That's what they call it,
right? I mean," she hurried, so as not to sound entirely stupid and childish,
"I know it's what they call it, it just feels weird to ... say it out loud."
"So you vant me to ... stop. To stop kissing you and make you feel that vay.
You vant to stop seeing me."
Viktor's mien was pained, yet brave, rather in the manner of announcing his
impending, honourable suicide by spear stabs to the heart. Hermione sat with
her hands held in his, her mouth hanging open, unable to take in how she'd been
able to say this much and still have the most mortifying part left to spell out
letter by letter. "No!" she finally said, shaking her head violently. "I want
you to -- to show me how to--"
Viktor gasped as it sank in what she was trying to communicate. He let go of
her hands and stood up on his feet, towering over her. "Her-my-nee." His voice
seemed to have dropped an octave, to a low growl that made her name sound like
a soft wolfish sound. "You don't know vot you're--"
"Please," she whispered. "I do know." She was staring down at his feet, long
and slender like the rest of him, with adorable little tufts of black hair on
his biggest toes. "I know that you ... you worry about the age difference, and
all. That you don't want me to think back when you're gone back home and
despise you for taking advantage. And I ... actually I think you're pretty
amazing for being so decent about it. But I just want you to show me, this
once, so I can, you know, get over the hurdle. And then we can keep on with the
kissing thing, and when I'm older, if we have the chance then, we can ..." she
chewed nervously on her bottom lip, frowning -- "well, make love, I guess--"
Viktor sat down on his haunches before her, as smoothly and quickly as if it
were one of his famous Quidditch feints, and cupped her cheek so that she was
forced to look at him. His lips were pressed together, his gaze narrowed and
fierce. "You think ve can go from doing this and back to just kissing. You
think it is so simple."
"I don't know," she admitted slowly. "I just know that I ... I'm going crazy,
because I'm aware of this ... need now, and it won't go away. If you help me
this one time, does it have to be anything more or worse than just that?"
Viktor turned his gaze to the ceiling for a moment as if beseeching higher
powers for patience. "Problem vith being very smart is that everything seems so
logical, so easy to you. Like ... seeing things through binoculars: you see
everything clearly, yet miss huge bear charging at you from the side. Logical
is not same as ... practical, don't you know that, Her-my-nee?"
Stung by his words, she opened her mouth to defend herself, and he shook his
head, his fingers on her cheek sliding into her hair and smoothing it.
"I only vant you to remember me as friend," he said hoarsely. "Not as bandit
who abused your trust. Not as someone you vill not vant to ever see or speak to
again."
"But it's because you're my friend I'm asking you," she said, raising her own
hand to brush unsteady fingers over his cheek. Viktor drew in a sharp breath at
the touch, his eyelids drooping in pleasure, and his reaction gave her the
nerve to press on despite his resistance to the idea. "I know you are kind and
conscientious. And ... you have some experience, right? You may think I don't
notice but I can tell, you're holding a lot back for my sake."
Viktor dropped his gaze at that, and when he looked up he was actually half-
smiling. He reached up and caught her hand, holding it between both of his own
on his knees, which jutted out sharp and bony under the soft flannel of his
pyjama pants. "Maybe my experience is not vast as you and others imagine, hm?"
"It's bound to be greater than mine, at least," she said softly. "Please,
Viktor. Not as my boyfriend, or my lover or anything -- just as a ... a very
good friend, to help with this very specific thing." She hoped she didn't sound
as desperate as she was starting to feel, her stomach turning over with fear
that he would really refuse to help her and send her back, and this
conversation would have ruined everything; nothing would ever feel light-
hearted or simple between them again. "I ... I guess I've begged you now, I
didn't really want to do that."
His eyes widened in a flood of -- compassion, passion? It bewildered her, that
look of stricken understanding. He pushed himself up from his crouching
position and sat hunched forward on the edge of the bed, clearly thinking hard
about what to do. He hadn't let go of her hand. And it was something in his
expression, his posture: with a brutal jolt of consciousness, Hermione sensed
in her gut how much more of a grown-up Viktor was, even with only three years'
advantage on her, and it made her feel utterly small and stupid to have put
them both in this situation.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, tugging to free her hand. "I truly am. There just
... wasn't anyone else to ask, you see. No one else I'd want to know."
