FIC: Letters Home 2/2

Title: Letters Home, 2/2
Author: Sare Liz
Series: A Firebolt Ring
Rating: PG-13 for clear and concise conversations about sex
Word Count: 6,298
Disclaimer: Belongs to JKR and Associates.
Notes: Well among other things, herein is addressed those hurtful things Hermione says of Viktor while she’s in the library with Harry, just before the first trial – things along the lines of ‘Oh, why doesn’t he just go study on his ship?’
Can’t remember what went on in Viktor’s head? I recommend you go back and reread Letters Home, part one, or at least the middle bits.



*


Dear Mum,
Lots of things going on this year at Hogwarts. Did you know… well, of course you couldn’t, but can you believe that there are slaves in the wizarding world? It’s true. It’s absolutely disgusting. I’m going to send you a letter just about that issue alone, as I couldn’t give you a proper survey of the situation in this letter. Suffice to say I’m not taking this information lying down. I’ve already started a bit of a plan, and I think it has a lot of potential. But more about that very soon.

Our new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor is an ex-auror by the name of Alastor Moody. He’s a bit odd, and quite honestly I find him creepy and his teaching methods repugnant, but he definitely knows what he’s talking about. I’m sure we’ll learn loads, by hook or by crook. His theme is “Constant Vigilance,” which he shouts whenever he can. At least he’s not the sort of person to let Voldemort kip under his turban, if you know what I mean.

There’s to be a Tri-Wizard Tournament, which hasn’t happened in a great number of years. It was cancelled because of the high number of deaths of those involved, but everyone says that they’ve made it a lot safer now. Of course, they’ve also made it so only those students over the age of consent can apply to be champions. It rather seems like they’re trying to cover themselves, just in case it isn’t actually one bit safer. I wonder that a day either way will make much of a difference? At any rate, it means that there are two dozen foreign students spending the year here. It’s quite exciting, in that respect, but there are other things that make it less wonderful. But the good bits, first.

One of the foreign schools is in France, called the Beauxbatons Academy. The girls who come from there look as if they have come from a wizarding finishing school, but you never know. The information I have from the library is, of course, completely out of date. I suppose the Beauxbatons students are nice enough among themselves, but they’re a bit snooty to everyone else, and they make quite the ruckus about the food here. But they arrived in a giant carriage (as big as a house!) towed by seven flying horses that are themselves, gigantic. And they live in that carriage, taking meals with us, and having classes somewhere off by themselves. I have a strong feeling that the inside of the carriage is larger than the outside, even as big as it is.

The other foreign school is from somewhere in Eastern Europe – probably a northern bit, as their uniforms involve quite a bit of fur and leather. Durmstrang Institute seems to be somewhat militaristic in nature (an interesting foil for Beauxbatons), and the boys that come from there fit the look. Still, they’re politer than the Beauxbatons girls. They arrived in a ship that just popped up in the middle of the Black Lake. One minute there was a bit of a ripple, then next moment the masts were coming up from the water, like a submarine from the 1400’s. Like the delegation from Beauxbatons, they live and have classes on their ship, but they eat meals with us, and that sort of thing.

And so, Tri-Wizard; Three wizards or witches from the three largest wizarding schools in Europe. It’s a competition with three trials. The winner gets a bunch of galleons and “Eternal Glory”. …but I doubt that last bit. I mean, no one around here can name the last winner of the Tri-Wizard Tournament. I think “Eternal Glory” is highly over-rated. But anyway, only three champions compete… Or not, as is the case this year. Names are entered into a certain goblet, which is in this case is a magical device that then chooses the best applicants for the competition. For some unknown reason it chose four people this year, and one who’s name shouldn’t have been able to even be in the goblet. Can you guess? I bet you can. Harry Potter, who is definitely not seventeen.