Viktor shook his head, letting out his breath slowly as he looked up into her
hurt gaze, and then he swung his long legs up on the bed and lay down close to
the wall, facing her, and stretched out an arm along the pillow in such a
gentle, natural invitation. "Come," he murmured. "Forgive me for make you feel
bad."
Hermione stared at him in shock, eyes wide. She had entirely given up hope that
he'd agree to help.
"As a friend," he said in a voice that made it sound more warning than promise.
But then his face lit up with a smile that was surprisingly mild on his sharp
bird-of-prey face. "At least you didn't ask Potter."
She laughed, taken aback by that. Surely he didn't believe any of that nonsense
Rita Skeeter had cooked up? It was a mystery to her that Viktor saw Harry as
competition where she was concerned, but at the same time it was endearing and
sort of reassuring to know that Viktor could be just as silly as her. She
looked down at herself, a little dismayed as she realised how very unseductive
her outfit was. "Should I take off --"
"The shoes definitely," he said, quiet laughter in his eyes. "And the sveater,
I think."
She kicked off the shoes while she took hold of the edge of the jumper, pulling
it up and over her head, and stood there in her decidedly unsexy flannel
pyjamas. She looked at him in his pyjama bottoms, and pressed her lips together
in thought. Slowly, she unbuttoned the top, and let it slide off. "Now we're
even."
Her breasts tingled under his wide, heated gaze, prickling and tightening with
sensation that gathered at the tips and shot down between her legs. She felt
her eyes going half-lidded, her breath catching. Saying good-bye to any way
back, she put her hands down on the mattress and crawled up to lie on his arm.
Viktor leaned up on his elbow, his long upper torso looming over her. The
diagonal slant of his broad shoulders seemed to define a horizon, shutting her
into this world of skin heat and closeness. His face was in half shadow from
the wall lamp overhead, and although Hermione wasn't afraid of anything she
might find in Viktor's face, she still wished that the sharp shades cast by his
angular features hadn't made his expression so unreadable.
Very lightly, he placed his hand on her stomach.
"Oh!" She sounded, thought Hermione abashed, as if he'd knocked the wind out of
her. But his hand felt so hot, and so large -- big, square Seeker's hand,
spanning most of her midriff. Her stomach muscles tensed as he slid the hand
down her stomach, playing with the elastic of her pants.
"Her-my-nee," he said, "how far you get before you ... give up?"
"I'm not sure," she confessed, breathing fast so her muscles moved his hand. "I
... get so far, I get ... desperate, almost scared. It's like--" she swallowed.
"Like being in a dark room, pitch dark, and fumbling over the walls knowing
there's a light switch on one of them, but being completely unable to find and
flip the switch." God, she thought, her eyes closing in misery, that really
sounded loony.
"I understand," said Viktor.
"You do?" she squeaked as he slipped his hand under the elastic, under -- God!
-- under the waist elastic of her knickers -- he was really going straight for
the kill.
They sighed in unison as he stroked down through the soft curls on her mound
and found the warm wetness pooled at her cleft. Hermione clutched hard at his
arms. The unpredictable touch of someone else's fingers on her swollen flesh
was almost too much to bear, and so was the knowledge that now Viktor knew,
knew precisely how he affected her.
"Shh. Vill be okay, Her-my-nee. I promise. You say if you need ... pause, to
catch your breath."
"Okay," she whispered.
He pressed a little harder with a finger, gliding into all the slick heat and
finding her clitoris, making her jerk and give a breathless exclamation.
"Aha." Viktor's look was rather on the rakish side. "Found it."
Hermione felt defensive at his satisfied tone. "My problem isn't finding it,"
she argued a little stridently, her voice husky because he was spreading the
moisture around with a light touch and it felt so nice, so good. "I just can't
manage to make it do what it says in the book. It says that with patient and
sus--sustained stimulation, it will eventually -- oh ..."
He'd begun a gentle circling caress. Hermione arched her neck back against his
arm, a strange low moan tearing from her throat as distilled sensation
collected and radiated under his touch. So much more intense than when it was
her own hand.
"You like that." It wasn't a question. There was a slight smile in his voice,
she thought, but it wasn't arrogant; it was reverent, tinged with a joyful awe.
"You think it's like vork, something you must do right to get best result," he
murmured. "Like study, serious. But that's not it. Is like play. Like ... going
to Hogsmeade, drinking butterbeer, having fun. Like seeing the Snitch in a game
and going after, no one else matter, just race between it and you--"
"Isn't that work, for you?" she interjected breathlessly, but he shook his head
laughing.