And so, Ron is being an utter git, because he can’t believe that Harry didn’t enter his own name (of course they were teasing about it before hand, but it would be literally impossible for Harry to have done it – I really do think it was maliciousness on someone’s part. I mean, people die in this tournament, and there are loads of people who would like to see Harry dead. Many nasty people would cheer if Harry did die in some freak accident, and really I just think the coincidence is too odd to have been a simple but odd mistake.), and the entire school resents Harry in ways large and small because he’s taking the limelight away from the other Hogwarts Champion – the legitimate one (a cute seventh year Hufflepuff named Cedric). But Harry hates the limelight… So, at the moment I’m the only person who believes Harry and is willing to talk to him. Did I mention it’s a nightmare? It’s a nightmare. And we don’t know what the first trial is – it’s a secret, but there’s a significant chance that it’s something that could kill Harry. Not that Harry in perilous situations will be out of the ordinary, but good heavens – we know it’s coming, and there’s next to nothing we can do about it! A nightmare.

There’s one good thing, in all of this. I’ve started seeing someone – a boy. His name is Viktor Krum, and he’s from Bulgaria – he’s here from Durmstrang. Actually, he’s the Champion that was chosen from that school, but we’ve already discussed the fact that I have to cheer for Harry. (Funny, I’m not nearly as worried about Viktor as I am about Harry. I think in terms of raw power Harry might be stronger, but Viktor’s had many more lessons, and much more practice. Also, Viktor actually enjoys his studies, as opposed to Harry. Of course, I’m still a little worried for Viktor. I mean, people die in this tournament.) I’d actually seen Viktor once before – at the Quidditch World Cup this summer. You remember me telling you about our amazing seats in the Top Box, right? Well, after the game was over, both teams were paraded in, the losing team first, then the winners. And do you remember me telling you about that amazing young seeker - “Best Seeker in the World,” maybe even the history of the game, who caught the snitch but lost the game for Bulgaria? That was Viktor. Anyway, he’s really quite sweet. He plays the cello, likes Charms and Arithmancy, and he’s helping me with my fear of flying. His English is quite good, all things considered (it is his fourth language), but he doesn’t think so. He’s cute, but not in a traditional sense. He has broken his nose too many times to be a Calvin Klein model, but when he smiles he is beautiful. If we continue dating, I’m going to try to convince him to let a classmate of mine take our picture. If I can do it, I’ll send you a copy.

I hope you and Dad are well. I’ll tell the owl to stay for the night so you have time to write me back.

All my love,
Hermione

---

Hermione,
You’ve got a boyfriend? I’m glad that you’ve found someone you like well enough for such companionship. I’ve often wondered if something might develop between you and either Harry or Ron (yes, I’m well aware that you’ll laugh and scoff at that), but Viktor sounds like a very interesting fellow. Let me see if I have it correctly: you are dating a seventeen year-old wizard with a crooked nose who is a professional athlete, his school’s champion, a musician, and who knows four languages, enjoys spellcasting and maths? He sounds like quite an individual. (All that, and Harry Potter. After all of this new information we have about that horrible Lord Voldemort, the idea of the Boy Who Lived is quite a bit clearer to us. Your Father and I find it interesting that you’re dating a well-rounded world-class athlete and that one of your best friends is the savior of the Wizarding World. You boggle our minds, Hermione my dear.) We look forward to a picture, if you manage to get one, particularly if it is a wizarding photo. It is always so telling to see what happens between the subjects, in those photos.

Hermione, I’m sure you’ll recall the conversation we had about sex and masturbation over the summer. I bring this up again because I want you to be aware of what is going on inside your body and inside his, in your relationship with Viktor. I realize that you might not believe that this conversation is necessary – I remember vividly your admonitions to me over the summer – but I also have some experience and I would be failing you as a Mother if I didn’t point out a few pitfalls.

First of all, as a seventeen year old boy, he may act in a variety of ways – he may be very respectful of your feelings and your physical space, and he may not be – but if he is attracted to you (which one would assume, as you are dating) no matter how he chooses to act, he will be feeling certain things. Some boys are better at balancing their feelings, and some boys are better on acting them out before they think too deeply on the subject. If he makes you feel uncomfortable at any time – touching you where you do not wish to be touched just yet, for example – do not be afraid to explicitly set your own boundaries. Boundary setting is something we all do, all the time, but we don’t always do it explicitly.