"No, is play, is vonderful-- like this..."
After that, it all became a blur. He kept up the soft massage of her clitoris,
letting up only when she whimpered and pleaded for a reprieve -- then he'd just
rest his fingers there, letting the slightest pressure and movement keep the
tension intact while he spoke to her, low words that she only understood by his
tender, encouraging tone. It was like climbing a mountain, thought Hermione
dazed at one point; making sure to not get so tired you'd backslide, by taking
small rests on sheltered places underway to the summit.
When she got sweaty and flushed, heat rising from her under the warm cotton
where his hand was working, he used his free hand to ease the waistband of her
pyjamas downwards, and as she raised her hips he pushed both pants and knickers
down on her thighs -- shushing her when she hid her face against his neck in
belated modesty, telling her quietly that she was beautiful.
Little by little, experimenting sometimes to find a better angle or weight of
touch, he helped her to that wild stormy place that had always defeated her,
and by then she was tossing in his arms, her face burning as though she were in
the throes of a fever, feeling the hammer of pulse and blood threatening to
make her faint or scream.
"This is vere you get scared?" Viktor asked, and Hermione realised with
something close to gratitude that he could see the fear on her, how hopelessly
lost she felt. She nodded, unable to spare breath even to speak.
"Don't be. You're safe," he told her, "it's safe," and his fingers didn't stop
like hers always did, they kept gliding and gliding while she clung to him
starting to shake like an aspen leaf, and then her legs locked, without her
deciding they should, and she felt a heavy throb start right under his fingers,
right in her clitoris, beating in time with her helpless caught breath, and
then --
It wasn't like a heart attack after all, it burst under his touch in a golden
warmth that released through her entire body in a slow, expanding shockwave of
pleasure -- God, everywhere. Her back and neck arching, toes curling, hips
writhing and pushing off the bed. She moaned and clung to his shoulders while
the heat washed over and through her, and then she fell back, still trembling,
and safe in Viktor's arms.
Safe, like he'd told her, like he'd promised. Shocked with relief and with the
force of the sensation she had just experienced, she pressed her face into his
chest. She didn't think she could look him in the eyes quite at once -- it
wasn't exactly shyness, either, just an overwhelming sense of being so naked
she might lose it and start crying if she couldn't hide a while.
Viktor moved his fingers away a fraction, but let them rest between her thighs.
The arm cradling her moved so that he could smooth her hair with his hand. He
said her name once -- questioning, a little worried maybe -- but when she
didn't reply, he didn't push her.
After a minute or two, she drew back, making a small distance between them.
Viktor took his fingers away from between her legs only then, and she could
smell herself on them as they gently pushed her hair to the side so he could
see her face.
"Are you okay?" he asked, and for all the times he had spoken to her tenderly
and with care, she didn't think she'd ever heard quite such kindness in his
voice before.
She managed a smile that probably shook a little. She was dry-mouthed from all
the panting that had been going on. "I ... I guess I understand better what all
the fuss is about now."
His eyes crinkled with humour, as well as relief, she thought. "Vell, that is
good. Life is more than books, little Her-my-nee."
She had to laugh. "I knew that!"
"Is Quidditch, sex and books," he elaborated, a twinkle in his eyes.
Hermione quirked an eyebrow at him, surprised but shyly delighted at his
teasing. "In that order, huh?"
"Hm ..." He raised an eyebrow of his own. "Quidditch is fun, but never made me
moan like that."
"Oh, you," she giggled, and dipped her head quickly to hide behind her hair.
She hadn't been that noisy ... had she?
"No, no, moans are good," he hurried to reassure her, tilting her chin up again
with his fingers, then tucking her hair behind her ear. "Is very good sign,
moaning ven having sex." His eyes made fun of her, but in such a nice way that
Hermione couldn't bring herself to care.
"Viktor, thanks," she whispered with diffident but earnest appreciation.
"You've been so ... you are really ..." She swallowed, and knew she must be
blushing to the roots of her hair.
"Impossible?" he said mildly.
"No, really wonderful," she whispered back, and maybe it was something on her
face, but his expression went quite serious then.
"Her-my-nee." His turn to collect himself, to search for words. "If I do this
some day as your lover, not as friend," he said hoarsely, "vill do so much
more. Vill be my mouth there, drinking of you -- vill be us both, moving
together ..."