Second, if he is attracted to you such attraction may manifest in physical forms outside of his control. Such physiological changes we have discussed before, but to briefly recount them, a rapid heartbeat, dilated pupils, elevated body temperature, and a hardening penis. And remember, if it comes to that and he has become hard, he really will have less blood in the rest of his system, including his brain, with which to think the matter over, and if you are standing very close to him, this will be something you can feel.

Third, I know that you are now approximately fifteen and three-quarters (I do wish you had at least told us about the timeturner use – we missed your actual birthday last year!) and that certainly by sixteen many girls have started their sexual exploration. I appreciate that you have shied away from this subject in the past, but ignorance will not serve you at all, Hermione, and it is quite unlike you. At this point I must admit my own bias – I would much rather you experiment with self-induced passion than experiment with a partner, at least for the present. But, I am not so naive as to think that Viktor has not thought of such experimentation, with you as a partner.

No, Hermione. On this I must insist – you may have all of the high ideals that you wish to have (if you indeed have them on this point), and he may indeed be acting as a perfect gentleman, but he is also a seventeen year-old boy His gentlemanly behavior and his hormones are not mutually exclusive. His desire to have sex with you does not in any way diminish his honor. Many a perfect gentleman has had intriguingly wonderful sex with beautiful young ladies; the romance industry thrives on that very point. The desire doesn’t make or break his gentlemanly behavior, you understand. It is what and how he chooses to act on his desire, just as it is what and how you choose to act on your own that defines you as a person. Sex is not bad, though many people may try to tell you different, or infer it, if they do not say anything directly. Rather, it is how we use sex that can be bad or good: do we use it to build our intimate relationships, is it an outlet of joy, is it safe? Or is it used as a tool for gaining and exercising power over another person, is it an act of fear, is it hurting someone?

Returning to my original point, of sexual experimentation, I highly recommend that you begin on your own, though not necessarily ‘alone’. That is to say that it is no use trying to experiment when you are not already aroused, particularly if you are not quite experienced already. I recommend that you experiment after you’ve been thinking of him, or kissing him, or something of the sort. Your mind and your senses work in tandem, and thoughts of him may be nearly as powerful as one of his kisses. (And if his kisses aren’t doing anything for you at all, this is something we need to discuss. By all rights they should be making your insides turn to jelly.) I won’t go into the details of masturbation again, as you have the material I gave you in June, you have the toy which I’m sure you’ve hidden at the bottom of your trunk, and you have me here, if you have any other questions.

Fourth, I would have you remember that should you choose to engage in sexual experimentation with Viktor, there are two key things to remember. First, you need only go so far as you are willing to go, but make this explicit from the beginning and keep to your word. It is unfair to both of you if boundaries for an encounter get trod upon, or the line toed too far. What you do in this instance speaks far louder than what you say. This point will require some reflection on your part, and if such experimentation looks to be nearing at any point, it may be a fair topic for conversation between the two of you. Communication, my dear, is absolutely key. Also recall that there is much involved with the sex act – a good encounter is more than just a penis in a vagina, and experimentation may start and stop at any point along the web of possibilities. Second, should you and Viktor decide that among the encounters you wish to have will be his penis in your vagina, you MUST procure protection. If you need it, I will send it to you. Are there spells or potions for this sort of thing? Do not use them until you are certain what side-effects they might have, both in the short-term and the long-term.

Fifth, remember that when you become physically intimate (a different thing from sexually intimate, but sometimes a precursor) with someone, it helps if it is mirrored, or preceded by emotional intimacy. Certainly when sexual intimacy slowly slides into the picture, similar or deeper levels of emotional intimacy must be present, or else you are in danger of leaving a sexual encounter with great physical satisfaction, while emotionally a bit of you is dying off. I would save you from such things, my dear.

You are going to have quite the busy year, Hermione. I hope the rest of the school comes around soon – it must be trying to be in the middle between friends who are feuding. And I do hope that Harry will be alright. Your Father and I have no doubt at all that this might be the latest attempt on his life – you are right, it does make sense – and it pains us to think that others might be injured in the attempt. The Tournament in general sounds interesting, if it weren’t for the disturbing aspect of Harry’s forced participation. You’ll have to keep us updated on what the trials are, and who ends up doing what. (We are consistently amazed by the differing modes of travel prevalent amongst witches and wizards of means. What next, flying carpets?)

Write soon. I can’t wait to hear of the ills and excesses of Wizarding Culture, and the campaign you must have brewing in your head by now.

Love,
Mum

---

Hermione was so frustrated, she could spit. Ron was still being an utter git, Harry was being clueless but well-meaning, Viktor’s fan club was tempting her toward mass homicide, and her mother was dispensing sex advice. It was the week before the first trial and everyone was getting on her nerves. It had gotten so bad in the library that she’d begun to make her exit when Viktor came in, just to avoid those annoying girls. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that lately, when he looked at her, she couldn’t help but to wonder if his pupils were dilated or not.

And to top it all off, she’d said some rather rude things, in his hearing. She was just so angry at the time, but several steps out of the library she’d begun to cool off and regretted it dearly. He might not have heard. He might not have understood. He might not have realized she was talking about him… But he might have. Hermione had just been terribly rude to someone she really rather liked, someone she had just recently snogged – alright, the only person on the face of the earth that she’d ever snogged – and she hadn’t meant it they way it came out, only she was still very frustrated and angry, and now she just didn’t know what to say, or do.

So, she studied instead. She studied, kept her head down and swallowed the utter shame she felt whenever they were in the same room together. Thursday after dinner she couldn’t bear to actually go to the library, so she tried to study in the Common Room instead. She knew she’d see him later that night, and she couldn’t for the life of her bring herself to attempt to study in the unbearable tension of the library. Maybe it was all in her head, but she wouldn’t put any sort of money on that.

Eight o’clock came all too soon.

Hermione braided her hair back and shrunk her coat and scarf to fit in the pocket of her jeans. She had researched two different warming charms, and a windbreak charm that she had wanted to try out, and this would be a perfect chance. And of course, there was also Viktor, she thought swallowing thickly. Not that she’d had all that many opportunities to gather data, but he rather seemed to be like a stone taken out of the embers of the fire. He was just always warm, and whenever they were close, he seemed to make her quite warm.

Turning a corner on the ground floor, she accidentally walked through the White Lady, and as usually occurs with such things, she was shocked out of her musings. It was like being doused with a bucket of ice water. She gasped a bit and shivered, unwilling to take heed to the ghost’s admonition that she ought to take more care as she rounded corners. Rudeness or not, Hermione was presently brought back to the situation at hand. She paused before reaching the outer doors to the cloister. She cast the spells reflexively and waved her left hand quickly in the air. She could feel the pressure of the air, but it was different, and she didn’t quite feel the attendant chill. So far, so good.

Looking over to the small door, beyond which Viktor might already be waiting, Hermione felt keenly that this meeting might very well be the end of their incredibly beautiful, and somewhat fragile young relationship. After all, she had been thoughtless and mean, and he hadn’t spoken to her once after her cruel words about him in the Library. Summoning the courage of her house, Hermione went to face the unknown.

*

He doesn’t hate me!

Hermione was so relieved she could cry. Despite feeling emotionally wrung out, she couldn’t keep back a small smile that reached all the way to her eyes, waiting for Viktor to rise from his elegant bow. His hand in hers was hot, his breath was hot, but his lips were cool, and the mix of sensations all focused in one tiny area did odd things to her body that were as invigorating as they were confusing.

It wasn’t that it was difficult to think at times like this, she would later muse, but that it far easier than usual to feel, and feel she did. It was like her body, her sense of being, was bigger than it actually was; it was as if her skin could feel beyond its own edge, could feel inches upon inches away from herself and out into the world. Still, the glorious new sensate world didn’t detract from the look on his face when he finally did face her.

Hermione wasn’t sure, but she thought perhaps that Viktor had been thinking dark thoughts, troubling thoughts. It wasn’t as if he didn’t have plenty of darkness to dwell on, really. It might have been anything, and probably wasn’t her. Still, she felt for him, and wondered if there was anything she could do to help. But before she could act on her empathy, she really needed to apologize, and apologize in perhaps a general fashion, in case he hadn’t actually overheard her after all. It wouldn’t do to bring his attention to it now, if he hadn’t heard – that would be particularly mean, she thought.