He didn't wait for an answer, but took her hand and placed it firmly over her
mound. "Now you," he instructed, his voice not entirely steady. "Vill be easier
to come second time. Lucky girls," he added, breaking the tension with a small
lopsided grin.
He really took the teacher role seriously, Hermione realised. He had made no
attempt to touch her breasts, to kiss her, any detour from the stated aim.
They'd agreed that this would be him helping her out, a favour between friends,
and the only way he could justify to himself what he was doing was by not
crossing that boundary of involvement. But she glanced down to the crotch of
his pants and saw it tented in a way that left no doubt about his interest. She
bit her lip, choking back a gasp as her fingers slid over her sensitised flesh.
She discovered at once that she was floating in some state of possibility, not
back yet to where she would have to start the climb from scratch.
"You can make sound," he reassured her. "Silencing spell is strong."
She nodded, although it was self-consciousness rather than doubt about his
spell-casting skills that held her back. Squeezing her eyes shut to
concentrate, she slid the pad of her finger over the hard pearl of her
clitoris. Her other hand drifted up towards her breast with a will of its own;
she caught herself and hesitated, acutely aware of his eyes on her.
"You like to touch your breasts?" She could hear his smile in his voice.
"Merlin ... who vouldn't?" he chuckled, making her laugh softly in surprised
joy, making her bold enough to do what she'd wanted, take a hardened nipple
between two fingers and roll it slowly. The next moan that came, she couldn't
hold back -- the sensation of stimulation in two places at once was intense and
overwhelming.
"Hmm. You like to think about something too? Can help, have fantasy in mind."
Oh God. She could barely think at all, with Viktor saying things like that in
that ragged, soft voice. "Just you," she got out, "I think of you," and then
all of a sudden she remembered the thought she'd had about Snape and the orgasm
class and felt herself flush scarlet, eyes flying open.
Viktor touched her flaming cheek, his smile intrigued now. "Maybe I vill ask
you some day."
She strove to keep her eyes open, attempted helplessly to focus on his face,
because she'd truly prefer to climax thinking of Viktor rather than Snape. She
formed his name with her lips, barely able to actually voice the word, too lost
in what she was feeling.
"Her-my-nee." Viktor's show of tutorial distance was unravelling, she thought.
His voice was a deep groan and it didn't seem like he had much control over the
way he was rubbing his hard length against her thigh, his hand cupping her own
over her mound, his breath on her temple turning into an open-mouthed kiss. But
she was only half aware of these things. Her fingers were flying as she
strained for a second release that she found amazingly within reach,
approaching so fast and so close she could taste it on her gasping breath. She
would have stopped there, before, but she had learnt the nature of this impact
now, enough to open to it instead of slamming on the brakes.
"Viktor," she whimpered, "Viktor, hold me, it's really coming, it's really --"
He tightened his arm around her in answer, and she heard him talking to her as
the orgasm took her, but it was only after she had stopped shaking and crying
that she realised he'd had to resort to his own language again.
"Mmm," she whispered after a while of lying and listening to his rapid
heartbeat, inhaling the clean sweat sheened on his skin. "It's not fair to
you."
He stroked her hair, not answering, and she had an unexpected pang of
understanding: no, it's not fair to him, and he knew that from the start. She
ran her palm down the rise and fall of his chest, overcome by tenderness.
"I don't know if I can ever move again," she whispered.
He laughed at that, raising himself up on an elbow and lightly shaking off her
hand. "You vill haff to, I'm afraid. I should valk you up to the castle now."
She reached down to her thighs and took hold of her bunched knickers and pyjama
bottoms, wriggling them up and in place before she sat up, looking down at him.
Glanced down at his lap again. He followed her gaze and made no effort to hide
the erection tenting his loose pants, but he shook his head, making a small
rueful grimace. "Not vorry. Vill take care of it later."
"Can't you do it now?" she blurted out. "I ... I would like to ... to see you,
too."
He sat up slowly, looking at her quietly. His eyes were burning with some
barely checked emotion that she couldn't identify but that filled her with a
rather delicious frisson of danger. "You asked me for favour, as friend," he
rasped. "I obliged. If ve do more ... vill be more than friendly, I'm thinking.
Vill be me taking --"
"Advantage," she finished for him, a little irritated at last. "It won't! It's
me asking you ... and I won't do a thing if you really don't want me to; I'll
just watch. Viktor --" She tilted her head as a thought occurred to her. "Now
you have seen me do it. So you do have the advantage. If you let me see you
too, we're even again."