The preface to her apology stumbled out, falling from her mouth like some noxious and slippery thing that refused to be swallowed, and refused to stay still. His hand was still hot in hers and it was the thing that grounded her in her humility, it was the thing that was connecting with her own courage, and reminding her that no matter the outcome, she could do this thing.

But he cut her off. His own apologies were beautiful – soft, melodic, halting and exceedingly remorseful. She accepted them at once, and begged for her own. Hermione’s heart soared as she was forgiven, and the look on Viktor’s face matched her own. It was a moment that seemed like it was going to last forever, but it was cut quite short.

Hermione watched as Viktor’s eyes darted around the deserted cloister. “Ve fly now?”

She let go of his hand and nodded, still feeling slightly shaken by his request. It was very practical, of course, and she should have thought that it wouldn’t be the best idea to have this conversation just here, in their present location. Rather like having the ghost float through her, the question shook Hermione from her thoughts and into observation mode.

Hermione watched as her striking boyfriend placed his broom in the air and deftly flicked open the jacket that was better suited for Siberian winters than Scottish ones. She was struck, perhaps for the first time since she’d seen him through Omnioculars at the World Cup Finals, at his physical form. He wasn’t shaped like most seekers, but instead had a broad strong chest and a pair of corresponding large and powerful thighs. He really was an athlete. And besides which, while he wasn’t incredibly tall, he was not a small person to begin with, before adding on all of the muscles. His hands were big, his shoulders were wide, and his waist was thick. He looked rather like the rugby players she’d seen on television at home, actually.

But as she referenced the appearance of his physique and thought about, well, his body, she realized that it wasn’t the case of his clothes being so skin-tight that she could see irrevocable evidence of his musculature. His clothes just fit snugly, and she herself had fit snugly to his form on more than one occasion. No, his clothes just fit him well, and especially when he was out of his brown uniform as he was this evening, Hermione could tell that this was the figure of a boy who had grown into his body as a man. It was an intriguing thought, really, that Viktor was on the cusp of adulthood in a way that none of her friends were. Ron was certainly a boy, and a little boy at times. Harry was still the Boy Who Lived, and even Cedric Diggory – the strong, handsome seventh year that he was – was still in the ‘boy’ category. And so was Viktor… sort of. But Viktor was quickly edging out of ‘boy’ and into ‘man’.

And this not-entirely-boy but not-quite-man was holding his hand out to her expectantly, looking at her with soft, dark eyes that could easily melt the hardest heart, if only given half a chance. Before she could start forward, his features became troubled again, and he relaxed his arm, still waiting for her, but clearly confused. “You no vear varm clothes. Don’t vant to fly tonight?”

For once, Hermione had no wish to quickly provide an answer. In fact, what she most wanted to do was kiss him, and maybe rid him of that troubled look, the tightened brow and tense eyes. She wanted to kiss the tight corner of his jaw, and right above the bridge of his nose. She wanted to kiss the corner of his lips, where his goatee faded into soft, smooth skin. She wanted to line his forehead with kisses, just above his dark eyebrows, and then maybe kiss his lips.

She didn’t, of course. They were still in the cloister, but neither did she provide her original reasoning concerning the testing of newly learned spells. She’d tell him about that later. In the meantime, she wrapped her uncharacteristic and momentary silence around her like a blanket and took his hand. Scooting onto the broom and settling herself back into him, she sighed imperceptibly. Yes, this was how it was supposed to feel. Her body heavy against his, and her head as light as air, she remembered again the heat he radiated. Like a stone taken from the embers of a fire, was Viktor. She grinned a little to herself before the grin faded and her eyes widened. She was just so very aware of his body, his heat, and his presence. Was this what her mother had been talking about? Was this sexual arousal? Surely not – they hadn’t even kissed, and she wasn’t even thinking about sex, per se… But the feeling of his body was overwhelming, and the heat… Hermione’s mind focused his question she’d refused to answer just a moment before, finding that she had something of an answer for him now, a true answer, if not the first line of her own reasoning.

Turning her head down and around toward him, she murmured her reply and only a moment later his legs were tucked up underneath her, his arm was tight around her, and he was bending them very slowly down until he could grip the handle of his broom. Hermione felt the warm tickle of his breath before she felt his lips as they brushed the edge of her ear. It was right before they took off, their quick acceleration pressing her even more firmly into Viktor’s embrace.

---

Dear Mum,

I’ve been thinking about age and time a lot, you know, the hours that make up the days that make up the years of our lives. Is it the number of hours you’ve lived, the experiences you’ve had or the people you’ve known that mark your age? Or something else? Or a combination? Without the timeturner, I’d be just now fifteen, but if you count the number of hours I’ve lived, I’m three months away from sixteen, which by all rights is an excellent and celebratory age. But is it a real sixteen? What’s my emotional age? You’ve always said that I’m emotionally mature – so has my body just caught up, or have they advanced together, so now emotionally I would rate with the seventh years, even though I’ve only just begun my fourth year? I’ve tried talking about this with Ginny, but she just gives me a look and says that I’ve twisted her brain in half. I don’t feel like I’m twisting my own brain in half, but I do very much want to know the answer. How old am I, really? This shouldn’t be a difficult question. Is it the number of days from my birth? The number of hours I’ve lived? The level of schooling I’ve attained? The respective ages of my friends? The level of responsibility I’ve been asked to assume, and accepted? I know that at different points in my life age won’t be as important, but it’s rather important now. There are things I can and cannot do because of my age, because we rightly believe that children can’t totally understand the fullness of consequences, etc, etc. I fully accept that. But it makes me wonder, what exactly is my status, then? And if my status is different, then what does that mean? Does it mean that to fully enjoy all of the rights and responsibilities that I may be prepared for now, or next year, that I just simply bide my time until the least common denominator catches up and I graduate from Hogwarts? I suppose it must. The prospect is not at all a comforting one, but I have the advantage of having a full schedule to occupy my time.

This year is, of course, not nearly as academically challenging as last year, but between helping Harry to survive the tournament, dating Viktor, and crusading for Elvish welfare (and the attending knitting that must be done) the days do manage to fill themselves.

Speaking of the Tournament, Harry and Viktor are tied for first place. The first trial was dragons – can you believe it? DRAGONS! There were four nesting female dragons, and each one – for each of the champions – had a golden egg that is a clue to the next trial, stashed with their own eggs. The champions had to choose a dragon from a sack (a miniature toy dragon, but animated and with the same personality as its mum) and then they had to get the egg away from the dragon.

Aside from the danger inherent, it was quite, …telling… as to how the champions did it. (And all the while, Fred & George were running a book on it. Viktor was 5/1. Harry was 40/1. Cedric and Fleur were somewhere between.) Anyway, Cedric went first, and after mucking about for a while (time is a factor – why would you muck about?) he transfigured a rock into a dog, and tried to get his dragon, a Swedish Short-Snout to go after the dog, which it mostly did, right up until the point where it didn’t, and Cedric got his egg, but he also got a trip to Madam Pomphrey, and so he got points off for that. It was a good transfiguration, but sort of frightening, when you think about it. I mean, I know it was only a rock, really, but he did sacrifice the dog for himself. Don’t you think that’s a little scary? It was a beautiful dog – a black lab, and it reminded me of, well, I’m sure if you think, you’ll figure out who it reminded me of.

Anyway, Fleur was next, and she too mucked about. Actually, everyone ended mucking about, Harry least of all, but even Harry, a bit. I must ask Viktor about that. I mean, why muck about? Then again, perhaps it’s the shock of seeing the dragon. Hm. Anyway, Fleur didn’t use her wand until the end. She danced, and sang, and put her dragon to sleep, but it snored and she was in the way. She had to put the flames out with her wand, and that cost her points, but she did get the job done quite neatly, except for the snoring. It did take some time for her to seduce the dragon to sleep, though, but it worked like… well, it worked like a charm, really.