"Her-my-nee," he growled in frustration. "You talk too vell for an
inexperienced girl."
"Then let me add to my experience a little," she retorted hotly.
He raked his hand through his hair, temptation and doubt warring in his
expression. But it was hardly a fair fight at this point. With a muttered
Bulgarian word that must have been an oath, he reached behind her, fluffing the
pillow.
"You," he said, "sit there. Don't move. You promise? I don't haff to bind you
vith spell, do I?"
She shook her head quickly, and scooted back to lean against the pillow before
he could change his mind again. "I swear."
He moved down to the middle of the bed, facing her and kneeling, up on his
knees. Hermione watched him, avidly wide-eyed, preparing to take mental notes.
He closed his eyes as he pushed the pyjama bottoms down on his hips, and she
blinked in surprise.
His penis was not at all like her vague expectations, pink and even and
...polite, like illustrations in books. It was almost angry-red in colour with
veins standing out and a thicker, knobby end; it rose from a vigorous bush of
dark hair; it ... bobbed when he moved. It had a musky, salty scent that spread
with his body heat. It had heavy bits hanging down under it -- his sac with the
testicles, Hermione catalogued neatly.
It wasn't exactly larger than she'd imagined (there was nothing wrong with
Hermione's imagination) but it seemed larger because it was so real, because
Viktor spat in his hand before touching it, because his face contorted so when
his palm closed over it, then loosened in bliss as he began to slide his
fingers up and down.
His neck arched back a little and his face and chest flushed and his torso was
so slender and strong, rearing up almost like a cobra but still nothing as
scary as that.
"Viktor," she whispered, dry-throated. She didn't know if she was allowed to
speak, but she couldn't just sit and watch this without trying to tell him how
it moved her.
He forced his eyes half-open, a distant, pleading look in them.
"You are so beautiful." Hushed and hurried confession, embarrassing when the
last word caught in her throat. It was worth it for the little smile lifting
the corners of his mouth. He murmured something unintelligible, held her gaze
as he kept thrusting into his moving hand. Hermione tried to imagine him
pushing inside her in that rhythm and had to curl her legs under her, holding
on to the ghost sensation she'd felt.
"Is that very good?"
"Yes, very good," he croaked, his hand flying faster, his head drooping
forward, chin pressing to his chest. "Von't last long. Not long now. Ah, Her-
my-nee--"
The head of his penis was pearling with droplets, she noticed. He was smoothing
them over his skin, sliding them back to ease the friction. Without a thought
for her promise of inaction she raised her hand, leaning forward to capture one
of those little pearls of moisture, intensely curious.
His left hand shot across his torso and he caught her wrist with a growl of
warning. His right didn't stop moving at that desperate speed.
"Please," said Hermione, voice wavering, "I just want a taste, just--"
His eyes focused on her with difficulty, widening with almost astonished lust,
and then he gave a low cry, shifted his left hand to clasp around hers in a
death grip and his right hand sort of stilled for a moment before moving slower
and more deliberately, as he started to shudder and shake and his semen spilled
and spurted up on his stomach and chest and through the air.
He sagged forward, heaving for breath, and she threw her arms around him, her
heart hammering in empathy with his, which she could feel thudding close to
where her cheek pressed against his damp skin. Her breasts were flattened
against his hard ribcage and it felt nice if strange, a sensation hovering
between itch and pleasure.
He finally pushed himself up on his arms, looking down into her face under the
sweat-damp hair shading his eyes. His mouth was quirked up, sardonic yet
uncertain, still releasing shaky huffs of breath.
"You feel you got even vith me now, Her-my-nee?"
She smiled back. "Yeah ... I'd say. Wow."
"I like that vord. Vow," said Viktor, and Hermione broke out in a hearty giggle
at his amazingly satisfied smile and his egregious mispronunciation and how
utterly unreal it was that this man and his heartfelt "vow" was for her.
"I know I said it wrong," said Viktor and shook his head, but his chagrin was
only for show, quite put into the shade by his huge smile.
They grinned at each other for a few seconds, and then he sat back up, reaching
for the bedcovers to wipe off himself and her. Some of his semen had landed on
their clasped hands, and Hermione hurried to dip her tongue on her knuckle
before he could wipe her clean. He cocked an eyebrow, looking at her as she
frowned. It wasn't exactly pleasant - too much of all kinds of tastes at once -
- but it wasn't too gross, either. Not as bad as some of Bertie Bott's Every
Flavour Beans, for example. She wouldn't have recommended it for a new flavour
variety, though.