Viktor was third in line. I’m sorry to say that he too mucked about, but he came to it pretty quickly and used a curse to blind his dragon – a Chinese Fireball – and the curse was perfect, but then he had to actually get the egg. The dragon was not happy about being blind and was thrashing about and accidentally crushed some of her own eggs – Viktor got points off for that, he wasn’t supposed to harm the dragon, or her eggs – but he did managed to get the egg without any harm to himself, which none of the other champions managed. Rather direct in his approach, Viktor.

Harry finished with the quickest time. We worked on the summoning charm all night long until he could accio any and everything in the room. He summoned his broom, and then teased his dragon – a Norwegian Ridgeback, the nastiest of the bunch – until the dragon got too far away from her eggs and then he swooped in and grabbed the egg. The dragon got him in the arm on the way by, though, and he got some points off for that. And he would have been in first place if Viktor’s headmaster hadn’t given him a 4 of 10. (Viktor I’m quite fond of. Viktor’s headmaster I’m not.)

But I was thinking about how Harry conquered his dragon, and I was thinking about how Viktor was very bold, which is like him, Fleur was very seductive, which is like her, Cedric was actually a bit smarmy, which one does wonder about, and Harry… was unusually patient. I mean, he was on a broom, and that boy can do amazing things on a broom – rather like Viktor in that way, actually – and so perhaps that accounts for it. But I do wonder… I wonder what Voldemort would have done, assuming that he couldn’t outright kill the thing, or torture it into oblivion, or make it obey his will, which I’m sure would be among his first choices. Harry teased the dragon, luring it farther and farther away until it was just too far away and then he swooped in. It would make a good battle strategy. It sounds like things Voldemort did twenty years ago.

Oh, but enough of that. Viktor is doing well. I haven’t seen him since the trial. He wasn’t in the library yesterday, but I expect I’ll see him around here somewhere soon. I’ll take your words from your previous letter under advisement, but I don’t expect to unearth your gift to me from the depths of my trunk anytime soon. As it is I spent a good portion of our last date wondering if his eyes were dilated. I think I’ll just play it by ear for now, but I’ll let you know if we get serious and start having any sort of pre-sex conversations. And do not worry – his kisses have thus far rendered me a speechless, mindless puddle. I quite enjoy them, and I believe the feeling is mutual.

I’ll write again soon, and make sure the owl says overnight for your response. Give my love to dad for me.

All my love,
Hermione

---

Hermione,

I shall leave your romance to your own good judgment, but do remember that I am here if you need someone to talk to, or if you have any questions. Any at all, dear – you know I am difficult to shock. I am glad to hear that you are enjoying snogging your young man, however. Quite the St. George, isn’t he? He’s a bit like David Beckham and Bruce Lee, combined. Except, Eastern European, Magical, and it was a Chinese dragon, not a Chinese gangster.

Dragons. Good heavens. Just when your father and I think that the Wizarding World can’t shock us anymore, there’s something new. It is one thing to read about it in a book, and quite another thing to hear your off handed account of the matter. Hermione Jane Granger, please, if you ever have the option to avoid it, do not battle a dragon. Or if you must, make it a worthwhile endeavor – do it to save Harry’s life (for if we are discussing you battling dragons, it must involve young Mr. Potter). Don’t do it for some silly tournament.

It’s a slow news day in London, I’m afraid. Your father has decided that it is now important to us to have Internet access and electronic mail addresses. He thinks it’s going to be the next big thing. I tell him that if he thinks so, then he ought to invest in some of the stock, but that only produced silence. He’s been rather thoughtful since then, however, so you never know. We may diversify our portfolio even more. I know how you like to keep tabs on what is going on in the Muggle World, so I thought I’d tell you: The Internet. Everything has got to be multi-media here, and there you’re using candles and quills. Is the ball-point pen such an advance in technology that it must not be adopted, I wonder? Would electronics work in households where Magic is prevalent? I wonder if there are books in your school library about the interactions between Muggle technology and the use of Magic. It would be an interesting topic for research.

The practice is going well, and the Jenkinses say hello. Your father sends his love, and so do I.

Love,
Mum

END.