Viktor took in her doubtful grimace, laughing without rancour. "A taste you
haff to get used to, perhaps."
"Maybe." She reached for her pyjama top, reluctant. "Oh, I don't want to leave,
Viktor. But I had better."
"Her-my-nee." His fingers were sudden and light on her jaw, tilting up her
chin, as he leaned in and gave her a brief, gentle kiss. "Are you-- did I --
" He stopped himself and frowned. "Vanted to help, but is hard, vith sex,
making clear difference between vot you give and vot you take."
She bit her lip, touched yet disconcerted by his doubt. "I don't feel that
you've taken from me at all," she said, hesitating as she, too, searched for
the right words. "I know a little bit more than when I came here and it's -
- it's all just things I'm glad to know. If you enjoyed it too, that only means
you're human, not that you're a ... bandit." She smiled, recalling his earlier
phrase.
He studied her for a second more, then returned her smile and shook his head.
"I may be stupid," he said quietly. "Am only eighteen too, you know. And maybe
bit too much in love."
She raised her head with a stab of surprise, but he was already getting up. He
took her jumper from the floor and handed it to her, then shed his pyjama
bottoms and pulled on a pair of jeans. He didn't bother to put on shoes,
waiting for her to lace up her own.
"Just walk me out through the ship's protective spells," she said. "I'll go up
to the school on my own." He opened his mouth, ready to protest, and she put
her fingers over his lips. "None of that lovely chivalry right now. I'll be
safe with the invisibility cloak, but you might be seen when you go back, and
then we'd both be in trouble."
On the lake shore outside, it took some further persuasion and kisses under the
cloak before he agreed. He was no more eager to let her go than she was to
leave, but at last she took a step back.
"I really have to. God knows when Karkaroff will be here," she whispered.
"I know."
"Will everything be different now?" she asked, feeling a strange pull between
exhilaration and compunction. Not for herself, really, but for that somber mood
she'd sensed in him earlier. "Between us, I mean?"
"I vill try not treat you any different," he said, gently circumventing her
question. He gave a rueful grin. "Of course from now, I vill be at least as
frustrated as you. You are little devil."
"I really got even, then," she said with a shy laugh. "Viktor ... if we do this
later the way you said ... as lovers, not as friends --"
"Mm?"
"I think I'd like it a lot."
"I am glad," he said, his gaze all glittering. A last, gentle kiss, his fingers
tracing over her hair, his lips brushing softly across hers. "Run and sleep
now, little Her-my-nee."
It felt like flying up the fields towards the castle, even though her leg
muscles were sore and aching like nothing she'd felt before. She felt elated
and a little panicky at the same time. As she whispered the spell to open the
door, she turned and saw a dark shape up in the night sky, like a bat across
the moon -- someone coming in on a broomstick, their robes lifted wide with the
rush of the air. Karkaroff, she thought, her heart skipping a beat with fear,
but Viktor had had plenty of time by now to return to his room, and she was
already inside, the door closed and locking shut.
She kept the map ready on her way up inside the castle, but the trip was
uneventful. No sign of Peeves, thank God. She reached the seventh floor of
Gryffindor tower, finding the Fat Lady softly snoring, and whispered the
password.
The Fat Lady opened her eye a wink. "Thought you'd never be back."
She sighed, and repeated the password.
"I would rather not let anyone in unseen at this time of night," said the Fat
Lady primly.
Hermione gave up, and peeked out of the cloak. Her hair was even more unruly
than usual, she realised -- she could feel it standing up on all sides -- and
there was even less she could do about the warmth in her cheeks or the sheen in
her eyes. She waited for a snide remark, but the Fat Lady just smiled, dreamy-
eyed and gentle.
"I hope he is a nice young man, dear." Smoothly and soundlessly, she swung to
the side.
Hermione didn't reply, but on a whim she leaned in and kissed the portrait on
the cheek before she climbed in, hearing a low chuckle as the opening closed
behind her.
Inside, she whispered a quick "Mischief managed" and shut the map. She kept the
cloak on until she was in her bed, folding it neatly and tucking it under her
pillow with the map, next to the copy of Woman, Know Your Body.
She was sound asleep within a minute.
 
-end-
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!